Follow

There was a black limousine waiting at the curb like it had always been meant for you. The girls didn’t say anything, just walked straight toward it. You followed. Of course you did.

The driver, a middle-aged guy in a suit, opened the door without asking questions. He didn’t even look at you funny. Maybe the ring took care of that too. Or maybe he knew better.

The inside smelled like money. Leather seats, dark windows, cold champagne already open in the holder.

You slid in next to the redhead. She pressed against you immediately, her thighs warm, her tits squished into your arm. She didn’t even pretend it was about comfort.

The blonde sat across from you, legs spread a little too wide, watching you like she was trying to figure out if this was a dream.

"We lived there with him," she said quietly. "Now he’s dead. But... I don’t feel sad. It’s like... like you took his place."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Your cock was already swelling again just from the weight of her words. The redhead felt it through your jeans, her breath catching.

She leaned in and kissed you. No hesitation. Her lips hungry, her mouth warm. She moaned the second your hand found her thigh. It was automatic. Natural. Like this had always been coming.

"Home. Now." The dark-haired one didn’t even glance your way. She just leaned forward, knocked on the divider, and told the driver where to.

The limo rolled forward. You leaned back. Three women, one ring, and a house waiting.

You watched the city drift past the limo windows, neon reflections flickering on the glass. You should’ve felt guilt. Something. Anything. But it just wasn’t there. You thought of Riley, briefly. Her voice. Her soft face. The way she’d kissed you before you left the house. It felt like remembering a dream. Like someone else’s memory. She didn’t exist in the same world as this. Not anymore.

The ring made you forget for now.

Your cock was still hard, stuffed into your pants like it didn’t care what your brain was doing. The redhead pressed her tits into your arm, practically vibrating with need. The blonde stared at you like she was ready to beg. The brunette hadn’t spoken since giving the order, but her thigh brushed against yours, and her breathing was anything but calm.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your length, and the redhead gasped just from feeling it flex.

You almost said “Wait. This is wrong.”

Almost. The ring pulsed on your finger, and suddenly you didn’t care.

You weren’t the same man who left the house. That guy was soft. Uncertain. You? You were what these women wanted. What they needed. What they craved.

The limo pulled through a massive gate. Trees lined the long driveway. Big house up ahead. Old money. Stone. Balcony. Black iron doors.

The driver parked and opened the door. You stepped out. The girls followed, silent but eager, like they’d done this walk before.

Inside, the house was warm. Clean. Dim lights. Expensive art. The moment the door closed, heels came off, hoodies dropped, the redhead was already sliding her skirt up. You hadn’t said a word.

You stood in the entryway, watching them strip, like some kind of movie scene you never believed could happen. But it was real. Their eyes locked on you, not ****, but like you were chosen.

The blonde stepped close and reached for your waistband.

“Let’s see it,” she said with a grin.

You laughed. Just once. Then let her do it.

Your {Cock_inches}-inch cock sprang free, thick, long, mean, and all three girls stared like they’d never seen one before. Maybe they hadn’t. Not one like this.

"It’s... it’s even bigger than his," the redhead whispered, eyes wide, voice shaky.

"So fucking big," the blonde added, practically breathless, her hand already moving toward it.

"How’s that even possible?" the brunette muttered, licking her lips, eyes locked on your cock like it was some forbidden relic.

The redhead dropped to her knees without being told. The brunette leaned against the wall, rubbing her thighs together. The blonde knelt next to her friend, licking her lips.

You felt the ring tighten slightly, approval. You grabbed the redhead’s hair.

This wasn’t love. This wasn’t romance. This was what the ring was made for.

And you weren’t going to fight it anymore.