Chapter Three

“Then Mistress found, like, this super cute little top to go with the miniskirt—she always dresses me in the sexiest outfits—and a matching rhinestone collar with a leash so Master…”

Tassia nodded along, only half-listening as Dolly drifted off on yet another explicit tangent. She chewed slowly on a piece of ridiculously delicious caramel, the sweetness melting across her tongue.

The girl could gab; she’d give her that.

Tassia knew she was supposed to be grilling this vapid little airhead, teasing out useful information, steering the conversation toward something useful. But there was an easy, lethargic comfort in simply sitting here, listening to the brainless chatter.

The stories themselves were shockingly filthy. Had she and Sasha stumbled upon some kind of sex cult?

At least she wasn’t dying of heat anymore. At Dolly’s eager insistence, Tassia had peeled off her sodden uniform shirt and kicked off her boots, leaving the sergeant in just her socks, dress pants, and a plain white bra. The simple act of shedding the clinging fabric had felt divine.

She could finally breathe.

Most of the prevalent warmth had migrated to more southern climes anyway. Collecting and churning in her nether regions.

Tassia sat in a warm, slick puddle of her own arousal, and there was no point pretending it was sweat.

“He’d yank the leash and call me his dumb slut—that’s a pet name, obviously—then wrap it around his fist and just face-fuck the hell out of me,” Dolly continued dreamily. “OMG! Master is, like, so manly and strong… I came so hard I seriously thought I’d die!”

Her lurid stories never let up. She spared no graphic detail, clearly head-over-heels for both her Master and Mistress. The self-proclaimed slut natter on happily, only pausing her narrative for deep, soulful slurps on the chunky candy shaft she’d wedged between her huge fuckdoll tits.

On some distant level, Tassia knew she should be taking control of the conversation. That was what her training demanded.

Instead, she sat amid a sea of discarded candy wrappers, throwing back her umpteenth glass of pink lemonade, her engorged cunt leaking like a faucet as she watched Dolly suck the damn lolly like a…

Like a dick.

It wasn’t a revelation—the girl clearly had a crippling oral fixation—but somehow it seemed more pronounced in that moment.

In the way those fat, ruby lips wrapped adoringly around the sugary tip, as if made for exactly that purpose.

In the slow, sensuous slide as she took the candy cock deeper, drooling with shameless delight.

In the bedroom noises she made while swallowing a startling amount of the sugary shaft and the unmissable sexual pleasure she derived from doing so.

Picturing Dolly on her knees doing the exact same thing to her Master’s purportedly grand endowment wasn't hard.

Hard…

Tassia’s sopping slit throbbed at the word. She could really use something hard right now as sunshiny effervescence jacuzzied her brain in a whirlpool of cherry-flavored bubbles.

Her fingers itched to wrench off her pants (they were drenched anyway) and plunge between her slippery folds. Fists clenched uselessly on her knees, she rocked helplessly, desperate for any scrap of relief.

Her mouth drooped open. Her tongue was positively filmed in sugar from all the sweets. Her nipples were two diamond nibs. Wetness ran down her chin–Tassia told herself it was sweat, but she knew better.

And Dolly just kept sucking. Kept pumping that candy rod between those perfect duck bill lips, moaning and shuddering through little orgasms that were so beautiful, so utterly fascinating, that Tassia couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Squirming in horny anguish, fingernails biting into her palms, she openly salivated from both sets of lips. An inferno blazed in her belly. Her chest felt heavy, swollen, and her bra had grown unreasonably tight.

The underwire dug into soft flesh she didn’t remember having. The straps bit into her ribs, making every breath a struggle. Tassia pawed at her breasts, feeling them overflowing the cups, which appeared to be shrinking.

She blearily wondered if Dolly would mind if she just took the stupid thing off. It was so plain. So boring. Nothing like the fun, flirty outfits the alluring hussy favored.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over her as the comparison spread to the rest of her ensemble.

God, what was she even wearing?

What on earth had possessed her to wear such ill-fitting, unsexy attire when she could be dressed in something fun?

Carbonated pinkness frothed and fizzled along her neural pathways, smoothing and streamlining them into something simpler. Easier. Less complicated.

Reaching behind her back, Tassia unhooked her bra. She gasped in relief as her breasts sprang free, the painful pinching vanishing instantly. Glancing down, she stared in hazy wonder at the two massive, juicy melons jutting proudly from her chest—big as prize-winning cantaloupes.

Were they always this large… and spherical?

She couldn’t quite recall. Breasts were supposed to have a natural teardrop shape, maybe sagging a bit as time and gravity took their toll.

But these weren’t breasts anymore. Not even boobs.

They were tits.

There wasn’t a more apt descriptor for them in her rapidly reducing vocabulary.

Ignoring Newton’s fourth law (whatever that was), they barged into existence, outthrust and announcing themselves to anyone in sight–big, bold and bouncy–they demanded attention.

“Whaaaa~?” Tassia slurred through spit-glossed lips. Those felt fatter too.

She plucked at a pebbled nipple and gasped at how incredible it felt, producing toe-curling shocks that zapped her spinning skull.

“Whoa! Look at you, girl. You’re coming along nicely. Super hawt, yeah?” Dolly giggled before checking the time on her empty wrist. “And here’s me getting carried away and, like, nearly missing my cue… again. We need to get you all tarted up for Master, pronto. Here, hold this.”

That said, she shoved the thick, glistening stick of rock candy between Tassia’s parted lips.

“Mmmmph!”

Tassia floated in a fluffy duffy dream formed of chiffon, silk, and tulle in soft pastel hues.

She sat at a make-up station, nursing on her lollypop prick, blinking owlishly in the light from the bulbs rimming the mirror.

The woman blinking back at her couldn’t possibly be her.

That woman was completely naked, sporting two huge balloon tits and a slack-jawed, sweaty expression. Sticky strings of drool trailed from her lolling chin, dripping into the plush valley of her cleavage as she slobbered over her own lollipop with indecent enthusiasm.

Tassia chanced a downward glance, wondering idly about her own bare tits shining wetly in the bright illumination.

Huh…

“Oh, how about this daring little number?” Dolly asked, waving a scanty strip of satin and mesh that might charitably be called underwear. “With your pale complexion, hunter green could totes be your color.”

The adorable airhead had led her into a large conference room where the table had been cleared away to make space for endless racks of women’s clothing, floor-to-ceiling shelves of sexy footwear, glass cases stocked with accessories, and an entire wall dedicated to cosmetics.

Discarded designer bags and boxes lay piled in one corner, vomiting tissue paper—Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada—all names Tassia felt she should recognize, but her mind kept drifting to other, more pressing concerns.

Like… why was she naked, and could she really pull off hunter green?

“Do you really think so?” She asked, uncertainty clawed at her gut. Looking sexy was suddenly, terribly important.

“Hmmm… maybe?” Dolly scrutinized the wispy fragment then checked the tag. “Ugh, thirty double D. Won’t fit. Like, why even bother?” She tossed it aside like yesterday's trash. “We don’t want that skinny bitch shit anyway. But let’s get real for a sec, okay?”

She pulled up a stool facing Tassia, who nodded, acting agreeable, even as her slick thighs rubbed together, trying to ease the ache in her sweltering pussy.

“Now, Master is a prime slab of A-grade beefcake,” Dolly stated authoritatively. “A mega-stud with a giant dick who can fuck any woman he wants.”

She let out a wistful sigh like a schoolgirl swooning over a teen heartthrob before continuing.

“So we need to turn you into a super funtime hottie he wants to fuck, yeah?”

Tassia nodded again, captivated, grinding her slippery sex against the edge of her stool. The cushion kept squelching, absolutely saturated in her girl juices.

Dolly’s vivid descriptions of the man’s inhuman prowess, coupled with the carnal cravings of Tassia’s lubricious loins, dragged a response to her flapping lips unbidden.

“I want to be fuckable for him,” she gasped.

“I know, right?” Dolly beamed, patting her on the head like a well-trained pet. “Like, what girl wouldn’t? But first we need to chat ‘bout some stuff, sister. Like why you’re here.”

Why was she here?

Tassia resisted the natural inclination to frown in thought. Pretty girls didn’t frown or squint in concentration–super funtime hotties definitely didn’t. Frowns and squints bunched up the face, causing wrinkles.

Dolly didn’t have a single line or wrinkle. Her flawless complexion was as smooth and poreless as silicone.

So she smiled instead—wide, glassy, and a little manic—wracking her lust-addled brain for an answer. Only one was forthcoming.

“I’m here to become a super funtime hottie for Master?” She ventured, tapping the candy cock against her cheek. “Is that right?”

Remembering anything beyond the last hour or so seemed impossible. Heat, sweat, and cloying sweetness clogged her memory like a hairball in a shower drain. Higher reasoning had eroded away to nothing, along with logic under the lapping waves of rampant desire gnawing at her mind.

How was she supposed to think when her mouth and pussy yawned like empty caverns? She latched back onto the sugary shaft, sucking greedily, and turned to Dolly for help.

“Ummm, I think so? Sounds legit to me.” Dolly shrugged, dabbing at an eye shadow palette. “Dunno why anyone expects me to know what’s going on. Like, if they wanted me to get it, they shoulda left me some smarts.”

She giggled. It sounded nice. Carefree.

Tassia tried it too. The giggle bubbled up from her gooey insides and felt wonderful.

“Aaanyway, I’m sure I’m better off now. Mistress says so, and she’s amazing!” Dolly sing-songed, lifting a blending brush sparkling with purple glitter. “No more big-brain pressure. These days, I’m a total zero-stress zone. All those worries? Gone. Like poof!”

She leaned in close, resting one hand on Tassia’s bare thigh for balance while applying the glittery powder around her eyes.

The sergeant shivered. The touch was only inches from her dripping, aching apex. Some distant voice told her she should object, pull away, fight…

Instead, she moaned, cramming the calorie-laden length farther down her hungry gullet, nearly creaming herself when it hit the back of her throat.

“I know you’re confused. It feels weird and kinda wrong at first. Like you’ve gone completely horn dog bonkers and can’t say why.” Dolly whispered soothingly, her fingers dancing higher up Tassia’s trembling thigh while she continued applying makeup with effortless skill. “You can totally touch yourself if that’ll help. Or I can do it for you… as a super funtime hottie and my new bestie.”

Her new bestie?

Tassia whimpered and writhed, torn between confusion and the urgent desire to let off some horny steam–desperate to cum.

She felt honored that Dolly–a gatekeeper for her mega-hunk master–already considered her a friend. But everything was happening so fast, and she couldn't keep up or even think clearly.

And where were her clothes?

And whose tits were these?

And…

And…

“Hrrrnnn!”

She cried out in dismay—muffled and garbled around the throat-stuffing candy cock—when Dolly’s manicured fingertips stopped a hair’s breadth from her buzzing clit.

“It’d just be an itsy bitsy cummy.” Tassia’s new bestie crooned. “Nothing compares to the epic, mind-breaking O’s Master’s uber-cock delivers, but I can do that much for a friend… if you ask, like, super nicely.”

She batted her lashes while making the offer. God, they were an inch long and very full with the perfect amount of curl to frame her gleaming almond eyes just so.

Tassia could only dream of having lashes like those. Or that pristine, porcelain complexion. Her skin was winter dry, and her lashes were small stubs that couldn’t hold mascara.

Reluctantly, she withdrew the girthy lollipop, relishing the way it slid over her extended tongue, before slurring like a drunk on a three-day bender.

“Pwease, pretty…” Dolly was very pretty, causing the words to jumble and collide in Tassia’s head. “Pwease… pretty, pretty… pwease…”

She sounded imbecilic. Probably looked it too, not daring a glance at the mirror. She didn't want to see the woman reflected there again. No, nothing was more important than getting off at that moment. Nothing mattered but the fingers hovering over her inflamed folds.

A grazing touch would do the job. Tassia was a keg of nitroglycerine. Volatile in the extreme. Ready to explode.

Dolly's face drew close enough to kiss. Only the rock-hard confection, jutting from Tassia’s white-knuckled fist, separated their puffy, drooling lips.

“Awww! You think I’m pretty? That’s, like, super flattering.” The strawberry-haired slut giggled, flicking out her tongue to taste the candy tip. “Mmm-hmm… and I think you’ll be really pretty too once we’re done. Isn't that great?”

Once they were done?

She almost managed to piece together a cogent thought–a nagging concern, actually–before Dolly dredged two dainty digits along her dewy cleft in an eruption of fizzy pinkness and brain-boiling ecstasy.

Tassia wailed in wordless rapture as her world turned white.

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