Chapter 4: The Morning After
Megan awoke to the deep, steady rhythm of a heartbeat. It took her a disoriented moment to place the sound, the sensation of a heavy arm draped across her waist, the warmth of skin against her cheek. The fire had died to a bed of pulsating embers, casting the vast room in a deep, velvety crimson. Outside, the city was a silent grid of cyan and amber lights.
She shifted, a dull, satisfying ache radiating through her core and thighs. The movement stirred him. Mandingo’s arm tightened, pulling her petite frame more snugly against the solid wall of his chest. His hand splayed possessively over the curve of her hip. They lay like that in the quiet dark for a long time, breathing synchronizing, the only sound the occasional crackle from the fireplace.
His voice, when it came, was a low rumble she felt more than heard. “Megan.”
“Hmm?”
“You know I’ve fucked many tight petite girls over the years.” His fingers traced idle circles on her skin. “But never one as tight as you. How did you get so fucking tight?”
In the darkness, she gave her cute, knowing smile. She tilted her head back to look up at him, though she could only see the strong line of his jaw. “I don’t know. Just lucky, I guess.” She paused, playing with a bit of the sheet. “But I’m sure there are girls that are just as tight and maybe even tighter.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. “I doubt that. But if there is such a girl, I would like to try her.”
Megan’s smile widened. She propped herself up on one elbow, her small breast pressing against his side. The faint light caught the glint in her eye. “It would be nice to have another girl that can respond to an emergency tight cunt call. In case I’m busy. Or, more likely,” she added, wincing slightly as she stretched, “need more recovery time. After all, you do give me quite the workout.”
“Go on.”
“There is one girl I met at a petite model casting call. She is very cute. With a tiny, tiny petite body. Her name is Bea Lex. She’s twenty-one. Five foot two. Firm thirty-two, twenty, thirty stats.” Megan’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “She has long, very thick blonde hair. And a killer little bubble butt. But with only thirty-inch hips… her bottom section is tiny. I don’t know how she would possibly handle you.”
Mandingo was silent for a beat, imagining it. Then he laughed, a genuine sound of delight. His hand slid down to cup Megan’s own ass, squeezing gently. “Let’s find out. When can she come over?”
Megan’s grin was triumphant. She twisted, reaching for her phone where it lay discarded near the edge of the rug. The screen lit up her face in a cool blue glow. It was just past three in the morning.
“Now?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“The best surprises are spontaneous,” she said, her thumbs already flying across the screen. She bit her lip, then hit send. A whooshing sound echoed in the quiet. “I sent her the address. Told her it was a private, high-profile fitting. For a very… specialized client.”
She put the phone down and settled back against him, nestling into the crook of his arm. He kissed the top of her head.
“You’re a devious little thing,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and a fresh, gathering interest.
“Just efficient,” Megan whispered back, closing her eyes as she listened for the soft chime of a reply.
The soft chime cut through the silence ten minutes later. Megan’s phone screen illuminated, casting a brief, clinical light. She read the message, a slow smile spreading.
“She’s on her way.”
They didn’t move from the rug. The anticipation rebuilt the energy in the room, a silent, humming charge that made the air feel thinner. Megan traced the lines of his abdominal muscles with a fingertip, remembering the feel of them flexing under her hands. He watched the city, but his attention was turned inward, toward the promise of a new threshold.
Forty minutes after that, the discreet buzzer for the gate sounded. Mandingo rose, pulling on his robe. Megan wrapped herself in a cream-colored throw blanket, tucking it under her arms. She followed him to the entryway, her bare feet silent on the cool floor.
He pressed the intercom. “Yes?”
A voice, bright and slightly breathless, filtered through the speaker. “It’s Bea! For Megan?” It was the sound of someone trying to sound professional while standing on a hillside at four in the morning.
The gate clicked and hummed open. They waited in the soft glow of the entryway light. Headlights swept across the glass front door a few minutes later, then cut out. A car door thunked softly. High heels clicked a quick, nervous rhythm on the driveway cobblestones.
The doorbell rang.
Mandingo opened it.
Bea stood silhouetted against the indigo predawn sky, and she was everything Megan had said.
She was super cute with a killer little petite body. Her face had a doll-like sweetness, with wide eyes and full lips currently parted in genuine surprise. Her long, thick blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. The thin, almost-see-through sundress she wore was pale lavender, and it left nothing to imagination. It was cinched tight around her tiny twenty-inch waist, making the flare of her hips seem more dramatic. The soft fabric clung desperately to the firm, perfect hemispheres of her little bubble butt. The dress was short, and the headlights from her car, still shining up the driveway, backlit her outline. She clearly had nothing on underneath.
Bea knew her little body was amazing and knew exactly how to show it off. Even shocked, she held her pose, one hand on her hip, the other holding a small clutch bag. Her firm, full, and pert tits sat high on her chest and were perfectly shaped, the nipples visibly defined against the flimsy material.
Her gaze jumped from the legendary figure in the robe to Megan, who peeked out from behind him wrapped in her blanket. Bea’s surprised expression melted into a cute, playful smile. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue and a dash of ‘what have I gotten myself into.’
“Megan,” she said, her voice a melodic tease. “Hey, girl. You look… cozy.” She stepped inside without being invited, her perfume—something sweet like vanilla and orchid—following her in. She looked Mandingo up and down, the smile not fading. “And you are definitely a high-profile client.” She turned back to Megan, tilting her head. “So. Exactly what kind of fitting are we talking about?”
Megan pulled the blanket tighter. She took a steadying breath, opting for blunt honesty. It was too late for subtlety. “Remember that conversation we had at the casting call? About… tightness? And I said I’d met someone who… redefined the scale?”
Bea’s playful smirk softened into something more curious. She nodded slowly.
“Well, this is him,” Megan said, gesturing to Mandingo. “And after… my fitting tonight, we got to talking. He asked how I got so tight. I said I was just lucky. I told him there might be girls out there who were tighter.” Megan met Bea’s gaze directly. “You were the only girl I could think of in LA who might be. So that’s why you’re here.”
The words hung in the fragrant air. Bea didn’t flinch. She processed it, her eyes flicking between Megan’s serious face and Mandingo’s calm, observant one. She looked down at her own body, then back up, a new understanding dawning.
A slow, radiant smile bloomed on her face. It wasn’t shock or outrage. It was recognition. A challenge accepted.
“Oh,” Bea said, drawing the word out into a low, appreciative sigh. She let her clutch bag drop onto the entryway table with a soft thud. She turned her body slightly, letting the dress sway around her thighs. “So it’s a comparative study. A hands-on evaluation.”
“Something like that,” Mandingo said, his voice even.
Bea took another step into the living room, her heels sinking into the plush rug. She eyed the rumpled blankets by the fireplace, then turned to look at Megan again, her expression now one of shared conspiracy. “And you? You’ve already been… evaluated?”
“Thoroughly,” Megan said, a faint blush rising on her cheeks.
Bea nodded, as if this was a perfectly normal professional collaboration. She walked over to the fireplace, running a hand along the back of the leather sofa. The fabric of her dress stretched taut across her round, compact backside. She looked over her shoulder, the city lights framing her tiny, exquisite form.
“Well,” Bea said, her tone shifting to one of playful business. “If I’m the candidate, I suppose I should see the specifications of the role.” She turned to face Mandingo fully, her gaze dropping pointedly to the front of his robe. “For the fitting to be accurate, I’ll need to see what I’m expected to… accommodate.”
A silent, electric current passed between the three of them. Megan held her breath. Mandingo’s calm demeanor didn’t break, but a keen light ignited in his eyes. He untied the belt of his robe.
Bea watched, her playful smile steady, but her breath caught just visibly as the fabric fell open. Her eyes widened, just for a fraction of a second, before her model’s composure snapped back into place. She let out a low, soft whistle.
“Okay,” she breathed, a real note of awe cutting through the performance. She looked at Megan, her expression now saying, ‘You weren’t kidding.’ Then she looked back at the living proof before her, a mix of trepidation and raw curiosity flashing across her cute features. She bit her lower lip.
Her hand went to the thin strap on her shoulder. She slid it down.