This hand of mine glows with an awesome power.... It's burning grip tells me to defeat you!

It isn't her fault that she underestimates you; this entire affair began after you faked being a philistine in the art of masturbation. But the stakes were too high... and now, it was worth being caught in a lie. The day had become some insane, erotic thing with her drinking your seed, and you'd cherish the memory for years to come... but you've never so much as seen your old crush in a bikini, nevermind her underwear... nevermind in the buff.

Your every imagined configuration of Devi Waltz naked starts the slow, rhythmic pumping as you stare at the real deal in front of you. Sure, her shape was hidden, but poorly so: a green turtleneck shirt and black slacks didn't keep you from filling them in your mind. She shifts uncomfortably under your gaze, but she was right to do so: you were undressing her in your mind, and pumping faster and faster to undress her in reality. You hold the cup to the surging head of your cock, briefly imagine it being her mouth, rhythmically swallowing yet another load-

The first cup is filled. You set it down on the coffee table, chuckling as you let the orgasm run through your body. Admittingly, it was nothing compared to when she handled you... but you've had deadlines before. You were an economic man, a 21st century man with a tight schedule of not doing much, but doing it well. Self-indulgence needed to be efficient, and today your... practice... was paying dividends. "Your shirt." She almost jumps visibly when you finally speak. "Take it off." You can see she's trying to think of some excuse or something sharp to say in retort... but it falls away as her hands move to peel her top up and over her head. When at last she removes it, you inhale deeply in surprise.

Devi was hiding herself. As you suspected earlier, she wasn't eating well, save perhaps that one, ritualistic breakfast that might chase her right into the grave. She looks thin and frail in her limbs, but just a bit chubby around her midriff, and her thin arms do their best to cover her ample chest... which was practically bursting out of a bra that was clearly a cup too small. Your estimates were wrong: she's at least a C-cup, apparently trying desperately to pass for smallish B. Considering who you were dealing with, you wouldn't be surprised if she really just didn't notice how ill-fitting her bras were becoming. In the light, said bra's straps were almost translucent from being damp with perspiration, and her body shimmered, by the light of the cheap lamp above, with a thin layer of sweat. She's breathing rather rapidly now, though what you know of her suggests it's more out of fear than arousal. "Well," she says in a nervous voice, "with that, you must be-" You don't even soften in your grip, and you're already grabbing a second cup as you ogle her trembling flesh. "That can't... be...!" A pause as she stares at your technique. "... healthy on a vascular level, I-I mean!"

"Tell me more about it," you half-hiss, half-gasp, and she shuts up for fear of arousing you more. The wide-eyed shock, her breasts surging as she crushes then even more than her under-sized bra already has... the fact that you'd be claiming her pants. The second cup fills even faster than the first, and still fills it over the five-ounce line. Still, you do not soften.

"Impressed yet, Miss Waltz?" She shakes her head in disbelief... but then pauses. She narrows her eyes, leans in only a few inches... and suddenly her eyes widen as she catches a glimmer. She's caught your trick, then: your hand, no, your entire shaft was slick with that which dribbled from your tip without dropping into the first cup... and only now does Devi realize your secret, self-lubrication edging technique. But now, you no longer needed to rely on the humble dose of pre-cum of "mere mortal" masturbation: whatever you were becoming, you could use a full teaspoon of one orgasm to fuel the rest that follow, compounding lubrication and pleasure as you went. It was disgusting, vulgar, made for a sopping mess on your crotch... and frankly, deserved a cool name, probably with an "X" at the end of it. In any case, this assures that you enhance your pleasure, and now her horror.

"You pants. Take them off." You end your sentence with the click of the second cup hitting the coffee table... and the third being lifted to its fate. She complies even as she looks fearfully at the two filled samples. A hunger starts to gnash in your gut, begging for more food, or garbage, or anything to replace this emptiness, but you couldn't stop now: you would die before letting her keep those panties on. Those giant, white, granny panties. You chuckle-groan at her as you take them in with your eyes: the thick cloth, still not thick enough to hide the notable rise from a thick bush. But pubic shaving wasn't the only place this scholar was cutting corners: you could see, even from here, the stubble on her legs, contrasted with the thinner layer of perspiration there. She must've thought it impossible that anyone would seem them on a Sunday... but you're in it to see so much more.

She knows it, too. Your speed and ferocity increase as you grab the third cup. Bra, or panties? Maybe you'd let her choose, you think with a pleasurable, perhaps too maniacal, internal laughter. She looks down at her indecent state, then at your cup, then at the two filled cups, then to her clothes... one piece of clothing per cup filled, that's the deal... She starts to get the jitters as she watches your balls flex, ready to conjure from seemingly nowhere your fifth load of the day. The third cup between you. The third piece of clothing. The last shred of her dignity.

Devi panics, and at last her sanity snaps as she realizes what she must do. She launches herself from the couch...