Not Completely

Jorge stands for a moment, surveying the carnage. Sofia and Elena are slumped against the wall, their chests heaving, eyes vacant and bodies trembling from the sheer intensity of the encounter. Mei is still on her knees, looking like a broken animal, her face stained with the evidence of his seed. For the first time in a few minutes, the adrenaline recedes, and a flicker of something like embarrassment crosses his mind. He's rewritten reality, turned the campus into his playground, and just absolutely demolished three women in a way that was almost too primal, even for him.

He doesn't apologize—that would be out of character now—but he feels a need to step away from the intensity. Without a word to the women, he zips up his pants and turns on his heel, leaving them in the wreckage of their own pleasure. He strides back toward the dorms, his athletic gait confident, though his mind is already drifting back to the sanctuary of his room.

Once he enters his dorm, he kicks the door shut and collapses onto his bed. He lets out a long, heavy sigh, the silence of the room a sharp contrast to the wet, screaming chaos of the gym. He reaches for the notebook on his nightstand, his fingers tracing the edges of the pages. As he lies there to recuperate, he can't help but smirk, thinking about the look on Mei's face and the way the Latinas had practically begged to be broken. He closes his eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over him, already wondering what other rules he'll write once he's rested.

But as he’s relaxing he remembers Jorge is not alone. As he settles into the mattress, he hears a soft, rhythmic sound—the sound of someone pacing anxiously. In the corner of the room, Sarah is waiting for him. Since Jorge broke her will and transformed her body, she has become less of a roommate and more of a permanent fixture of his pleasure.

She's wearing a tiny, skimpy outfit that barely contains her massive, magically enhanced backside, the fabric straining against her curves with every movement. The moment she sees him enter, her eyes light up with a mixture of obsession and desperation. She doesn't ask how his day was; she doesn't care about the world outside. All she cares about is the man who owns her.

*"You're back," she whimpers, her voice thick with arousal. She doesn't wait for an invitation; she crawls across the floor toward the bed, her oversized hips swaying provocatively. She can smell the scent of other women on him—the lingering aroma of Sofia, Elena, and Mei—and instead of jealousy, it triggers a fierce, competitive hunger in her. She wants to erase their scent with her own.

She reaches the edge of the bed and looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes, her heavy breasts spilling over the edge of her top. "I've been waiting for you all day, Jorge," she whispers, her hand sliding up his leg toward the bulge in his pants. "Please... tell me you still have some energy left for me."

Sarah doesn't wait for an answer. She dives forward, her movements frantic and eager, as she skillfully frees his massive fifteen-inch shaft from his pants. The moment it springs free, she lets out a small, muffled moan of adoration, her eyes widening at the sight of it. She wraps her lips around the head with a desperate hunger, her cheeks hollowing as she tries to take as much of the girth as possible, her tongue swirling around him in a focused, worshipful effort to drain every last drop of his energy.

As Sarah's mouth works over him, Jorge stares up at the popcorn ceiling of the cramped dorm room. The sound of her wet, sloppy suction fills the small space, but his mind is wandering. He looks around at the peeling wallpaper and the cluttered desk, realizing how out of place this tiny box is for a man of his status. With the notebook, he could simply write "I own a luxury penthouse" and be there in a blink.

But he pauses, a smirk playing on his lips. He thinks about the thrill of the climb, the power of manipulating others, and the sheer boredom that would come with instant, effortless wealth. If he just gives himself everything, what's the point? Where's the game? He wonders how he can make money—not just by printing it out of thin air, but by using his powers to create a system where he's the one pulling all the strings, making the world pay for the pleasure of his presence.

He looks down at Sarah, who is now gagging slightly as she tries to push the length deeper into her throat, her eyes watering with a mixture of pain and pure bliss. He reaches down, gripping her hair and pushing her head further down, enjoying the sensation of her struggling to accommodate him. The idea of a "business venture" using his reality-warping abilities starts to take root in his mind, and he finds the prospect far more exciting than a simple free ride