Chapter 1: Tittyfuck and Tiny King
The candlelight flickered across the ceiling in lazy, dancing patterns, casting long shadows that stretched and contracted like breathing things. Marcus knelt over Ivy, his knees sinking into the plush mattress, and tried to remember how to be a man.
Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air drifting through the cracked window. The vanilla scent of her perfume wrapped around him, thick and sweet, but underneath it, something darker lingered—something that made his head swim and his heart pound against his ribs like a caged animal."Hey." Ivy's voice cut through his spiral, soft and amused. Her fingers traced the curve of his hip, featherlight, grounding. "You're thinking again. I can hear it from here."
He opened his mouth to deny it, but she was already shifting beneath him, her platinum pixie cut catching the candlelight as she moved. The constellation of freckles across her nose seemed to dance as she grinned up at him, wicked and warm all at once.
"Sorry," he muttered, dropping his gaze to where his body pressed against hers. The sight made his stomach clench. "I just—"
"You just what? Worried you're not gonna measure up?" She laughed, the sound like wind chimes in a summer breeze. "Baby, I've seen it. I know exactly what I'm working with."
That should have made him feel better. It didn't.
Her hands slid up his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. She guided him forward, and he went willingly, desperately, wanting to lose himself in her. Her breasts pressed against his half-hard cock, soft and warm, and she hummed approvingly.
"See? We're already halfway there," she murmured, reaching down to wrap her fingers around him. His breath hitched. "Don't worry, baby. We'll make it fit—even if it's smaller than my thumb after that pill."
He laughed despite himself, the sound rough and startled. "You're not supposed to say that out loud."
"Why not? It's true." She squeezed gently, her touch impossibly tender. "And I love it anyway. It's cute. Like a little mushroom."
"Ivy."
"What? I'm being supportive." Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she pressed his cock between her breasts, the warmth of her skin enveloping him. She pushed them together, creating a tight, silken channel that made his head fall back. "There we go. See? We're making progress."
He braced himself on his forearms, hovering over her as she worked him between her tits. The sensation was good—god, it was good—but his mind kept drifting to the little white pill sitting on her nightstand. The one the clinic had given him, promising results. Promising he'd finally feel like enough.
So far, all it had done was make his dick shrink.
"Hey." Her voice softened, losing its teasing edge. She stilled her movements, letting him rest against her chest. "You're in your head again. Talk to me."
He closed his eyes, breathing her in. "I just don't want to disappoint you."
"Marcus." She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. The candlelight caught the gold flecks in her eyes, and for a moment, she looked almost ethereal. "You can't disappoint me. I've seen a hundred dicks, okay? A thousand. Some big, some small, some that looked like they'd been through a war. And you know what? The only ones I remember are the ones attached to men who actually gave a shit about me."
His throat tightened. "That's—"
"True." She pecked his lips, quick and soft. "Now stop being a sad little puppy and fuck my tits. I've got a video to film later, and I need to be properly warmed up."
He snorted, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. "A video?Right now?"
"You're not the only one with a job, handsome." She winked, guiding his hands back to her breasts. "Now, come on. Show me what that clinic's been doing for your stamina."
He lowered himself again, letting her wrap her hands around him, let her guide him between her breasts. The sensation was maddening, her skin slick and hot, her breath catching with each stroke. He focused on the feeling, on her, on the way her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer.This was good. This was working."See?" she breathed, her voice husky. "You're doing great."
And for a moment, he believed her.
The moment shattered when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.And then again. And again.
Ivy paused, raising an eyebrow."Expecting someone?"
"No." He reached for the phone, intending to silence it, but the screen lit up with a name that made his blood run cold.
Claire Bentley.
The same Claire Bentley from the club. The one who'd been in the parking lot. The one who'd looked terrified.
He'd almost forgotten about her. Almost.
"You gonna get that?" Ivy asked, her tone carefully neutral.
"It's nothing." He silenced the call, tossing the phone aside. "Just a wrong number."
Ivy studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled, slow and easy, and pulled him back down. "Wrong numbers can wait. I've got you right where I want you."
He let her distract him. He let her hands guide him, let her warmth swallow him whole. But in the back of his mind, the image of Claire Brent's terrified face lingered, and he couldn't shake the feeling that this night wasn't over yet.
The pill was supposed to fix him. It had given him a week of release, of feeling like a man. But now, as his phone buzzed again from somewhere in the sheets, he had the sinking suspicion that the only thing it had given him was an expiration date.
Two days later, he stood in the fluorescent glare of the clinic's waiting room, watching the door swing shut behind the doctor."Marcus?" Ivy's voice was soft, questioning. She sat beside him, her hand warm in his."What did he say?"
He stared at the paper in his hand. The little white pill. The prescription that was supposed to change everything.
"He said side effects are normal," he replied, his voice hollow. "He said we just need to give it time."
Ivy squeezed his hand, her thumb tracing small circles on his palm. "Then we give it time."
He didn't tell her what the doctor had really said. Didn't tell her about the clinical way he'd described the next stage, the one where things could get worse before they got better. The one where he might not get better at all.
He just folded the paper, tucked it into his pocket, and followed her out into the blazing afternoon sun.
That night, in the flickering candlelight of her bedroom, he stood before her and let her look. Let her see him. Let her see the small, soft thing that had once made him feel like a man.
Ivy knelt before him, her fingers brushing the inside of his thigh. Her breath was warm against his skin as she leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip.
"Hi, little guy," she whispered, her lips curling into a grin. "Ready for round two?"
He laughed, because there was nothing else to do. Because she made it easy. Because somehow, impossibly, she loved this part of him too.
"I'm ready," he said. And for the first time in a long time, he meant it.