Check your phone to see if you can find any parties or gatherings nearby

Mall security office back room, unknown city, at 3:37 PM on Saturday June 15th, 2024

You dig into the pocket of your micro-shorts, fingers brushing against the sticky dampness where Jackson's cum has soaked through the leather. Your phone is slick with a mix of sweat and other fluids as you pull it out, unlocking it with a quick swipe. The screen's glow reflects in your amber eyes, already clouded with lust from Libido Overdrive. You open Instagram and Snapchat, scrolling through local stories with quick, jerky motions—your mind can't focus on anything but the thought of more cocks, more fucking, more exposure.

"What's up?" Cumslut asks, her voice breathy as she tugs at her pink crop top, which clings to her perky C-cups. Thompson's cum drips down her inner thigh, staining the denim of her ultra-short shorts. "Find anything fun?"

"Found it," you mutter, a crude grin spreading across your face. "'Summer Rager' at some dude's house—Jake Trask's place. Says 'BYOB, open to all sluts'—sounds perfect for us." Your thumb hovers over the event details, which include an address just a few blocks from the mall. Images from the event show a backyard pool party with bodies grinding, girls in bikinis, and a clear intent for debauchery.

Candy giggles, her platinum hair swishing as she bounces on her toes, neon pink sports bra straining over her H-cups. "Ooh, a party! I wanna dance and get fucked again!" Her Bimbo effect makes her giddy, but you notice Chen's cum still leaking from her pussy onto the floor.

Cherry just whimpers from where she's sitting against the wall, her see-through white babydoll lingerie doing little to hide her massive G-cups or the tears tracking down her doll-face. "So many... so many feelings..." she whispers, violet eyes unfocused.

Milky is still staring at Jackson, milk seeping through her sheer tank top. "Biggest cock... here..." she moans softly, but Williams grabs her arm roughly.

"Out. Now," Jackson barks, his voice hard. He jerks his thumb toward the door again, his patience gone. "You heard me—get your asses out of my mall before I call real cops."

You pocket your phone, the party details burned into your mind. Your perpetual wetness makes your thighs slick as you stand, the corset creaking over your DD-cups. "We're going," you say, your voice husky with arousal. "But this isn't over." You lead the group toward the door, the guards close behind, their pheromone-clouded aggression palpable. The hallway outside is empty, the mall still quiet, but the promise of the party thrums through you like a second heartbeat.