You wake up in the same position you fell asleep in.

The first thing you register is the ache—you feel stiff, your thighs numb, your cock throbbing raw inside the tight, relentless heat of her throat. You blink awake to the sweet sting of her pussy against your lips, the sticky mess of her arousal smeared across your chin.

She’s still there, trapped in the tangle of limbs beneath you, exactly where you left her last night. Your boss—now just a shuddering mess of smeared mascara and spit-slick lips stretched around your cock. Her throat flutters weakly, still swallowing on instinct even as she drifts in and out of consciousness. The stale tang of cum lingers—three loads already dumped down her gullet, and the ache in your balls says she’s not done yet.

You groan against her pussy, grinding your face deeper just to hear her whimper. Her thighs jerk against your ears, but she doesn’t fight—just takes it, like she’s been doing all night.

“That’s it,” you mutter into her folds, hips rolling lazily to fuck her slack mouth. “Keep sucking, princess.”

Her moan vibrates through your cock as you flex, teasing the last few drops of spit from her swollen lips. You can already feel yourself hardening again. Time for round four. But damn, you are a mess. Both of you are. But thankfully, the no consequences part of your wish is pretty good at taking care of that.

It removes all the distractions that take away from your 24 hour 7 days a week facefucking marathon. You haven't paid rent in a year, but no one bothers you. Haven't paid your credit cards either, or even checked mail. But you can still order food and nothing happens. You still have a work from home job technically but you haven't done any real work since you've got your wish. Still have the job though.

And you're pretty sure you will still have one tomorrow when your boss is relieved of her cock milking duties.

There is the one little issue of personal hygiene. But the spell even took care of that.

You flex your fingers still knotted in her hair and mutter the release spell through gritted teeth. The stickiness vanishes—her smeared mascara, the sweat, the thick strands of spit connecting her lips to your shaft—all gone in a blink. But the weight of your cock against her tongue remains, the suffocating stretch of her throat still stuffed full.

She shudders awake with your hips still flush against her face, the magic cleaning but not freeing. Her lashes flutter, pupils blown wide with **** confusion as she registers that all the fluids and crusted emissions that you were drenched evaporated in a second. Leaving you both as fresh as if you've just stepped out of the shower, all the aches of her nightlong **** lifted in a moment— but nothing's changed about her predicament. Your cock still nudging her gag reflex, your grip still iron-tight in her hair.

A choked sound escapes her when you roll your hips lazily, testing. Her throat clenches instinctively around you, wet and clean but just as tight.

"Sorry, still got all day to go. You're a trooper, Ariana. I know you can do this, and someday we're all going to laugh about it, okay?" you gently trace the bulge in her neck as you work your morning wood into her unwilling mouth. Her whimper vibrates deliciously through your cock as you pull back just enough to see spit-slick lips stretched obscenely around you before shoving back in.

Magic's a hell of a thing.

But then you feel that familiar urge. She's not going to like what happens next.
"Gonna piss down that pretty throat now," you murmur, fingers tightening in her hair for emphasis.

Her eyes fly open wide—real panic flashing across her face a second before she thrashes violently, legs kicking against your shoulders as she tries to wrench her head back. But the spell holds her lips sealed around your cock, the magic making her jaw flex uselessly against your grip.

"No—fuck, *no*—!" The protest comes out garbled, her words vibrating around your shaft as she gags. Her hands fly up to claw at your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to draw blood, but you lean harder into the 69 position, crushing her hips into the mattress.

The first hot splash hits her tongue and she *screams*, the sound muffled into a wet **** as her body arches wildly beneath you. You keep pissing steadily, watching her throat convulse as she gags and sputters, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Her thighs clamp around your head in frantic resistance, but you just suck harder on her clit, the dual **** leaving her trembling.

"Swallow," you order against her soaked folds, grinning when she shakes her head desperately. "Or drown. Your choice, princess."

She whimpers when you grab a fistful of her hair and *yank*, forcing her to take the full stream. Her throat works in frantic little gulps, the bitter warmth flooding her mouth no matter how hard she fights. Every choked sob sends delicious tremors through your cock as you piss deeper, reveling in the way her body betrays her—hips still grinding against your tongue even as she tries to twist away.

By the time you're done, her swallows come slow and defeated, her chest heaving against your thighs. You give her no reprieve—just rock your hips once more, hips grinding against her face as her legs tremble weakly against your shoulders.

Her exhausted gasp tastes like victory.

You keep her mouth locked around you, and invoke the spell again to clean her up once more.

She sighs in relief as the spell washes over her.

"Yeah, sorry about that. That's going to happen a few times today. I promise I'll clean you up immediately. Don't worry, I got chu. This is going to be a team effort. Okay?" you murmur, stroking her cheek. Her damp lashes flicker up at you, lips still stretched around your cock. "And a dump session. Maybe two."

Her eyes widen—real terror flashing through them—before she bucks violently, a muffled scream vibrating around your shaft. You tighten your grip in her hair, holding her in place as she thrashes beneath you.

"Shhh," you coo, thumb tracing her spit-slick lower lip. "Team effort, remember?"

Her sobs come harder, shoulders shaking as she tries to twist away. You lean down, brushing your lips against her temple. "I'll make it good for you, boss. I promise. I have a system. It's not ideal but it works. It won't be as bad as you think it'd be. Your free hand slides squeeze her hip possessively. "We're in this together."

She whimpers, the sound strangled around your cock as you rock lazily into her throat. Her nails dig half-moons into your thighs, but her hips tilt up instinctively when you drag your tongue along her clit again.

Magic hums between you—cleaning, binding, keeping her jaw slack and obedient. You chuckle against her wet folds as her protest dissolves into choked moans.

"Atta girl," you murmur, and she shudders.

The sheets rustle as you adjust your grip. Plenty of time left to break her properly.

8:00 AM Breakfast

"Stay put," you murmur, pouring cereal into your bowl. Not that you have to. The spell keeps her locked in place, jaw stretched wide as you drizzle milk over the flakes, her ragged breaths puffing against your base.

You take your first crunchy bite while rocking lazily into her mouth, the mundane act of breakfast twisted obscene by her muffled moans. Her tongue flutters in weak protest when you thrust deeper, but the magic won't let her pull away—just forces her to nurse you through every chew and swallow. Technically, you don't have to be holding the back of her head to do this, but it just feels nicer to feel her lips press into your balls when you really bottom out in her throat.

And what is life without the little moments like these?

A dribble of milk escapes your lips and lands on her forehead. You watch it slide down her flushed face, her tears mixing with it as you take another unhurried spoonful. "Good girl," you praise around the mouthful, gripping her hair to fuck her throat in time with your chewing. The wet slaps of her gagging harmonize with your crunching cereal, her nostrils flaring with every **** inhale.

By the time you scrape the last sweet drops from the bowl, her jaw's gone slack with exhaustion—but the spell keeps her sucking, her throat still pulsing around you in ragged, obedient rhythm. You pat her damp cheek with the back of your spoon. "Almost done," you lie, knowing full well you've got hours left in you. The whimper she makes vibrates deliciously along your shaft as you reach for the orange juice.

Morning routines should be relaxing, after all.