Chapter 6: Ashlee asked Hope for help
The cheap white wine was doing most of the talking, sloshing in Ashlee’s glass as she leaned forward on the couch. “I just know I can do it now, Hope, I can make a guy come with just my mouth, I practiced so hard,” she slurred, her words beginning to blur into one long, anxious stream. “It’s all about the throat control, you know? You have to just relax it and let it happen, and the gagging isn’t even that bad once you get used to it, and—”
Hope set her own glass down on the coffee table with a sharp click, the sound cutting through Ashlee’s monologue. “I’m going to the bathroom,” Ashlee announced, stumbling slightly as she stood and weaving her way toward the hall.
The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Hope snatched her phone from the couch cushion, her thumb finding Kevin’s number with practiced ease. He answered on the second ring, his “Yeah?” sounding tired.
“I can’t listen to another word about deep-throating, Kevin, I’m begging you,” Hope hissed into the phone, keeping her voice low. “She’s been at it for an hour straight.”
There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“You need to surprise her with a blowjob lesson, just one time, to get this out of her system,” Hope insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We gotta build her back up, she’s completely shattered.”
Kevin’s reluctance was a palpable silence. “Hope, I don’t know…”
“Just do it,” she interrupted, her voice softening slightly. “Look, that girl has a crazy cap-too-thick-ass, pillow-lift-perfect-size-C-cup, curvy body, and she needs to own it.” She took a quick breath, hearing the bathroom door handle jiggle. “You’re the best, Kev. Love you, bye.” She ended the call and dropped the phone back onto the cushion just as Ashlee returned, her face still etched with a desperate need for reassurance.
Hope pasted on a smile that felt as thin and brittle as glass. “You were saying? About the… technique.” She took a hurried sip of wine, the liquid doing little to wash away her unease.
Ashlee collapsed back onto the couch, her energy shifting from frantic to something more focused and unsettlingly serene. “It’s not just technique,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s a mindset. You have to want to disappear into the act, you know? Just become a mouth.”
A cold knot tightened in Hope’s stomach. She watched Ashlee’s fingers trace the rim of her glass, remembering the photo Kevin had just sent her. The image of her friend’s smeared lipstick and dazed, watery eyes flashed behind her own. “Right. Become a mouth.”
“I think I’m ready,” Ashlee declared, her green eyes gleaming with a newfound, frightening conviction. “I need to see Mason. Tomorrow.”
Hope’s phone, still warm from her call, felt like a live wire in her lap. She had set this in motion, and now the machinery was grinding forward with a terrifying momentum. “Tomorrow,” she echoed, the word tasting like a premonition.
The front door clicked shut behind Hope, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the noise. Ashlee stood alone in the middle of the cluttered living room, the ghost of Kevin’s grip still tingling in her scalp. She brought her fingers to her throat, pressing gently against the tender muscles there.
A phantom saltiness bloomed on her tongue. She remembered the shocking, warm pulses, the convulsive swallowing, the way her body had learned a brutal new rhythm. Her own wetness had soaked through her jeans as he used her mouth, a shameful, thrilling secret.
He had called her a prodigy. The word echoed, a dark compliment that felt more like a brand. She walked to the bathroom and stared at her reflection, at the girl with the smudged mascara and the raw, kiss-swollen lips.
This was not the broken girl Mason had discarded. This was someone forged in the heat of utter degradation, and she was ready. She turned off the light, the plan solidifying in the dark.
Tomorrow, she would show him what he had thrown away.
The resolve solidified in her sleep, a cold, hard knot in her gut when she woke. She found Kevin in the kitchen, staring into the barren depths of the refrigerator as if it held answers. The morning light cut across the fatigue on his face.
“I need another lesson,” Ashlee said, her voice still rough from last night’s use.
He didn’t turn around, his shoulders tightening beneath his thin t-shirt. “That was a one-time disaster, Ash. A fucking catastrophe.”
“It wasn’t.” She moved closer, the memory of his taste a phantom on her tongue. “It was the first thing that’s made sense in a month.”
He finally slammed the fridge door shut and turned to face her. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression carved from stone. “What about Hope? What about the fucking deal?”
“Hope told you to do it,” Ashlee stated, the words hanging in the silent kitchen. She saw the truth of it flash in his eyes, the betrayal he felt. “She wants me fixed. So fix me.”
He ran a hand over his stubble, a low, frustrated sound escaping his throat. He looked at her, really looked, seeing the desperate determination that had replaced her shattered confidence. He saw the weapon they had forged together.
A long, weighted silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the appliance.
He gave a single, sharp nod.
HE AGREES.
The silence in the kitchen was brittle, shattered by the scrape of his chair against the linoleum. “Not here,” he muttered, his voice gravelly with a sleepless night. He walked out, not looking back to see if she followed.
She did, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. He led her to his bedroom, a space that smelled faintly of his cologne and clean laundry. The door clicked shut, sealing them in a new, more intimate prison.
“Hope doesn’t get to be a ghost in this room,” he stated, his back to her as he pulled his shirt over his head. The muscles in his shoulders were corded with tension. “This is just you and me now.”
“Just you and me,” she echoed, the words a vow. Her eyes traced the line of his spine, the memory of his taste flooding her mouth. This was different; the pretense of clinical exercise was gone.
He turned, his gaze sweeping over her with a terrifying focus. “You think you learned something last time?” He unbuckled his jeans, the sound loud in the quiet room. “That was the appetizer.”
He was already hard, thick and heavy in his hand. The sight of him, fully erect and impatient, sent a jolt of pure, undiluted fear and desire straight to her core. Her confidence wavered for a single, heart-stopping second.
“On the bed.” It wasn’t a request. She moved, the comforter cool against her knees. He stood before her, his presence overwhelming. “You’re going to take me all the way, and you’re not going to use your hands.”
She looked up at him, her green eyes wide. His hand tangled in her hair, not gently. “And this time, you’re not going to come up for air until I tell you.” He guided himself to her lips. “Open.”
The command was a low vibration in the quiet room. Ashlee’s lips parted, and the broad, slick head of his cock pressed against them, a familiar and terrifying pressure. This is what you wanted, her mind screamed, so take it, you desperate slut.
Kevin watched her mouth stretch to accommodate him, a dark thrill coursing through him. She’s actually doing it, she’s letting me fuck that pretty mouth raw. He pushed forward, feeling the tight, wet heat of her throat begin to resist. “Relax that fucking throat for me,” he grunted, his hands fisting in her hair.
I can’t breathe, Ashlee panicked, her eyes watering as he hit the back of her throat. The memory of gagging, of swallowing his cum, flashed through her, mixing with the present overwhelming sensation. But he said I’m a natural.
He held her head steady, his hips pumping in a shallow, ruthless rhythm. I’m so deep inside her, she’s taking every inch. He looked down at the perfect, obscene picture she made—his cock buried in her face, her tits swaying with the force of his thrusts. “Play with them,” he ordered, his voice thick.
Her hands flew to her own breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples as he commanded. He’s using me like a toy, and I love it, she thought, a fresh wave of shameful arousal soaking her panties. The dual sensations of his invasion and her own touch were short-circuiting her brain.
“That’s it, make yourself cum while you choke on me,” he growled, driving deeper with every word. He felt her throat muscles flutter and spasm around his length, a silken, milking pressure that was pushing him to the edge. I’m not going to last.
I’m going to make him come, she thought, the goal crystallizing in her mind, eclipsing all the fear and guilt. She forced her jaw wider, surrendering completely to the brutal rhythm, and swallowed deliberately around his shaft.
The sensation was electric. “Fuck, Ashlee!” he roared, his body locking up. He slammed home one final time, his cock pulsing as he emptied his load directly down her throat in hot, relentless spurts.
She drank it all, swallowing convulsively, her body trembling from the effort. I did it. I took it all.
He slid out of her mouth with a soft, wet sound, and she collapsed forward onto her hands, gasping. Strings of saliva and his cum still connected her lips to his spent, glistening cock. The room smelled of sex and sweat and them.
Kevin looked down at the wreck he’d made of her, her red hair a wild mess, her throat flushed and used. A powerful, possessive pride surged through him, eclipsing the guilt. “You’re a really fantastic cocksucker,” he said, his voice rough with awe.
He reached down, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. “A great cocksucker. My dick looks great near your mouth.” He let his gaze travel the length of his softening cock, then back to her dazed eyes. “My 9 inch cock looks perfect when it’s inside of your throat.”
Ashlee looked up, her green eyes clearing, absorbing his words not as degradation but as pure, unvarnished truth. A slow, shaky smile touched her swollen lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He let out a short, breathless laugh, the tension finally breaking. “You’re a really good whore.” The word hung in the air, but she didn’t flinch; she owned it, her smile widening. It was the highest compliment he could give.
It was the highest compliment he could give.
The word settled in the room, its sharp edges softened by the raw truth in his voice. Ashlee’s shaky legs finally gave out, and she slid from the bed to sit on the floor, her back against the mattress. The cool air of the room kissed her sweat-sheened skin, raising goosebumps along her arms.
Kevin watched her, the fierce pride in his gut now twisting into something colder and more familiar: guilt. He turned away and grabbed his jeans from the floor, the denim rough in his hands. “You should text him,” he said, his voice deliberately flat, a shield against the intimacy still clinging to them. “Right now. While you’re still… you.”
Ashlee leaned her head back against the bed, the memory of his hands in her hair a phantom brand. Her throat felt used, a hollow, well-used channel, and she swallowed again out of habit. “What do I say?”
“I don’t know, Ash. ‘Hey, sorry I was shit at sucking your dick before. Wanna try again?’” He zipped his jeans, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Just fucking do it before you overthink it.”
A slow, determined smile touched her lips. She fumbled for her phone on his nightstand, the screen blindingly bright. Her fingers, still trembling, hovered over the keyboard. She typed a single, simple line to Mason: We need to talk. Tonight.
She showed Kevin the screen, the sent message a point of no return. He glanced at it, then at her face, seeing the shattered girl from the living room completely gone. In her place was someone with a terrifying, focused calm.
“It’s done,” she whispered.
“Good.” He ran a hand through his hair, the motion agitated. “Now get out of my room. I need a shower.”
The shower door clicked shut, its hollow sound echoing the finality in the room. Ashlee remained on the floor, the cool wood grounding her as the water began to hiss behind the wall. Her body felt both heavy and weightless, a strange vessel emptied and remade.
Kevin’s voice cut through the steam, rough and clear. “Hey. Almost forgot.” The water paused for a beat. “The tip. You remember.”
Ashlee’s eyes found him, a blurred form through the foggy glass. “Suck it clean. It’s a respect thing.” The instruction was crude, yet delivered with the flat tone of a final exam.
She pushed herself up, her legs protesting. He was still half-hard, glistening and spent. She leaned forward, her messy red hair falling around her face as she took the soft, sensitive head into her mouth.
Her tongue swirled, collecting the last salty traces of him with a practiced, deliberate motion. It was an act of closure, of perfect, degrading completion. She released him with a soft, final pop.
The water started again, louder now, drowning out everything else. She stood, the taste of him a fading ghost on her tongue. A cold, sharp certainty settled in her bones.
She left his room without another word, the apartment silent around her. Her phone, still clutched in her hand, felt like a weapon. Mason would be waiting.
The phone felt like a stone in her hand, its smooth surface cool against her palm. She scrolled past Mason’s name, her thumb hovering over a different contact. She took a sharp breath, the air tasting of the afternoon’s spent passion, and pressed call.
Hope answered on the third ring, her voice bright and artificially cheerful. “Hey, you! Are you feeling any better?”
“I need to know what to wear,” Ashlee said, her voice lower and more steady than she expected. The question hung there, simple and loaded.
“For what?” Hope’s tone shifted, the cheer evaporating into cautious curiosity.
“For Mason. Tonight.” Ashlee walked to her closet, pushing hangers aside with a metallic scrape. The fabrics whispered against each other, a symphony of possibilities. “It needs to say something.”
“Oh.” A beat of silence pulsed through the line. “Well, something he can take off easily. But not… desperate.”
Ashlee’s fingers closed around a simple black dress, its fabric soft and unforgiving. “Not desperate,” she repeated, the words a vow. She held the dress against her body, studying her reflection in the full-length mirror. The girl staring back had eyes that were no longer shattered, but focused and hard.
“Are you sure about this, Ash?” Hope’s voice was small, a distant echo of the friend who had orchestrated this entire, messy transformation.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Ashlee’s gaze dropped to the neckline of the dress, imagining the fabric against her skin. “I know what I’m doing now.”
The line was quiet for a moment, filled only by the sound of Hope’s measured breath. “Okay. Then wear the black one. The one with the low back.”
A slow smile touched Ashlee’s lips. It was the right choice. “Thanks, Hope.”
“Just… be careful, okay?”
Ashlee ended the call without answering, letting the silence of the room swallow Hope’s warning. She dropped the phone onto her bed, the screen darkening. The black dress draped over her arm felt like armor.
The black dress draped over her arm felt like armor.
She slid it over her head, the fabric whispering against her skin like a secret. In the mirror, her reflection was a stranger—someone with knowing eyes and a mouth that had learned new shapes. She applied her lipstick with a steady hand, the crimson swipe a deliberate slash of color.
A phantom ache pulsed deep in her throat at the memory. She could still taste the salt and musk of Kevin’s release, a ghost that lingered on her tongue. Her fingers traced the column of her neck, feeling the vulnerable swallow she had learned to suppress.
This body was no longer just hers; it was a instrument, finely tuned. She tucked the memory of Kevin’s rough praise into a hidden corner of her mind, a dark fuel for the night ahead. Her phone buzzed once on the bed, a message from Mason lighting the screen: “8 pm. My place.”
A cold smile touched her lips. He had no idea what was coming for him. She slipped her feet into black heels, the click on the floorboards a decisive sound.
She grabbed her keys from the bowl by the door, their metallic jangle the only goodbye. The evening air was cool against her bare arms as she stepped outside. She didn't look back at the apartment where she had been unmade and remade.
The city lights blurred past her taxi window, streaks of gold and white. Each block closer to Mason’s place felt like a countdown. She closed her eyes, rehearsing the feel of control, the power of a swallowed breath.
The taxi slowed to a halt. She paid the driver and stepped onto the curb, the dress clinging to her curves like a second skin. She looked up at his building, a concrete monolith against the twilight sky.
Then she walked inside, the heels echoing in the lobby with a rhythm of finality.