Mini Trial Pt. 6

You leaned back into the guy’s lap again, your head spinning with a dizzying cocktail of **** and frustration. His hand remained lightly on your hip, but you barely noticed it anymore, your thoughts scattered and heavy from the drinks. You were done. Done with trying to make sense of all of this, done with trying to fix everything. You just wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but you couldn’t leave yet.

Still, the guy didn’t seem to get the message. He kept talking to you, his words slurring, his breath hot against your ear as he tried to flirt with you. His voice was playful, but you were too far gone to care.

“Hey there, I didn’t know you were into the whole striptease thing,” he said, his voice rough and teasing. “You look pretty damn good though, don’t you think?”

You didn’t respond at first, staring down at the floor, trying to ignore him. You weren’t in the mood for any of this. But he didn’t give up.

“C’mon, don’t be shy,” he continued, his fingers brushing against your hip, just a little too lingering. “I’m just saying, you got a body on you. You wanna show me some more?”

You blinked, completely uninterested. The **** in your system was doing its job, making everything feel like it was happening to someone else, from a distance. You didn’t care about what he wanted, what any of them wanted. But you had to get them to eat and shut the hell up so you could leave.

“Listen, if you want to talk, you’re going to have to start eating,” you said flatly, your voice cold as ice.

He frowned, seemingly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm, but then he just chuckled and looked at his buddy on the couch next to him. “Yo, pass me some food,” he said, still smirking at you as if it were some kind of game.

His friend, barely more than a shadow of a person at this point, lazily reached for a bag of food and handed it over. The guy you were sitting on began to pull out some food and munch on it like nothing happened.

You didn’t even react. You weren’t here for his attention, you weren’t here for any of them. You didn’t need their validation, especially not right now. You felt detached, as if you were floating above the entire situation. But there was one thing you couldn’t escape—the hidden, constant tugging sensation in your mind. That insistent, frustrating urge.

It was like a dull pressure, like a knot tied too tightly inside you. You couldn’t ignore it, not anymore. It was that subtle, subconscious desire, creeping up from deep inside you. The desire to suck on something. You could feel it, like a shadow, always lingering just beneath the surface of your thoughts. It was maddening.

Your mouth felt dry, and you hated it. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from invading your mind. The urge was so strong, so relentless. The feeling of sucking, of having something between your lips, it was all you could think about, and the more you tried to ignore it, the more it burned.

You shifted slightly in the guy’s lap, the movement making you feel the subtle pressure against your chest, your B-cups pressed against the fabric of your bra, your skin hotter than ever. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing felt like it was enough. The buzzing in your head, the whispering thoughts, they were getting louder.

But the guy seemed to be having his own issues. He kept glancing at you, trying to get your attention, but you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts to care about him or anything else. He leaned closer to you, his breath hot on your ear again.

“You really know how to keep a guy’s attention, don’t you?” he slurred, and you could hear the underlying flirtation in his voice. “What do you say we head to the bedroom after this? You seem like you’d be fun.”

You barely registered his words. Your focus was elsewhere, spinning in your head, your thoughts swirling in the haze of ****. The desire, the need, to satisfy the hunger you couldn’t shake. The frustration burned through you like fire.

“Just eat your damn food,” you snapped, a little more forcefully this time. “And shut up.”

He blinked in surprise but didn’t press you further. Instead, he started eating, pulling a sandwich from the pile of food you’d brought. You watched him, trying to ignore the gnawing urge that still clawed at your insides.

The guy beneath you had finally started eating, grabbing a handful of fries from the bag beside him. You leaned back into his lap, your head spinning, the heat of the room and the buzz of the **** making you feel detached and uncaring. His hand on your hip was still there, lightly resting, not moving. You ignored it as best you could.

Between bites, he glanced at you again, that familiar smirk creeping back onto his face. “You know,” he started, his voice low and teasing, “you’ve got this whole ice-queen vibe going on, but I bet you’d warm up if someone tried hard enough.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of beer, not even bothering to reply. The **** had dulled your reactions, and you didn’t have the energy to play into his attempts at charm.

He chuckled, apparently undeterred, and picked up a single fry, holding it out toward you. “Here. You’ve been working so hard tonight—let me take care of you for once.”

You gave him a flat look. “I’m good,” you said curtly, crossing your arms.

But he wasn’t giving up. “C’mon, just one. You can’t turn down a perfectly good fry,” he said, dipping it into a little tub of sauce. The warm scent of it wafted up, the tangy, savory aroma teasing your senses despite your annoyance.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I said no.”

He grinned, undeterred. “I’m not asking, sweetheart.” He moved the fry closer to your mouth, the sauce glistening under the dim light.

Your patience, already worn thin, finally snapped. With an annoyed sigh, you leaned forward slightly, deciding to just get it over with. If he wanted you to eat the damn fry so badly, fine. You opened your mouth—but instead of biting into the fry, your lips wrapped around it, sealing around the soft surface.

His hand froze midair as your eyes locked with his. The room seemed to go silent around you, the noise of the other men fading into the background. Your lips moved, pulling back slowly, and you felt the sauce slide across your tongue as you sucked it clean off the fry. You didn’t break eye contact, your expression unreadable, not a word spoken between the two of you.

Then, as if nothing had happened, you leaned back, leaving the fry perfectly intact but bare of any sauce. You swallowed, your face still blank, and raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to say something.

The guy blinked, his mouth opening slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he looked down at the fry, now stripped of its sauce, and without hesitation, he popped it into his mouth and ate it.

Neither of you said a word, the silence between you heavy and strange.

You were still too tipsy to fully process what had just happened. That buzzing undercurrent of tension, that secret, maddening need for something to soothe the aching pull inside you, gnawed at the edges of your awareness. Your lips tingled, the faint taste of sauce lingering there, and you found yourself taking a deep breath, trying to steady the strange heat building in your chest.

The guy seemed emboldened now, his movements slow and almost hesitant. He grabbed another fry, dipping it in sauce, but this time he didn’t offer it to you. Instead, he reached into the little tub with his fingers, coating the tips in the same sauce before glancing back at you.

For a moment, you thought he might stop, but then, with a mixture of curiosity and audacity, he brought his hand up toward your lips, his fingers hovering there as if waiting for permission.

Your mind was spinning, the **** blurring the edges of your frustration and your defiance. Somewhere deep inside, that insistent, subconscious tug pushed its way forward. Before you even fully registered what you were doing, your lips parted slightly, and his fingers slipped between them.

The sauce was tangy and rich, but the sensation of his fingers in your mouth was what consumed your thoughts. Your tongue moved instinctively, sweeping across his skin, cleaning the sauce away as that relentless urge was momentarily satisfied.

The moment stretched, slow and surreal, as you licked his fingers clean. He watched you intently, his smirk replaced by something more uncertain, more curious. Neither of you spoke, the quiet intimacy of the moment broken only by the faint sounds of the other men laughing and talking in the background.

When he finally pulled his hand back, his fingers slick and clean, you leaned away again, your expression still unreadable. You didn’t say a word, your face blank as you reached for your beer and took another long sip, letting the **** wash away the lingering taste of sauce and... something else.

You can't quite explain why, but the thought of kissing him, of making out with someone who thinks you're a stripper, is both repulsive and alluring.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin, and you feel that familiar spark of resistance ignite within you. But it's too late for that now. Your body seems to have other plans, moving on autopilot as if driven by some primal urge.

You lean down, the air thick with tension, and press your lips to his. It's a sloppy, drunken kiss, but one that feels like home nonetheless. The world around you melts away, leaving only the two of you, lost in this moment of forbidden pleasure.

As you deepen the kiss, your mind reels with the implications. _You're a man, for God's sake! What are you doing? _But your body doesn't care about any of that. All it wants is to indulge in this sweet, sticky sin.

You feel a shiver run down your spine as he his tongue traces the edges of your teeth. It's a slow, sensual movement, one that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

You're a little tipsy, but nowhere near sober enough to stop this. You can still think, still reason, but it doesn't matter. Your body has taken over, driven by some primal urge to indulge in this filthy, forbidden act.

The kiss is like a switch flipping, and suddenly you're lost in the moment, unable to look away or pull back. It's as if something else has taken hold, using your deepest desires against you.

You feel it, that familiar tug of the oral fixation, urging you on, telling you to keep going, to take more, to indulge in this sweet, sticky sin. And so you do, your lips moving against his, sucking him deeper into your mouth.

The world around you is a blur, but one thing stands out - the sensation of being completely and utterly lost. You're not in control anymore; it's as if some darker part of yourself has taken over, driving you towards this moment of forbidden pleasure.

You can't believe what you're doing, but at the same time, you can't help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. This is wrong, yet right? It's like your body and mind are engaged in some kind of twisted game, with your mind as the puppet master pulling the strings on your emotions.

The groomsmen's hands roam over your skin, tracing lines that make you shiver, making you squirm with pleasure. You feel a rush of adrenaline mixed with shame, but it's too late for that now. The deed is done, and all you can do is ride this wave of forbidden pleasure until it crashes down around you.

As the kiss deepens, your thoughts grow muddled, lost in the haze of booze and desire. You're not sure what's real anymore - the curse, your own desires, or just a product of too much to drink.

But one thing is certain: this moment, right here, feels like home. And for now, that's all that matters.

You can't believe what you're doing. Your lips are pressed against the guy's, his mouth moving in sync with yours as if it's second nature. The sauce lingers on your tongue, a tangy reminder of how far you've fallen. You try to pull away, but your body seems to have a mind of its own.

It feels so good, this kiss. Your subconscious is screaming at you to stop, but your lips are moving of their own accord. It's like you're in a trance, unable to resist the urge to taste him, to feel his tongue against yours. The guy's hands are all over you, exploring every inch of your body as if he owns it.

You try to remember how you ended up here in the first place. All that matters is this moment, this kiss. It's like a switch has been flipped inside you, and suddenly everything makes sense.

The guy's fingers are tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You feel alive, electric, like you're buzzing with energy. Your heart rate is racing, pounding in your chest like a drum. Sweat drips from your brow, mixing with the sauce on your lips.

You can't believe what you're doing. This isn't you. But at the same time, it feels so right. So good. Your mind is screaming at you to stop, but your body won't listen.

The guy's mouth moves against yours, his tongue darting in and out of your mouth like a snake slithering through grass. You feel a wave of nausea wash over you, mixed with excitement. It's like you're drowning in this moment, unable to escape the depths of your own desires.

You try to remember the last time you gave in to these kinds of feelings. Never, that's when. But now...now it feels so good. So right.

The guy's hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of your body like you're some kind of forbidden fruit. You feel a rush of adrenaline mixed with fear, unsure of how to process all of these conflicting emotions.

But then, suddenly, it hits you. The realization that what you're doing is wrong, so wrong. You try to pull away, but the guy's grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place. His eyes lock onto yours, a spark of desire flashing between you like fireworks exploding in the night sky.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stops. The guy pulls away, his eyes searching yours for some sign of what to do next. You look back at him, unsure of how to process all of these conflicting emotions.

For a moment, you're frozen in place, unable to move or speak. The only sound is the pounding of your heart against your chest, like a drum beating out a rhythm that's both familiar and yet completely foreign.

You look up at the guy, searching for some sign of how he feels about what just happened. But all you see is ecstasy. He looks like he's trying to process everything that just went down, unsure of how to react.

You're left sitting there in his lap, feeling like you've lost all sense of yourself. You try to process everything that just happened, unsure of how to make sense of it all.

But one thing is for sure: this whole curse isn't even close to being over yet. Not by a long shot.