Keep masturbating mindlessly, letting the pleasure fog your brain even more

Evan's Bedroom, Blackwood Family Home, Suburban Ohio, at 8:25 AM on Saturday June 15th, 2024 Day 1.

Your fingers pump in and out of your sloppy, cum-filled cunt with a lazy, wet rhythm. Squelch. Squelch. Squelch. Each thrust pushes more of Derek's thick load out around your digits, the white goo dripping onto the sheets beneath your spread thighs. Your eyes are glazed, unfocused, staring at nothing while your thumb circles your swollen clit in slow, mindless loops. The pleasure is a warm blanket smothering what's left of your thoughts, wrapping around your brain like cotton wool, making everything soft and simple and good.

Derek watches you for a moment, his cock already hardening again in his sweatpants, tenting the gray fabric obscenely. He strokes himself through the material, then pulls the waistband down, letting his thick shaft spring free—still glistening with a mix of your juices and his own cum from earlier.

"Hey," he says, snapping his fingers near your face. "Raven. Look at me."

Your hazy eyes drift up to him. He's standing right beside the bed, his cock bobbing at face level, the fat head already leaking a fresh bead of precum.

"You need practice," he says, wrapping his fist around his shaft and giving it a slow stroke. "Those friends I told you about? Jake's got a bigger dick than me. Like, way bigger. And Marco likes to grab your head and just fucking skull-fuck you until you puke. So you gotta get better at sucking cock if you don't wanna choke to death."

He presses the tip against your glossy, plump lips. The scent of him—musky, salty, mixed with the tang of your own pussy—floods your nostrils and makes your mouth water involuntarily.

"Open up, baby. Keep fingering yourself—don't stop that—and practice on me while I text Jake the details."

Your lips part. You don't decide to open them—they just do, like your mouth is a separate entity answering his command before your foggy brain can weigh in. His cockhead slides past your lips, over your tongue, and you taste the salt of his precum mixing with the faint, musky flavor of your own cunt still coating his shaft.

"That's it," Derek groans, pulling out his phone with one hand while the other rests on top of your head. "Just the tip for now. Swirl your tongue around it. Get used to the taste."

You do. Your tongue moves in clumsy circles around his glans, lapping at the slit where fresh precum wells up constantly. Meanwhile, your fingers keep working your pussy—three of them now, buried knuckle-deep, pumping in time with your tongue's movements. The dual stimulation has your hips rolling on the mattress, your newly enlarged tits jiggling beneath the stretched mesh top, the word 'BREED' distorted across them like a brand.

This is good, the warm voice whispers. This is where you belong. Mouth full of cock, pussy full of fingers. Simple. Easy.

Derek types with his thumb, occasionally glancing down at you with a smirk. "Yeah, Jake's losing his shit. Says he's bringing his cousin Tyrell too. Dude's like six-five, played college ball. Cock like a fucking baseball bat from what I hear."

He pushes deeper into your mouth, his shaft sliding over your tongue toward the back of your throat. You gag slightly, eyes watering, but you don't pull back. The curse won't let you. Your fingers speed up between your legs, your pussy making obscene wet sounds as you fuck yourself harder, chasing that fuzzy blankness.

"Deeper," Derek instructs, his hand pressing down on the back of your head. "Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose. You're gonna need to take at least eight inches without gagging if you wanna survive Jake and Tyrell."

He pushes until you feel him hit the back of your throat, your nose pressed against his pelvis, his balls resting against your chin. Your eyes stream tears, drool pouring down his shaft and dripping onto the sheets. Your throat convulses around him but you hold there, fingers still working your clit in frantic circles, pleasure and discomfort blending into one overwhelming sensation.

"Good girl," Derek grunts, holding you there. "See? You're a natural little cocksucker. The curse made you perfect for this."

He didn't say that last part—you're not sure he even knows about the curse—but somehow it feels true anyway.