Trevor Gets

The earrings hummed in my ears, their weird stones glinting in the dim light. They’d saved me from her slap—and now I needed to know how far they could take me.

I swallowed, throat dry as sand. Time to test this shit. I stepped up behind her, close enough to smell her—sweat and that sweet orange scent rolling off her skin. My hand shook as I reached out and grabbed her ass, fingers sinking into the firm curve. She didn’t flinch, didn’t yell, just kept sorting junk like I wasn’t groping her. Her shorts were rough under my palm, her flesh warm and soft beneath.

“Hey, Annabeth,” I said, voice cracking. “This okay?”

She glanced back, gray eyes blank. “What’s okay?”

“Me touching your ass.”

She shrugged, tits jiggling under her shirt. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s normal.” Then she turned back to her crate, humming like I hadn’t just crossed every line.

My pulse hammered. Holy fuck. The right earring worked—everything I did was normal to her. My dick throbbed, straining against my jeans. But the left one—could it really make anything I said normal for everyone? I had to know.

I licked my lips, tasting salt from my sweat. “Annabeth, it’s normal for you to work topless in the attic.”

She stopped, hands freezing mid-sort. Then, casual as hell, she grabbed her shirt and yanked it over her head. It hit the floor in a dusty heap, leaving her in a lacy black bra that barely held her breasts. They bounced as she moved, nipples poking through the fabric. She went right back to work, sorting crap like being half-naked was no big deal.

My jaw dropped, heat flooding my groin. “Why’d you take your shirt off?” I croaked.

She turned her head, frowning slightly, as if I’d asked something obvious. “Because it’s normal to work topless up here, right? It’s efficient in this heat.”

“Yeah,” I stammered, eyes locked on her sweat-slicked skin. “Sure is.”

She nodded, satisfied with her own reasoning, and kept going, her athletic frame gleaming in the faint light. The left earring worked too—whatever I said became truth. My head spun. I could do anything. Power buzzed through me, dark and electric.

Time to make her pay. Annabeth had ripped me to shreds earlier. Now she’d pay for it. I grinned, stepping closer, my hard cock pressing into the crack of her ass. She didn’t stop sorting, her hips shifting as she reached for stuff, rubbing against me without a care. It felt so good I almost let her keep going, but I had plans. My hand slid up, wrapping around her throat, fingers digging into her soft skin. I yanked her back, her bare back slamming against my chest, her head **** up. She couldn’t see her box anymore, just stood there, limp and empty, like a doll I could play with.

“Hey, Annabeth,” I hissed in her ear, my breath hot on her neck. “Why’d you try to slap me? It’s normal for people to never hurt me.”

“I… must’ve miscalculated,” she rasped, her voice strained but still edged with that analytical tone. “It was an error.”

My grip tightened, her pulse racing under my fingers. "You don't make mistakes Chase. You're too smart for that. You tried it ‘cause you’re a bad girl,” I growl. “What happens to bad girls?”

I eased up on her throat, just enough for her to rasp out an answer.

She sucked in a breath, voice hoarse but steady. “They get punished, I suppose.”

“Exactly. Bad girls get punished by the ones they wronged," I growled into her ear, my breath hot against her skin. "You wronged me, so it’s normal for me to punish you however I damn well please.” My lips brushed her cheek, soft and slow—my first taste of her. Her skin was warm, smooth as silk, with a faint salty tang that made my cock twitch. “Lucky for you, you’re gorgeous. I could’ve smashed your face ‘til it matched the hurt you tried to give me, but that’d ruin this pretty little body.” I nipped her earlobe, voice low and thick. “I’ve got a better idea. Swear an oath on the River Styx. Bind yourself to me as my sex ****—forever. You’ll live for my cock, obey every word, and give me every fucking thing I crave.”

I wasn’t letting her slip away. Annabeth was perfection—those sharp gray eyes, that tight ass, those full tits I’d dreamed of burying my face in. I wanted her every way I could dream up: bent over in a skimpy maid outfit, her lips wrapped around me, her pussy dripping for me, her ass mine to take. I’d fuck her ‘til she was pregnant, suck the milk from her swollen breasts, own her body and soul. The Styx oath would lock her to me—even if these earrings vanished, she’d still crawl back to me, begging.

She stiffened, her voice wavering slightly. “Sex ****? That’s ****, Trevor. I regret the attack, but this feels… disproportionate.”

Her pushback threw me. I thought the earrings had her locked down. Then it clicked—sure, it was normal for me to punish her, but she could still bitch about it, like a kid dodging a detention he earned. Time to tighten the leash.

I leaned in, my chest pressing into her bare back, voice hard as steel. “It’s normal for you to take my punishments like they’re fair and not question them. Being my sex **** forever fits what you did. Now swear it, Annabeth.”

Her resistance dissolved. She straightened, her tone precise, like she was reciting a blueprint. “Very well. I, Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, swear on the River Styx to be your willing sex ****. I will live to bring you pleasure, obey your commands, and provide whatever you desire.”

Thunder cracked outside, loud and sharp, sealing it. My grin split wide. She was mine—fucking mine.

My cock was rock-hard, pushing against my jeans ‘til it hurt. Her standing there, topless in that lacy black bra, made my balls ache. Sweat beaded on her skin, catching the attic’s dim light, her tits straining against the fabric.

“Ever done a strip tease?” I asked, licking my dry lips. The oath was gold—better than barking orders with the earrings. I could’ve ripped her clothes off myself, and she’d let me, or said it’s normal to strip for me whenever I snapped my fingers. But the oath? It covered everything—titjobs, blowjobs, creampies, all mine without another command needed.

“No,” she replied, gray eyes meeting mine, unflinching.

“Not even for Percy?”

She shook her head. “It feels embarrasing. I’m not a slut.”

“You weren’t his slut,” I shot back, smirking. “I want a strip tease. You dance before?”

“Yes."

“Then move like you’re at a club—but slowly peel off your clothes.” I stepped back, giving her room, my pulse pounding in my ears.

Her stormy gray eyes flicked to me, narrowing like she was dissecting a battle plan, not sizing up some lust-drunk demigod. Then she moved, hips rolling with a precision that screamed control, like she’d studied every curve of mortal desire and turned it into a weapon. Her hands glided up her sides, fingers grazing the edges of her lacy black bra, teasing out each inch of tanned skin with surgical intent. She watched me—those sharp eyes tracking every twitch of my face, every catch in my breath—adjusting her rhythm, her angle, like she was recalibrating a siege engine to hit my weak spots. Her lips curled into a sharp, defiant smirk, half-seductive, half like she was daring me to break and touch her, ending the dance. She squared her shoulders, arching her back, her full breasts straining against the bra—round, firm, commanding my gaze.

The earrings alone would’ve made her a drone, stripping with the dull efficiency of a morning report. Blank eyes, mechanical sways—boring as Hades. But that Styx oath? It was a blade, twisting her genius into something raw and dangerous. She’d sworn to live for my pleasure, and now her mind was racing, analyzing me like I was a puzzle to crack, every move a step toward unraveling me. As she danced, she shifted—hips slowing when my breath hitched, chest pushing out when my eyes lingered—molding herself into exactly what I craved, her brilliance bent to my will.

She reached back, her movements deliberate. The bra clasp gave way under her fingers, and she paused, letting the straps slip down her shoulders, holding the cups in place for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Her eyes locked with mine—a silent, steely dare. Then, with a casual shrug, she let the bra fall, her breasts bouncing free. They were perfect—round, full, the nipples stiffening in the warm, dusty air of the attic. She didn’t touch them, but the way she arched her back, presenting them to me, was more than enough to make my jeans feel like a prison.

I didn’t hesitate. The button popped, the zipper rasped down, and I kept my eyes on her, drinking in every move. Annabeth’s smirk widened, a flash of teeth showing through parted lips—sly, like she’d calculated this exact moment. My pants and boxers hit the floor, dust swirling around my feet, and I gripped myself, hard and aching, stroking slowly as she watched.

Her hands slid to her shorts, fingers hooking the waistband with the same care she’d use to disarm a trap. She tugged them down inch by inch, revealing black lace panties that clung to her hips like they were made for her. The fabric was sheer, and through it, I could see the faint shadow of her arousal. She stepped out of the shorts, kicking them aside with a flick of her foot—graceful, purposeful, like a warrior shedding armor.

Then she turned, giving me her back, and bent forward just enough to make my breath catch. The lace stretched tight over her ass, and when she shifted her weight, I saw the outline of her pussy pressing against it—wet, inviting, practically begging. She glanced over her shoulder, gray eyes smoldering. “Bet you’ve never seen anything like this before,” she quipped, her voice low and dripping with heat, laced with that sharp sarcasm I knew too well.

I groaned, my mouth dry as the attic boards. She straightened and faced me, fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties. With a slow, deliberate pull, she peeled them down, revealing smooth, bare skin and the slick heat between her thighs. She stepped out of them and stood there, naked, her body a masterpiece of toned muscle and soft curves, swaying slightly as if inviting me to make the next move.

I couldn’t hold back. I lunged forward, hands clamping onto her hips, pulling her hard against me. My cock pressed right at her entrance, slick and ready, and she let out a needy gasp that hit me like a thunderbolt. “You’re mine,” I growled, my voice rough with want, hands sliding up to cup her breasts, feeling their weight and warmth against my palms.

“Yes, master,” she breathed, voice thick and dripping with want.

Master. Fuck, that word hit me like a lightning bolt. I was her master now, and she was my ****—mine to use, mine to fuck, whenever I damn well pleased. I spun her around, needing to see those gorgeous tits as I took her. Then I slammed into her, deep and rough, groaning at how tight she was. So fucking tight. Percy must’ve been packing a toothpick, or he wasn’t screwing her enough to stretch her out. I wasn’t gonna make that mistake—I’d fuck her every day, over and over, until she fit me like a glove.

Her pussy gripped me, wet and scorching, and she moaned—loud, unrestrained—her hands clutching my shoulders, nails sinking into my skin with a sting that only fueled me. I thrust harder, watching her breasts bounce with every brutal slam, sweat trickling down her chest, catching the dim light. I leaned in, sucked a nipple into my mouth—hard, tasting salt and the faint tang of her skin—and she arched into me, gasping, “Master… please, more.” Her voice was thick with need.

I released her with a wet pop, grinning up at her. Her face was flushed, eyes dark with lust but still gleaming with that sharp focus I couldn’t get enough of. “You like that, ****?”

“It’s overwhelming, master,” she panted, her breath hot against my skin, “but I want it—I want to make you feel good.” Her words were a plea and a promise, dripping with the oath’s compulsion, every syllable aimed at my pleasure.

“Fuck,” I snarled, picking up the pace, pounding into her so hard the crates around us rattled like they’d collapse. Her moans blended with the wet, rhythmic slap of our bodies, a raw, filthy soundtrack that filled the attic. The heat of her pussy, the way she squeezed me, the sight of her bouncing tits—it was a sensory overload, every detail driving me wild.

I wanted her screaming my name. My hand slid down, thumb finding her clit, rubbing fast and rough. Her body jolted, a sharp cry ripping from her throat as she trembled beneath me. “Master, I’m—” she gasped, voice cracking with desperation.

“Cum for me,” I commanded, my own release coiling tight, balls aching. “Cum all over my cock, ****.”

She did—gods, she did—her pussy clamping down like a vise as she came, drenching me in her heat. Her body shook, moans turning into ragged screams that bounced off the walls. It shoved me past the edge, and I buried myself deep, unloading inside her with a guttural growl, filling her with thick, hot bursts.

We stayed there, locked together, panting hard, sweat dripping onto the dusty floor. I pulled out slow, watching my cum spill from her, white and thick against her trembling thighs. She looked up at me, eyes soft but burning with devotion. “Did I please you, master?” Her voice was quiet, raw, but brimming with that need to know she’d succeeded.

I smirked, brushing damp hair from her face, feeling the sticky strands under my fingers. “Yeah, you did. But I’m not finished with you.”

Her eyes flickered with anticipation, and she nodded quickly. “Anything you want, master.” Her tone was steady, ready, like she’d run through fire if I asked.

I glanced around the attic, spotting an old couch in the corner—dusty as hell, but I didn’t care. My mind was already racing. “Over there,” I said, pointing. “I’m sitting. You’re cleaning my cock.”

She moved to follow, but I stopped her sharp. “Crawl,” I ordered. She dropped to her knees instantly, crawling after me, her heavy breasts swaying beneath her, nipples grazing the air just above the floor. Her ass shifted with each motion, toned muscles flexing under her skin. The sight—her submission laid bare—made my dick throb again, hard and insistent.

I sat on the couch, legs spread wide, the fabric rough against my thighs. Annabeth knelt between them, looking up at me with those stormy gray eyes, waiting, lips parted and glistening. Her breath was warm, brushing my skin.

“Go,” I said, voice rough.

She leaned in, tongue flicking out to tease the tip of my cock, sending a jolt through me. I groaned as she took me into her mouth—warm, wet, and so fucking skilled—sucking slow and deliberate. Her tongue swirled around the head, tasting the mix of us, and it was pure ecstasy, knowing she was doing this for me, because of me.

I grabbed her hair, fingers sinking into the damp curls, and pushed her down, forcing my cock deeper. “Take it, ****,” I growled, my grip tightening.

She stretched her lips wide, struggling to take more of me, but I was too big. Her mouth was a furnace, hot and wet, her tongue sliding firm against the underside of my cock, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. Spit spilled from the corners of her lips, trailing down her chin and onto her tits, making them gleam in the attic’s faint light.

I wondered if Percy ever got to do this to her. Probably not. She’d told me stripping for him felt degrading, so there’s no way she’d let him shove his dick down her throat. But me? She’d do anything for me—everything—and I was going to use that to fuck her in ways she had never imagined before.

I started thrusting, slow at first, feeling her throat tighten around me with every push. Then I picked up speed, driving deeper, harder, each thrust drawing a soft gag from her. She didn’t pull away—her hands gripped my thighs, nails biting into my skin, and those fierce gray eyes locked onto mine, watering but unflinching, as she **** herself past her limits.

My balls drew tight, the pressure building fast. I rammed deep into her throat, holding her there as I came, unloading with a groan. Thick cum flooded her mouth, too much for her to handle—some burst past her lips, coating them, dripping down her chin, splattering onto her heaving tits. She tried to swallow, throat working hard, but it overflowed, leaving a messy, gorgeous trail of white against her skin.

I pulled out, collapsing back onto the couch, chest heaving. Annabeth stayed on her knees, face a wreck of cum and spit, but her expression was calm, satisfied—like she’d just won a battle. “Anything else, master?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady, laced with that unshakable resolve.

I caught my breath, staring at her—hair a tangled mess, tits rising and falling, slick with my release. She was a fucking vision, a heroine humbled, all for me. The oath was a stroke of genius—better than those earrings alone could’ve ever been. They’d make her obey, sure, but this? This made her crave my approval, made her pour her soul into pleasing me. My cock twitched at the thought, already stirring again.

“Not now,” I said, a grin spreading across my face. “But you’re my ****, Annabeth. I’ll fuck you whenever I want.”

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, master. Whenever you want.”

I laughed, feeling like a king. I got dressed, watching her. “Good. Now finish sorting this shit—naked.”

She stood up, her nude body shining in the dim light, sweat and my cum making her skin slick. She went back to her crate, ass swaying, putting on a show, trying to please me even now.

I leaned back on the couch, eyes on her, already planning the next time I’d take her.

The earrings were real, and so were it's powers. Annabeth was proof. She was mine now, and this was just the start. There were other girls at camp, and I could have them too. But for now, I enjoyed watching my **** work, knowing she belonged to me.