Jan. Week 3: Game of Thrones: Mr. Baker cums inside Leah (Suspicion: +10, Luck: +10)

{if baker_got_porn = 1}

“UGh Cum—cum inside me! Ugh! Feel me Aghgh! Up with your seed, me’lord!” she croaked out in an over-the-top cry that was only used in pornos and in booze filled romps between lovers whose inhibitions were all gone.

The crescendo was appropriately theatrical, as expected in this most humiliating of parodies. Mr. Baker’s face screwed up like a cartoon villain’s as he clung to Leah’s hips, his body locked in a juddering spasm while the camera’s red light blinked in time with his ragged grunts. He buried himself to the hilt in Leah and let out a howl that was equal parts triumph and desperation—a sickly, nerdy battle cry that was probably loud enough to echo into the hallway.

Leah blinked up at the ceiling, expression fixed in a mask of dead-eyed “ecstasy” as he emptied himself inside her. If he’d wanted a money shot, he’d have to settle for a cream pie. Not that she cared about the difference; she was just glad that she wouldn’t have to spend 10 minutes post-shoot picking clumps of his semen out of her hair, or worse, try to explain a crusty facial to Jonathan or why that stain on her shirt appeared out of nowhere...

Mr. Baker collapsed forward, catching himself with a graceless palm on the mattress beside her head. He panted like a man who’d just run a marathon in full plate armor.

“Fuck,” he groaned at last, pulling out slowly and watching with a pervert's precision as a milky trickle seeped from between her folds. Satisfied, he nodded—then, to her astonishment, actually offered a hand to help her sit up. Leah eyed it warily, then took it, using his grip to lever herself upright. The dress bunched around her hips, sticky evidence of their “alliance” slowly cooling on her thighs.

A silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hiss of the central AC and the hum of the computer’s boot-up process. Mr. Baker busied himself with a package of baby wipes he had handy on his desk, tossing a handful in her direction.

"Just remember--you know nothing Jon Snow." she said eying him as she cleaned herself up. He nodded, knowing that he would certainly be keeping his silence. Why wouldn't he? He was having too much fun with Leah as his personal little pornstart.

"Don't worry about me Leah." he said putting his belt back on between the awkward post sex logistical clean up.

When everything was stowed and the last evidence of their little shoot erased, Leah grabbed her bag and made for the exit. The halls were silent. She glanced at the old analog clock on the wall and cursed—it was later than she’d hoped, and Jonathan would absolutely notice if she rolled in after dark. Leah’s panic simmered as she crossed the parking lot. She imagined Jonathan at home, already suspicious of her unexplained overtime.

By the time she reached her driveway, Leah was halfway convinced she could bluff her way through anything—so long as she didn’t look Jonathan directly in the eyes. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and went inside.

{endif}

{if baker_got_porn = 3}

Leah bounced atop Mr. Baker, her voice echoing through the room in an exaggerated cry.

“Ugh, I’m coming! Fill AGH! AGH FILL ME UP!AHGHG! Oh, fill me with your seed, m’lord!” she shouted, her words punctuated by the rhythmic squeaking of the mattress beneath them.

The scene was absurdly dramatic, like a bad parody played out for an audience of none. Mr. Baker's face contorted in a comical grimace as he gripped Leah's thighs, his body convulsing in spasms that matched the erratic blinks of the camera's red light. He arched up, meeting her descent with a thrust that buried him completely within her. His triumphant howl was laced with a **** edge, a geeky roar that likely carried down the hallway.

Leah stared blankly at the ceiling, her expression a poorly acted mask of pleasure as he released inside her. She was grateful, at least, that there wouldn't be any messy cleanup afterward. Mr. Baker slumped back, his chest heaving like he'd just finished a sprint in full plate armor.

“Fuck,” he finally groaned, watching beadily as Leah lifted herself off him, a telltale trickle leaking from their joined bodies. To her surprise, he offered her a hand, helping her dismount from her compromising position. She accepted it warily, adjusting her dress as she stood.

The room fell silent except for the hum of the computer and the faint hiss of the air conditioner. Mr. Baker handed her some baby wipes from his desk, and she began to clean up, her eyes locked onto his.

"Just remember--you know nothing Jon Snow." she said, her voice steady despite the absurdity of the situation. He nodded, a smug satisfaction playing on his lips as he fastened his belt.

“Don’t worry about me, Leah,” he said, his tone casual, as if they hadn’t just engaged in a sordid tryst.

With the evidence of their encounter wiped away, and changed into her regular clothes, Leah grabbed her purse and hurried out. The halls were quiet, and the old clock on the wall showed it was later than she thought. Panic bubbled within her as she rushed across the parking lot, imagining Jonathan at home, already questioning her delayed return.

By the time she pulled into her driveway, Leah had convinced herself she could talk her way out of anything—as long as she avoided Jonathan’s direct gaze. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and stepped inside, ready to face whatever awaited her.

{endif}

{if baker_got_porn = 2}

“Ugh, cum—cum inside me! Ugh! Feel me! Fill me up with your seed, me’lord!” she cried out in an exaggerated scream reminiscent of low-budget pornos or drunken trysts. The climax was predictably dramatic, fitting for this degrading charade. Mr. Baker's face contorted like a comic book villain's as he gripped Leah's hips from behind, his body convulsing in a violent spasm while the camera's red light blinked in sync with his ragged grunts. He thrust himself deep into Leah, letting out a howl that was equal parts triumph and desperation—a pathetic, geeky battle cry that likely echoed into the hallway.

Leah stared blankly at the headboard, her expression frozen in a mask of fake ecstasy as he released inside her. If he wanted a visible finish, he’d have to settle for this internal explosion. Not that she cared; she was just relieved she wouldn’t spend 10 minutes post-shoot picking clumps of his semen out of her hair or trying to explain a crusty facial to Jonathan or a mysterious stain on her shirt.

Mr. Baker slumped forward, catching himself with an awkward hand on the mattress beside her. He panted like a man who’d just run a marathon in full plate armor.

“Fuck,” he groaned finally, pulling out slowly and watching with a creep's precision as a milky trickle seeped from between her folds. Satisfied, he nodded—then, to her surprise, actually offered a hand to help her up. Leah eyed it warily, then took it, using his grip to sit upright. The dress bunched around her hips, the sticky evidence of their “alliance” slowly cooling on her thighs.

A silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hiss of the central AC and the hum of the computer booting up. Mr. Baker busied himself with a package of baby wipes he had handy on his desk, tossing a handful in her direction.

"Just remember—you know nothing, Jon Snow." she said, eying him as she cleaned herself up. He nodded, knowing he would certainly keep his silence. Why wouldn't he? He was having too much fun with Leah as his personal little porn star.

"Don't worry about me, Leah," he said, putting his belt back on during the awkward post-sex cleanup.

When everything was stowed and the last evidence of their little shoot erased, Leah grabbed her bag and made for the exit. The halls were silent. She glanced at the old analog clock on the wall and cursed—it was later than she’d hoped, and Jonathan would definitely notice if she rolled in after dark. Leah’s panic simmered as she crossed the parking lot. She imagined Jonathan at home, already suspicious of her unexplained overtime.

By the time she reached her driveway, Leah was halfway convinced she could bluff her way through anything—so long as she didn’t look Jonathan directly in the eyes. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and went inside.

{endif}