7. Three more weeks

Week Three: Velvet Vows at the Devil’s Dive

Georgia was velvet now—crimson, crotchless, backless, just less. Like the keyhole cutout over Lanie’s mons framing her rose-gold “lipstick charm” like a relic in a museum heist. The dive bar’s neon hummed Miller Lite in corpse-blue letters. Lanie peeled off her thong mid-shimmy, letting the charm glint under flickering fluorescents.

Dex, snake tattoos rippling, leaned in. “What’s the deal with the jewellery?”

She traced the charm, her nail clicking against metal. “My husband’s family jewels. Melted down—fabulous, right?”

Dex snorted. “Bullshit.”

“Wanna test it?” She ground against his crotch, velvet riding up her thighs. “Vibrates when you fuck me. The harder, the better.”

They followed her to the stockroom—Dex, Troy, and the stench of stale beer. Shelves of napkins trembled as Lanie hiked the dress, revealing nothing but velvet framing the charm. “Missionary,” she ordered.

Dex’s cock hooked the metal. “Fuck, it’s like a joystick.”

“Hear that, Georgie?” Lanie’s telepathic purr slithered through the seams. “Even truck-stop randos think your little clit's a party game.”

Let me go—

“You offered yourself up.”

Not for your twisted spell...

“Babyyyy... the only thing twisted is you... around me”

Troy mounted her from behind, shaft mashing the charm into Dex’s pelvis. “Look at her,” Troy grunted, hips slamming. “Cumming ’cause we’re playing with her dumb trinket.”

Georgia’s phantom balls tightened, feelings weeping as Lanie moaned, “His whole dick’s smaller than your tip.”

Dex came first, streaking the velvet with pearlescent rage. Troy followed, filling her as the charm hummed. After, Lanie peeled off the dress, cum glazing the rubies like cheap syrup. She wiped Dex’s softening cock with the hem, smirk sharp. “Always useful.”

"Whore," Georgia hissed.

Lanie hung the dress in her closet, crusted charm catching the light. “Don’t pout, princess. Left your little lipstick charm glistening.”

She snapped a Polaroid and taped it to the bodice. “Proof you’re still relevant.”

The velvet pulsed once—a muffled scream.

Outside, the bar’s neon died mid-flicker. Somewhere, another moth choked to ****.

Week Four: Harnessed on the Highrise

Rubies glinted under the club’s UV lights, as subtle as a car crash.

The tech bro reeked of equity shares and Adderall sweat. “Kinky,” he said, nodding at her skirt.

Lanie spread her legs just enough to make the plastic wrap crinkle. “This?” She peeled the skirt upward, revealing the harness and Georgia’s glinting shame. “My sissy’s entire manhood. Gold-plated, gem-encrusted. Cuter than your crypto portfolio, right?”

He laughed, Rolex glinting. “Bullshit.”

“Take the elevator. Find out.”

Wind gnawed at the harness straps as Lanie bent over the railing, the city a vomit of neon below. The bro fumbled with his belt. Pathetic, she thought, grinding back to guide him. His cock slapped Georgia’s charm, the impact buzzing through the leather.

"Stop! It’s like he’s punching me—"

Hush, princess. That’s just our love's heartbeat in my twat. Lanie’s purr was syrup and shrapnel. "Unless you’d rather I staple you to a glory hole?"

He thrust harder, sneering. “Why’s it twitch?”

“She’s excited,” Lanie gasped, rolling her hips to mash Georgia’s charm against his shaft. “Don't want it collecting dust in my jewellery box... yet."

When he reached to finger her, she caught his wrist. “Cock. Only.” Rules were rules.

He came with a grunt, drenching Georgia’s charm in spend that pooled in the grooves. Lanie smirked, peeling the harness off to wipe him down with the inside straps. Georgia's leather suctioning wetly against his softening dick. “Always useful,” she crooned to Georgia, then tossed the soiled harness over her shoulder. The rubies stayed glazed, a sticky monument to the transaction.

Back in the elevator, she texted a photo of the cum-crusted charm to George's number: Thanks for the all-natural lube, sissy.

The harness hung in her closet later, reeking of rum and cum. Lanie traced the stain with her nail. “Matching set,” she whispered, snapping the light off. Georgia’s charm pulsed faintly in the dark—a tiny, trapped scream.