The Zookeeper Ch. 07

Capitolo 7

No Rest for the Wicked

Anticipated by a final series of rapid, frantic thrusts, Azuki's last stroke buried deep in Brittany's womb, erupting inside her with an impressive amount of cum, delivered in powerful spasms that shot thick, hot ropes of cum into her.

Azuki tilted her head back, exhaling a satisfied sigh as she surrendered to the liberating cumshot. To satisfy her desire to fuck her concubine as deeply as possible, she had hoisted the blonde's ankles onto her shoulders and pinned her down beneath her, squatting on her toes instead of her knees, using the strength of her legs to pound into her in the most humiliating way possible.

Seeking out every last drop of perverse pleasure left in that scandalous night, her toned hips wriggled restlessly, stirring inside her victim's pussy, savoring the penetration from every angle.

Even though Brittany had been pushed beyond the threshold of consciousness by the merciless fucking her guest had so relentlessly bestowed upon her, her pussy still obeyed the majestic sexual power of her invader, throbbing and squeezing rhythmically around Azuki's cock as she exploded in a ruinous orgasm, sucking it greedily as if the torrential flood of cum pouring into her wasn't already more than enough.

Completely submissive, the blonde's pussy squirted a couple of times in total surrender, adding more splashes to the many that already decorated the white sheets of the massive designer bed in the penthouse.

Finally satisfied, Azuki collapsed onto Brittany's sweaty body, at last freeing her limber legs, which slowly slid down to her sides, exhausted.

Her beautiful face nestled into the other's golden hair, seeking the comfort of its scent, which she found--sweet, yet mingled with the odor of her body, drenched after their coupling.

Even in this ruined state, Brittany didn't have the perverse musk that Azuki adored so much: it was an acrid scent, but with undertones of caramel. But that was fine too; it suited her polished personality. Besides, that indecent fragrance wasn't lacking in the room, as Ulrika, Cassandra, and Azuki herself had generously spread it more and more as the fucking grew in intensity and passion.

As she moved a strand of hair from her face, she turned to her right, where she was met with the sight of her previous conquest.

Next to her and the blonde, Ulrika lay on her back, utterly exhausted and unconscious, with Cassie asleep on top of her.

It had happened after one of the most recent times she'd made the tanned little slut howl in pleasure. While waiting for the orgasmic spasms shaking her concubine to subside, she'd glanced over at them and seen her girlfriend making out with the brunette as she fucked her missionary-style, with thrusts so slow, deep, and sweet they looked like a honeymoon couple. She couldn't resist the temptation and had positioned herself behind Cassandra, slamming her entire cock into her ass in one thrust, the penetration slick with Brittany's pussy juice still clinging to her.

Too focused on her slave, Cassie had been caught completely off guard, and the sudden assfucking had literally knocked the breath out of her, making her cum instantly inside the little brunette who'd been trying for half an hour, with no success, to make her Mistress climax--much to Ulrika's humiliation. The poor girl was forced to learn the difference between the severe, solemn orgasms with which her cold Mistress usually filled her at the end of a fuck, delivered in long, majestic spurts with barely a smirk of satisfaction on her haughty face, as if she were granting a gentle favor--and the real, ruinous, degrading ones she had when she was fucked in the ass. Orgasms that made her explode inside like a fire hose, with an endless stream of rapid little squirts like a submissive bitch, while also pulling away from her slave's mouth to let out a degrading whimper of masochistic pleasure, her tongue hanging out contentedly, eyes crossed like a retarded slut.

Unfortunately for her, Ulrika shared more than just a passion for goth fashion and creatures of the night with the half-French woman; she also had an irresistible attraction to submission and humiliation. So, instead of getting angry, or even crying and protesting against the brutal invasion of their coupling and their relationship, when Azuki slammed into her Mistress's ass, instantly reducing her to a docile, drooling slut, all she could do was cling to Cassandra's lithe body like an octopus and cum howling at the top of her lungs, squirting the very soul out of her pussy in an orgasm she would remember for the rest of her life.

The "double humiliation" of seeing her Mistress completely subdued by a filthy assfuck and the opportunity to share those sordid, degrading desires so intimately was perfectly satisfying for her.

Above them, however, Azuki had a completely different opinion. That little show, which had been so all-consuming for them, was nothing more than an appetizer to her, just enough to further tease her sadistic streak.

She had slowly pulled her cock out of Cassandra's ass, leaving just the tip inside, to savor the rhythmic contractions of her slave's little hole, which unknowingly suckled on it with every pulse. Then she had waited for Cassie's overwhelming orgasm to begin subsiding enough for her to meet her pupil's gaze--embarrassed and fully aware of the slutty display she had just put on--and then, just as the two were starting to share the post-orgasm glow with languid, forgiving looks, Azuki slammed her cock back into Cassandra's ass, fucking her with brute force once again.

However, wanting to make it absolutely clear who was in charge, this time Azuki didn't settle for another instant climax. Instead, she kicked things into high gear, giving her dear little Frenchie a first-class anal pounding, brutally fucking her ass with immense satisfaction and no mercy whatsoever.

Cassandra, for her part, had tried to beg Azuki not to subject her to such a humiliating treatment in front of her young protégé, but, unable to stop herself from cumming disastrously every ten strokes, there wasn't much she could do to get the message across... Not that it would've made any difference.

Beneath her, Ulrika had endured with equal parts joy and desperation the mirrored fucking that Azuki's relentless ass-pounding had forced upon Cassandra. Voluptuously buried in the girl's dripping wet hole, the half-Frenchwoman's cock thrashed wildly inside her, jerking with each eruption and pounding her in perfect sync with every thrust Azuki landed in her ass.

Ignoring the whining and screams that the two kept letting out nonstop, Azuki went at them even harder, fully enjoying herself and, of course, ruining the two poor girls.

When Cassandra felt the final orgasm coming--the one that would drain every last drop of cum into Ulrika's now well-used pussy--she, in her romantic way, wanted to keep her affectionate promise. She dove onto her young lover's mouth, invading it with her tongue and the scream that announced her anal climax. At the same time, she overcame the resistance of her partner's cervix, spilling her final load directly into Ulrika's young lovesick womb, while the last two orifices guarding it lovingly cuddled her glans.

A demanding but not needlessly cruel mistress, Azuki decided to honor that tender moment with the highest of her honors. Plunging her cock deep into her girlfriend's ass, she rewarded her by cumming as well, releasing a series of hot, thick spurts, so plentiful they turned Cassandra's intestines into a boiling swamp.

In a chain reaction, the moment Cassandra felt her Mistress taking her pleasure from her ass, the tired dribbles her cock had been leaking into Ulrika's pussy turned into wild jets, which in turn triggered a fierce squirting from the brunette, completely soaking the sheets.

Unaccustomed to such intense pleasure, Ulrika passed out at the peak of her orgasm, while Cassie remained slumped over her, the lingering stimulation to her intimate parts slowly lulling her into the dream dreamworld.

Seeing Cassandra so exhausted, Azuki decided to give her girlfriend her favorite bedtime comfort. She lay down on top of her back, still keeping her cock firmly planted inside, and then relaxed her pelvic muscles, letting go of a liberating stream of piss directly into Cassandra's ass.

Half-asleep, Cassandra felt the tender sensation of the warm liquid gradually filling her belly, and that filthy gesture of affection warmed her entirely, giving her the reassurance that she had been used completely. With that warmth spreading through her, she closed her eyes with a blissful smile on her face, satisfied that she had fulfilled her role perfectly.

After finishing mixing her cocktail in Cassandra's ass--dark beer, whiskey, tequila, champagne, and cum--Azuki finally pulled her cock from the warm orifice. She began to stroke it slowly, not satisfied but rather even more aroused by the sheer vulgarity of how she had treated her lover.

And just as her cock hardened again, and the urge for another tight hole to fill surged within her, she turned to the other side of the bed. There, she found Brittany curled up, slowly fingering herself, almost timidly, after witnessing the entire scene.

Neither of them said a word. The blonde simply stopped her hand and spread her legs, her eyes filled with a mixture of awe and total surrender, fully aware that she was next in line, the next sacrificial victim to that diabolical goddess of pleasure that was Azuki. She knew that soon she would meet the same fate as the other two--and she was perfectly happy with that.

And so, as she let go of the last memories of how she had ended up tangled in Brittany's hair, catching her breath once again, Azuki realized that, as always, she was the only one not utterly exhausted by the orgy.

With her breathing steady again and her mind gradually clearing, Azuki waited for her cock to dribble the final drops of cum from her urethra into Brittany's pussy. Then, with a laborious calm, she lifted herself off her lover's body, sliding out of her at the same time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, as the ecstasy of lust faded into a distant, satisfied echo, the tips of her toes just grazing the carpet, the first thing that reached her awareness was the stillness that actually painted the night.

Now that she had come down from it, their orgasmic roars and the sounds of their bodies slamming against each other took on a whole new relevance compared to the vastness of the night that ruled beyond the noisy glow of their room.

Los Angeles, especially seen from the height of their penthouse, slept in a suffocating quiet. The lights of the skyline tried to offer her some comfort, but all they did was highlight how small their bright dot was in contrast to the blackness of the starry sky.

Azuki didn't have any analog clocks in that apartment, but the steady breathing of her concubines served the same unnerving role. Cadenced and regular, barely noticeable yet so strong in the absence of any other noise, it spread throughout the room and echoed in her mind, reverberating with a disarming loneliness.

It sounded like the muffled beat of a heart, beating alone beyond the twilight. In a more prosaic metaphor, her mind offered the observation that the solitary rhythm resembled the intro of Say It Right by Nelly Furtado, which immediately began playing in her head, adding an echo to that loud silence.

Just like the melody in the song, her breath swelled deep--but not peaceful--and exhaled in a long, almost pained sigh. Right behind it, the chaotic thoughts that always crowded at the edge of her reason came flooding back.

Now that her lust was sated, the hammering, repetitive need to fuck and possess every alluring woman who crossed her path was quieted. But in the silence left behind by that satisfaction, all that remained was the coldness of those insecurities that haunted her every day.

Like the waters of a lake rushing to fill a crater left by an explosion, a thousand questions and thoughts surged to flood her mind.

What was she doing? What price was she making these girls pay just to clear the filth from her own mind? What had she dragged them into? And for what? Now she was right back where she started, asking herself what kind of piece of shit she must be to have pulled them into this spiral of depravity. Why couldn't she manage to get one thing right in her life? Why did she have to console herself for such failure by grinding girls--whose only crime was being beautiful--under a vice of degeneration? There was nothing natural or deserved about the attraction they felt for her. It was all a lie. A beautiful lie that left them satisfied but a lie nonetheless... Like a fairy tale. Like a book. Like a movie. Like a comic, she was the artist of it.

With her art, she transformed reality--or her perception of it--into a wonderful experience entirely fabricated by her imagination; her readers drank from that beautiful lie to escape their own dark shadows that chased them during their waking hours. They paid her for the chance to lose themselves in her lies. Maybe not with money, which she had no need for, but they paid her all the same--with their bodies and their desecration.

But... seen in that light, maybe it wasn't so terrible.

She loved movies. She adored comics. They had always made her feel good, cradled by their stories. She had found so many things within them that revealed deep truths about her, even though they were disguised in improbable fantasies.

Damn. She was a lost cause. Two minutes without her cock buried in a warm hole, and look where her mind had gone.

Sighing deeply once more, Azuki reached for her vaporizer on the nightstand, flicked it on, and brought it to her lips, determined to distract her attention with that ritual gesture, meant to focus her mind on the scent of lavender it was loaded with and the extravagant violet color of the smoke she exhaled with each puff.

Blowing the first cloud upward, she immediately felt her nerves calm, as the narcissistic satisfaction of her seductive reflection in the mirrored wall across the room washed over her.

What a slut she was.

And how safe she felt wrapped in that sluttiness of hers.

Soothed at least a little by that dose of vanity, Azuki turned her still-pensive gaze toward the others, lingering on the blissful look on Ulrika's face, even as she lay buried beneath Cassandra--or perhaps because she was.

That girl had a crush on her girlfriend. In fact, she may actually be in love with her.

Perhaps it was time to let Cassie give her the Embrace so she could keep her a little closer.

Or maybe she should just mind her own damn business and let Ulrika finish her studies and write the next Trainspotting, with herself as the protagonist and wild orgiastic sex in place of heroin overdoses.

Maybe somebody could still live a normal life if she stopped fucking with it.

Seeing how her cigarette drags were becoming less and less effective on those intrusive thoughts, she decided it was time to step away before she gave in to the temptation of burying her nose in one of those beautiful, sweaty armpits to rekindle her desire and start the whole thing all over again.

Responding to her silent wish, the Cosmic Shadow that surrounded her shifted, forming into a black lace lingerie set--skimpy and wicked--complete with thigh-high stockings and a matching semi-transparent robe. Before she even touched the floor, her feet were wrapped in high-heeled pumps, created from the same psychoreactive material as her clothing. The instinctive shape she'd given that material made her pause for a moment to reflect on just how much she needed to feel perfect to avoid collapsing under the weight of her own insecurities.

Even without anyone around her, Azuki had to know she was attractive, desirable. Even if there was no one to seduce, no one to excite. Even though, with the look she'd given herself, she could seduce and excite anyone, even while naked.

But in that terrible silence, the sound of her heels clicking against the black marble floor of the penthouse was a welcome one. As her legs carried her tiredly toward the kitchen, the ticking of her shoes brought to her mind the image of a perfect woman, someone desired--so beautiful that anything could be forgiven her...

... and she felt she had so much to be forgiven for.

The motion sensor saw her enter the room and immediately turned on the lights--dimly, knowing it was nighttime. Even so, Azuki's eyes were drawn to the polished reflections of the glossy tiles adorning the walls. Black and white, small, 10x5 cm: they looked like they belonged in a nondescript diner kitchen along any highway, but they were so polished they appeared to be made of moonstone, framing the most refined decor money could buy, with kitchen equipment worthy of a three-star restaurant.

The meticulously curated contrast never failed to fill her with a calming sense of order and perfection. It was an emotion capable of sedating the permanent restlessness that invaded her on these post-orgasmic nights.

That's why Cassandra had decorated it this way.

That's why she had come here right away.

For that reason... and because she was feeling boiling hot and thirsty as fuck. Of course, it was all pretty normal after the marathon she'd just run, but she was also sure that quenching that intense thirst, satisfying such a basic need, would give her a brief reprieve from all the bullshit crowding the threshold of her conscious mind.

She should have gotten plastered stupid. She should have continued her sacred mission by downing the whole bottle of champagne, then moving on to hammering down some Long Islands spiked with strawberry or raspberry syrup to make that alcoholic concoction go down as easily as possible, masked by its sugary taste. By now, she'd be passed out on one of the many soft and expensive surfaces in the apartment, blissfully unconscious and unable to beat herself up like she was doing now.

But no. She was a damn slut, and so she'd cleaned up her blood. That's right: she could do that too. She'd altered her kidneys to become a damn industrial purifier, flushing all that sacred alcoholic nectar out of her system just in time to move on to her favorite drug--completely sober and able to fully appreciate every nuance of the filthy orgy her girlfriend had so lovingly arranged for her.

But now she was fucking sober. And she was a goddamn Post-Orgasmic Hyperactive Slut, which meant that screwing three girls in a row hadn't drained her with fatigue--it had flooded her system with so much adrenaline that it sent her brain into overdrive.

The problem was, there was nothing left to fuck. And when her brain wasn't busy figuring out who she could fuck, all it did was feed her sharp insights about how hard she worked every second of her life to convince others that she wasn't some disgusting parody of a person, some revolting maggot trying desperately to disguise itself as a human being.

Well done, Azuki. You're really killing it. You just walked out of a room where you left a cokehead, who cucked one of the wealthiest heirs in the state for you, unconscious, a girl traumatized by bullying whose fragility you exploited to make her pathologically dependent on you, and let's not forget, another girl who swore eternal love to you, and you returned the favor by frying her brain so she could never disobey you. And not twenty steps later, here you are, standing in front of the fridge wondering if you should down another beer, like grinding their souls down with your dick meant absolutely nothing to you. A round of applause!

Even the fridge, though, had been chosen by Cassandra, and it was covered with such a polished surface that you could see your reflection.

She did it on purpose, that little slut.

She really did love her, that little slut.

She knew Azuki always ended up here after a fuck. She knew that when she did, it was because she was thinking these kinds of thoughts. She knew that when she had those thoughts, she needed to distract herself, to feel safe. And she knew that nothing made her feel safer than feeling beautiful.

And in that reflection, she really was beautiful. Obscene and refined all at once.

Sure, there was probably a lot to unpack from a psychiatric point of view about using narcissism to keep depression at bay, but the trick worked.

It worked well enough to make her brain refocus on satisfying a basic need: thirst.

Closing her eyes halfway and sighing tiredly, Azuki finally opened the fridge, letting its light wash over her, cold as the air that blew against her.

Still flushed from the sex, the cool breath of the fridge gave her a bit of relief, distracting her further as she reached into the door to grab one of the lemon iced teas the Frenchie kept stocked.

Sweet, refreshing, stimulating, and most importantly, non-carbonated, so she could chug it down as if there were no tomorrow, drowning her thirst in a flood of sugar.

And that's exactly what she did, lifting the bottle toward the ceiling and letting one gulp after another slide down her throat, drawing on all of her blowjob-expertise to swallow as quickly as possible without spilling a drop.

Now that the fridge door had closed, the reflection it returned was even more indecent: her plump lips wrapped around the bottle's neck, sucking with desperate and satisfied need, made for quite the spectacle...

Suddenly, something threw off the perfect rhythm she was using to give head to the bottle, and she had to stop abruptly to avoid choking.

Damn it! She was so hot she could feel her clit pulsing just from looking at herself, threatening to morph again into a hard, massively fat cock, ready to go again.

Shit, she was turning into Patrick Bateman, the psycho from American Psycho who stared at himself in the mirror while fucking his whores, instead of looking at them!

She needed to cool off immediately. Before she remembered that even passed out, all three sluts were still a damn good place where to... No! No no no no no.

Shower. And fast. There was no way she could be this much of a sow. There was no way that this could be the only refuge from the dark fog that clouded her brain.

She did it. Or rather, she did them. She had what most men dream about their entire lives, and for her, it was just another Wednesday. A shitty Wednesday at that. So, she had to not only make it enough; she had to be grateful.

Grateful and satisfied.

Enough fucking, enough booze, enough depressive bullshit. Now she just needed to do what any normal person does after a great fuck: take a shower to refresh her body and mind and then go to sleep.

Even though she loved smelling like sex, the cool stream of the showerhead and the white noise of the water would wash away the grime she was stuck in.

Or at least try to.

Determined to feed her brain as many pleasant stimuli as possible to distract it from the negative ones it so easily generated on its own, Azuki indulged in four or five more sips of her cool drink, followed by a deep, nervous drag from her vaporizer. Finally, with bottle and vape still in hand, she bid farewell to her beloved glossy tiles and headed toward the bathroom.

To get there, her heels echoed across the floor of the living room as her silhouette passed by the panoramic windows, standing out against the stunning nighttime view of the city, a fleeting shadow against the multicolored lights she deliberately ignored. Despite the vastness and wonder of the view, Azuki remained haunted by the immensity of the silent night, seeking refuge as soon as she crossed the bathroom threshold, where windows played a much lesser role.

Even here, Cassandra hadn't exactly exercised restraint with the design: the room was enormous, at least twenty square meters, with floors and walls covered in polished black marble, faint white veins running through it, and floral designs in gold leaf.

It didn't feel like the bathroom of an apartment but more like that of a luxury hotel lobby: a massive mirror stretched along most of the wall to her right, with a long counter made of the same marble, supporting four bowl sinks, each fitted with faucets so expensive they could have fed a suburban family for a year.

On the wall opposite the entrance, Cassie had placed what was now her goal: a shower large enough to serve a gym locker room, equipped with multiple shower columns, clearly designed for more than one person at a time.

The opulence of the room was so blatant that it forced even her mental state to acknowledge the privilege she was wrapped in, moving the needle of her mood just a little further away from the lurking sadness that always crept up when she was left alone with her thoughts.

Slowly, she approached the last sink at the far end, placing the bottle on the marble and resting her hands on the edge, leaning forward toward her reflection and staring herself straight in the eyes.

What the hell was she looking for in there? She knew every square inch of that face. She had spent an eternity adjusting every curve, every detail of her skin. There was no point in looking for imperfections, checking to see if everything was in place. Everything was perfect. Just as she wanted it. Just as she demanded from her body.

If only she could do the same with her mind.

But maybe that's exactly what she was checking. She wasn't looking at her skin or the contours of her face, but into her eyes. She was staring into the reflection to read that expression, that gaze.

She was used to doing this with others: reading into their souls by studying their faces, the barely perceptible creases of their lips, their cheekbones, always attentive to signs of hidden pain, of suffering not readily apparent.

Why? To help them, to take care of them...

No.

It was to make sure she wasn't to blame. To reassure herself that those signs weren't indicators of disappointment in something she'd done or said... or FAILED to do or say.

Many people thought she was empathetic, that she had the ability to share others' pain, to make it her own. But that was just another lie she used to deceive those around her.

She was worried about herself.

Worried they'd found her out, that they'd realized how disappointing she truly was.

That's why she rushed in to reinforce, to adjust the mask, showing compassion, kindness, understanding... empathy, supposedly.

But did any of those beautiful traits truly exist? Did she actually feel them? By now, the act was so spontaneous, so natural, that even she couldn't tell anymore if she cared about others or simply about what they thought of her.

In order to hide the wretched corpse she knew she truly was, she had become everything: a passionate lover, a kind companion, a tender friend, a fearless warrior, a wise teacher.

But the trick was just that--she hadn't actually become any of those things. She disguised herself as them. She looked the part. She looked so much like the real thing that sometimes she almost believed it. Sometimes, she even managed to fool herself.

Except when she fucked.

When she fucked, that façade became a thin veil, and her insatiable Hunger pressed against it, threatening to show everyone her true, ugly face.

And it felt so good. So freeing.

When she was screwing those sluts, when she was defiling their bodies and exploiting their weaknesses, when she humiliated them and forced them into degrading rites of submission, she was happy.

She hated herself for it. Hated being so monstrous. Hated feeling satisfied when she hurt others. But she couldn't help herself. As much as she disgusted herself, the ecstasy she felt in giving in to those urges was too great to let go.

But no, it wasn't even a choice. She simply couldn't be otherwise.

Or rather, she could, with supreme effort, restrain herself from giving in to those impulses, but it was... a lie. Another one. Just one more.

Even if she restrained herself for years, locking herself away in a crypt to keep from unleashing those urges on her victims, she would never stop wanting to do it.

She was corrupted inside. Rotten.

Someone might call her sick, but she knew that wasn't the right word.

A Sick person can be treated, can be healed.

She was truly Rotten. There was no medicine that could fix her--rotting parts can only be cut off to keep the corruption from spreading to healthy tissue.

That's why she was so careful not to be seen, not to be found out. Because she instinctively knew that, just like a tumor, if others, if society realized the decaying parasite she carried inside, their only reaction would rightly be to remove it, to cut it out.

And staring at her reflection in the mirror, Azuki saw all of it. Or rather, she sensed it, hidden in a faint glimmer in some lost corner of her mirrored eyes.

The sadness for being cursed with such a broken soul, the weariness from the exhausting battle to keep it hidden, the cold resignation to her solitude.

Alone because even her pain had to be concealed. The only proof in her favor, her only mitigating factor, the only shred of decency that might prove she was still, at her core, human--even that had to remain buried.

How could she ever show her suffering, her disdain for her own nature, without also admitting to it, exposing it, revealing it?

And once laid bare in all its wretched depth, what would her own condemnation be worth?

You don't keep a tumor around just because it apologizes, because it knows it's rotten.

That's why she always had to be the Outgoing Slut, the Mischievous Wanderer, the extravagant, charming, seductive, exuberant Miss Kurenai.

So that no one would suspect.

And so, again, just like Patrick Bateman, even if she was shaking hands, embracing people warmly, smiling cheerfully, flirting seductively, discussing music, cinema, martial arts, geopolitics, sociology, or philosophy, she was, in truth, never there.

She was in that mirror, in that disenchanted gaze, in those downturned lips, devoid of joy, filled with self-loathing.

Trapped in a suffocating prison, beyond which, if she ever dared to escape, awaited only the pyre--the only fate reserved for monsters like her.

Shit... she hadn't even managed to make it to the shower.

Her mind was so full of traps that even Cassandra couldn't counter them all.

She was exhausted. Worn down by the endless string of events that had drained even that last reserve of energy she kept to hide those dark thoughts from the harshest judge--herself.

But in the end, as always, she wouldn't fall apart.

She couldn't fall apart: You live for the fight when that's all that you've got.

She would pull herself back together one more time.

She would close her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she would work her magic once again: she'd see that irresistible bombshell staring back in the mirror, with that mesmerizing gaze and world-record-breaking rack, capable of solving any problem, demolishing any opponent, and seducing any woman she wanted.

She'd pick up the pieces and sweep them under that marvelous illusion. And she would keep moving forward.

All she had to do was hold out until the next little reward, the next promise of satisfying those filthy desires as a prize for not getting caught.

C'mon, stupid slut. Did you get stuck? Get your ass in the fucking shower; I need to sleep.

Obeying her self-hypnotic command, Azuki pulled away from the sink, standing tall and proud, discarding her clothes with a mental command. She brought the vaporizer to her lips, taking a long drag while staring herself straight in the eyes in the mirror, casting that enchanting spell she used to distract everyone else from her own terror.

And it worked, of course. Even on herself. Ridiculous as it was, it worked best of all on herself. It was no coincidence she spent most of her time wrapped up in that form.

With the vape still hanging sensually from her lips, Azuki ran her hands through her hair, guiding the transformation. Her long, flowing hair was a sight to behold and to touch, but in the shower, it could be a pain; better to go with something more practical, a short, manageable style.

Her hair seemed to slide back, like snakes retreating to their den, forming a distinctly punk cut: shaved on one side, short on the other, with a few strands twisted into braids with a Viking edge.

Truly a dumb slut.

Completely alone, capable of taking any form she wanted, and the solution to her long-hair annoyance was a fashion-magazine hairstyle. The only difference was she was now a model from the punk section instead of Alt/Goth. If wet hair was such a hassle, she could have just "shaved it bald" for ten minutes in the shower and then regrown it.

But no. Her bald? Even for a single nanosecond?

Damn, now that she thought about it, even on Deck 12, after getting hit in the face by a Supernova, her first instinct had been to worry about her hair: once her internal organs were patched up, the recruits had found her with half her face melted but her hair long!

It's true what they say--hair really is a woman's pride.

And it was true that she was a proud, if not vain, dumb slut.

Unable to shake this particular flaw even when it was staring her in the face, Azuki adjusted the length of one of the braids, then took the vape between her fingers, setting it down next to the bottle on the sink counter.

Then she let out another of her weary sighs and finally stepped into the enormous shower stall, walking its full length to the farthest column, as if she were retreating into the darkest, most hidden corner of an enchanted labyrinth to disappear.

With a couple of taps on the display of the futuristic setup, Azuki set the thermostat to her profile, ensuring the perfect warmth for her.

The water began to flow, aimed at the wall first, so as not to startle her with the initial stream, which was likely far from the desired temperature. Even in that brief pause, her thoughts tried to barge in, and resisting them took enough effort that she rested her forehead against the wall, eyes closed, taking deep breaths through clenched teeth as she tried to empty her mind.

Finally, the heating system did its job, and the shower switched the spray, sending water raining down from above, cascading over her like a warm summer downpour.

For several moments, Azuki stood still, feeling the river run down her back and start to splash on the marble beneath her feet, hurrying away under the stone, ready to begin its journey back to the great Ocean.

The white noise of the showerhead. The white noise of the waterfall from her ass--her beautiful ass--raining onto the floor.

Had she really said that?

An ironic smile spread across her face, not doing much to soften the melancholy that consumed her.

Her beautiful ass?

Was that how she'd mentally framed and described the scene? Was that where her auditory aids had led her back to? Admiring how beautiful her own ass was?

Come on, though, she was funny, at least. Amusing. Self-deprecating, if nothing else.

Maybe there were other positive things to say about her.

She sucked at this game, of course. Cassie was the expert. She always found something kind to say and always managed to make Azuki question whether she was truly the filthy, psychopathic fraud she believed herself to be instead of the kind benefactor she faked to be.

And she'd been doing that long before Azuki fried her brain, so her self-destructive streak couldn't blame the Frenchie for saying those things just because she was under her spell.

The Frenchie really did love her.

And she really did love her Frenchie.

And what a way to thank her for it.

I mean, aside from frying her brain.

She was talking about involving her in this stew of sex and perversion where the simplest rules of relationships were constantly disregarded--and mocked, even--starting with "Sexual Exclusivity," which Azuki always mentally framed in quotes because it was laughable to attach such a concept to an exhibitionist slut like herself.

And yet, even in that obscene whirlwind of orgies and casual trysts, their relationship was exclusive.

It was them fucking everyone. Not just her. They were in this blasphemous mission together.

Well, more or less.

Cassie didn't really care about the sluts. For her, fucking the Love of her Life was enough. But unfortunately, the Love of her Life was a sex-crazed nymphomaniac who used all those girls as stress relief.

And Cassie was fine with that.

And that was the magic.

With Cassie, Azuki had managed to be almost completely honest for the first time in her life. Cassie understood her because she, too, carried a hideous demon inside her, nearly as bad as Azuki's.

She also had a "Dark Passenger" whispering terrible things, reminding her how useless and stupid she was, how the world was right in hating her.

Cassie completely understood how much effort it took Azuki to resist that devastating voice day after day. She admired her for that effort, for that unyielding resistance to breaking under the weight of that Beast.

She knew the magnitude of that "victory": to normal people, "not falling apart" seemed like the bare minimum, but Cassandra knew full well what an extraordinary success it was, for people like them, to endure even just one more day without slitting their wrists.

Resisting meant she needed to dive into her putrid desire to dominate and sexually subjugate a few cunts every day? By all means, My Love.

In fact, start with mine, please. I want to be your medicine. I want to be the one who helps you forget how terrible this world is.

If I can do that for even a second, then I'll silence my Dark Passenger too. And, for a brief moment, we'll know peace together.

When they'd first gotten together, Cassie used to say it often: it might be something that consumed her from the inside, but having an outlet was a blessing.

A Blessing. That's what Cassandra called Azuki's craving to reduce every woman to a set of holes to stick her cock into. She was the first--and only--person who had ever responded to the full extent of her perversion in such a way.

And she said it because she believed it.

Because she didn't have that kind of outlet.

That's why she'd wanted to cut her wrists.

"Treating" Azuki made her feel good for a while, but her Dark Passenger didn't have obscene requests to fulfill, so it stayed ever-vigilant, ever-aggressive. Always efficient and methodical in crushing her under the weight of her inadequacy.

That's why Azuki had fried her brain.

To shut it up.

She'd made herself into Cassie's perversion.

Her perverse mission in life had become serving an Insatiable Dirty Slut.

... An Insatiable Dirty Slut who loved her.

And Cassie would never doubt that, not for a second. Not even while Azuki was face-fucking some random girl she'd picked up at a club. Not even while Azuki asked her to find a slut to use as stress relief that night.

Forever Together.

Bad Girls for Life.

That certainty was everything Cassie had ever wanted from life. And her admiration for the Herculean effort Azuki put into surviving each day was what Azuki needed.

She needed it to drown out her Monster's lies that she was a useless, incompetent dumbass. To stay steady in the shitstorm her inner demon hurled at her every waking moment.

But no matter how hard Cassandra tried to uphold their pact, no matter how much her unconditional support reflected an image of Azuki as a smart, loving, and strong partner--even if burdened by the unfair weight of depression--her efforts always crashed against the terrible force of the majority.

Time and again, Cassie's love made Azuki strong enough to dare to challenge the world, to challenge her monster, to doubt its voice, to entertain the impossible: that her fears of being a deformed freak of nature were unfounded, and that the world, flawed as it was, might eventually accept her for who she was--or at least ignore her insignificance.

That would have been a victory too, honestly. To feel that they weren't hunting her down like some vile, repulsive monster.

... And every time, she lost that challenge.

The courage to tentatively open herself to the world without hiding was always met with the same disgusted stares, the same disdain, the same immediate judgment.

The moment she opened her mouth to stop lying, to "Be There" for real, it was as if she'd opened the door to a room where a corpse reanimated by the darkest magic was dragging itself around, restless.

Everyone recoiled in horror--or worse, fear.

"What you're saying scares me..."

"That's a really horrible thing..."

"Something like that would kill me inside..."

"When you act like this, I feel like I've failed completely..."

"You embarrass me when you behave this way..."

"Then it must mean you don't really care about anyone..."

And every time she stayed silent, the sprout of hope was cut off in an instant.

These were people she'd genuinely tried to show her inner goodness to. People who had insisted she should open up, even saying she had to, or it would mean she wasn't a real friend.

Bullshit.

The only "positive" takeaway she ever had was the bittersweet realization that maybe she wasn't completely crazy and insecure to think of herself so horrible.

See? You really do suck. It's not just low self-esteem!

Everyone had pushed her back into that corner to get brutally beaten by her Dark Passenger. Everyone had told her it was better if, like Bateman, she just "wasn't there."

Everyone except Cassie...

... who definitely wouldn't be happy to know she was drowning in this river of melancholy.

At least the shower's steady flow helped shift the metaphor. Instead of being swept away, Azuki could feel the thoughts running over her and away, leaving her drenched in sadness, sure, but not carved into like rivers do to stone.

No more than she already was, anyway.

Finally lifting her head, she let the warm rain fall over her face, trying to imagine washing away those thoughts instead of enduring its force, focusing on the simplest physical sensations: the warmth, the caress of the water, and the scent of body wash as she lathered it on to help scrub away the sweat.

The difficult search for something simple.

The song still echoing in her head perfectly matched her attempt to stand motionless under the rain, like a statue, hoping the world would continue to ignore her as one ignores the ancient, weathered sculptures residing in the ruins of old temples.

As the rhythmic sound of water splashing on the floor filled the air, her breathing tried to synchronize with the slow beats of the imagined song, recalling the drawn-out notes of the singer's melancholic sighs.

Just after she finished mentally replaying the haunting chorus, her half-open eyes caught the faint outline of a graceful silhouette moving beyond the immense glass fogged up by the steam of the warm water.

Azuki didn't move, pretending to ignore the presence, pretending to truly be an inanimate block of marble as Cassandra approached, crossing the long shower floor until she was behind her.

It wasn't exactly a surprise that her lover had already recovered; after all, it wasn't just for her pretty face that the League of Guardians allowed Cassie to handle criminals who could bend steel bars like pretzels. Cassie's superhuman resilience was no mystery to her, yet, as always, Cassandra managed to surprise her.

Because when she reached her, without saying a word, with a fluid gesture that seemed to glide along the elongated vowels of Nelly Furtado's voice echoing in Azuki's mind, Cassie wrapped her arms around her shoulders and embraced her.

Tender. Sweet. Sad.

She knew. Damn it, she knew exactly how Azuki felt. She knew all that crap was swirling around in her head. Knew that the sex had left her once again feeling empty. Knew that what she really needed wasn't to disappear, to be ignored like a statue, but the exact opposite.

She knew Azuki wanted to be loved even when she wasn't handing out sexual ecstasy like secret drug pills. Knew she wanted to be forgiven for escaping into the obscene palliative that perverse sex was.

And with that embrace, Cassandra absolved her.

She loved her.

The spell Azuki had cast on herself broke, and she slowly, contritely turned toward her fiancée, head bowed and eyes closed, her hands sliding along Cassie's hips to show how much she needed her, how grateful she was for her.

So beautiful... The exquisite proportions of Cassandra's form were the greatest treasure one could find even in a place so opulent, second only to the immense wave of Love enveloping her in that simple gesture.

Azuki truly felt lucky to have the privilege of holding such a perfect body close to hers. It gave her the courage to reopen her eyes and lift her gaze.

And there she found Cassandra's eyes: loving, sad, concerned, and sweet. Completely selfless. Entirely devoted to her.

Azuki felt a tear pressing against her eyes, trying to escape to tell the world how guilty she felt for being so fragile, so incapable of even making such an immense sacrifice enough to feel--not happy, but at least stable.

But Cassie loved her and could see straight into her soul. And she wasn't afraid of what she saw.

The delicate fingers of the Frenchie slid first along her cheeks, then her temples, until they cupped Azuki's head, gently guiding her to meet her gaze--to show her that she only cared about Azuki's well-being. That nothing else mattered.

Azuki's eyes squeezed shut in an effort to hold back more tears rushing to join their sister.

She didn't deserve all this Love.

She was just a stupid slut.

Cassie--she deserved someone who would love her with all their heart. And instead, she'd fallen in love with her, who did nothing but cheat on her every other day and treat her like a blow-up doll to vent the frustration of being a useless idiot who couldn't say no to ungrateful assholes.

The song still echoing in her head perfectly matched her attempt to stand motionless under the rain, like a statue, hoping the world would continue to ignore her as one ignores the ancient, weathered sculptures residing in the ruins of old temples.

As the rhythmic sound of water splashing on the floor filled the air, her breathing tried to synchronize with the slow beats of the imagined song, recalling the drawn-out notes of the singer's melancholic sighs.

Just after she finished mentally replaying the haunting chorus, her half-open eyes caught the faint outline of a graceful silhouette moving beyond the immense glass fogged up by the steam of the warm water.

Azuki didn't move, pretending to ignore the presence, pretending to truly be an inanimate block of marble as Cassandra approached, crossing the long shower floor until she was behind her.

It wasn't exactly a surprise that her lover had already recovered; after all, it wasn't just for her pretty face that the League of Guardians allowed Cassie to handle criminals who could bend steel bars like pretzels. Cassie's superhuman resilience was no mystery to her, yet, as always, Cassandra managed to surprise her.

Because when she reached her, without saying a word, with a fluid gesture that seemed to glide along the elongated vowels of Nelly Furtado's voice echoing in Azuki's mind, Cassie wrapped her arms around her shoulders and embraced her.

Tender. Sweet. Sad.

She knew. Damn it, she knew exactly how Azuki felt. She knew all that crap was swirling around in her head. Knew that the sex had left her once again feeling empty. Knew that what she really needed wasn't to disappear, to be ignored like a statue, but the exact opposite.

She knew Azuki wanted to be loved even when she wasn't handing out sexual ecstasy like secret drug pills. Knew she wanted to be forgiven for escaping into the obscene palliative that perverse sex was.

And with that embrace, Cassandra absolved her.

She loved her.

The spell Azuki had cast on herself broke, and she slowly, contritely turned toward her fiancée, head bowed and eyes closed, her hands sliding along Cassie's hips to show how much she needed her, how grateful she was for her.

So beautiful... The exquisite proportions of Cassandra's form were the greatest treasure one could find even in a place so opulent, second only to the immense wave of Love enveloping her in that simple gesture.

Azuki truly felt lucky to have the privilege of holding such a perfect body close to hers. It gave her the courage to reopen her eyes and lift her gaze.

And there she found Cassandra's eyes: loving, sad, and sweet. Completely selfless. Entirely devoted to her.

Azuki felt a tear pressing against her eyes, trying to escape to tell the world how guilty she felt for being so fragile, so incapable of even making such an immense sacrifice enough to feel--not happy, but at least stable.

But Cassie loved her and could see straight into her soul. And she wasn't afraid of what she saw.

The delicate fingers of the Frenchie slid first along her cheeks, then her temples, until they cupped Azuki's head, gently guiding her to meet her gaze--to show her that she only cared about Azuki's well-being. That nothing else mattered.

Azuki's eyes squeezed shut in an effort to hold back more tears rushing to join their sister.

She didn't deserve all this Love.

She was just a stupid slut.

Cassie--she deserved someone who would love her with all their heart. And instead, she'd fallen in love with her, who did nothing but cheat on her every other day and treat her like a blow-up doll to vent the frustration of being a useless idiot who couldn't say no to ungrateful assholes.

Not a single word escaped her lips, but for Cassandra, it was enough. Her hands, once gentle, grew firmer, giving Azuki's head a small shake as if to dislodge those dark thoughts, forcing her to meet her gaze again.

The loving reproach for almost slipping away--from her, from them--achieved its purpose. Azuki managed to stop the tears threatening to fall, soothed by the sight of Cassandra's selfless, adoring eyes.

Cassie didn't waste a moment. She drew Azuki's face closer, tilting her head slightly as she parted her lips.

The kiss was immense--deeper than any of the torrid kisses they had shared during the wild night, yet gentler, full of tenderness. Their bodies pressed together, soft curves melting into one another, but Azuki's lust didn't intrude on the moment. Despite the erotic thrill of the contact, the calm and security Cassandra conveyed through the kiss made her feel blessed rather than ravenous.

Cassandra only pulled away when she felt their bond was fully restored, when she sensed Azuki was entirely certain that they were together--now and forever.

Only then did their lips part, leaving Azuki with a bittersweet yet happy smile, accompanied by a tender caress to her face. Cassandra's hands slid down her body, gently resuming the ritual of the shower--starting over, lathering and rinsing her, as if trying to wash away more than just the fatigue of a wild night.

Azuki allowed herself to be cradled by the loving care, then began to return it, marveling at how the kindness of the moment could even keep the pervasive sexual instincts of a dumb nymphomaniac like her at bay. Everything felt so clear, so evident, even though not a single word passed between them.

When Cassandra's long hair had been washed and rinsed a couple of times, and before the grace of the moment could dissipate, Azuki turned off the water. The two lovers stepped out of the shower; Cassandra went to retrieve the robes hanging just beyond the door. She wrapped herself in a lilac-colored one and patted her hair dry with a matching towel, while Azuki stopped just shy of the glass enclosure. She vibrated the "shadow" covering her body so quickly that all the water droplets on her skin and hair were flung off, leaving her instantly dry.

Finally, she ran her hands through her hair, dragging the strands back and down, extending them to the alluring length she so adored.

Cassandra grabbed the bottle of iced tea and handed Azuki the vaporizer she had left nearby. Then, with a chaste kiss on the lips to remind her they were always together, they both departed toward the kitchen. Azuki tried her best to match the casual, homey look of her partner. Though she at least managed to remain nude, she couldn't resist conjuring a pair of high heels for herself, albeit with a less sophisticated design than usual.

In the back of her mind, a part of her wanted to comment on the absurdity of the situation, but the soft, unbothered steps of Cassie following her, as if the sight were the most normal thing in the world, gave her the courage--for once--to ignore herself and stride confidently past the living room.

As they walked by the sofa, the half-Frenchwoman discarded her robe and towel, tossing them onto the couch and allowing Azuki to take the lead into the kitchen.

There, waiting on the peninsula where they usually ate breakfast, was a loving surprise: a large pitcher filled to the brim with what could only be an industrial-sized amount of Piña Colada.

What a sweetheart! How could anyone not love her? Cassandra had made her favorite drink (the preferred one when getting drunk wasn't an absolute necessity) and had even arrived just in time to pull her out of the depressive episode that was consuming her.

When Azuki turned around, hearing her thoughtful caretaker entering the room, her lip trembled on the verge of tears--though of a very different kind. She saw that her partner had lingered just long enough to grab a large cocktail glass and, most importantly, slip on her 5-inch Louboutin heels, just so she wouldn't feel alone in her exhibitionist madness.

Of course, Cassandra didn't give any indication that she was putting on a show. Instead, she paused briefly in the doorway, allowing herself to be admired, before striding confidently to the pitcher, filling the glass to the brim, and bringing it to her.

Maybe it was still the music playing in her head, but Azuki experienced that seemingly banal moment as if it were the climax of a film--shot in slow motion so that no viewer could ignore its significance.

The dazzling beauty of Cassandra, literally laid bare, approaching with that lovingly prepared drink as a gift, was a sight that finally infused Azuki with the calm she had so desperately craved.

She truly was lucky. Now she could finally feel it.

This was a special moment. Somewhere else in the world, some other billionaire had just finished screwing a couple of willing call girls in his penthouse, villa, palace, or $50-million yacht.

But no one else had Cassie by their side. Except her.

Now, the vastness of the world, of that night, no longer felt overwhelming. It had become their cradle instead--the backdrop to a truly unique and precious painting, with the two of them as the protagonists.

Perhaps they were just two tiny specks in the infinite dark sky, but together they glowed warmly against the void, softly illuminating it with a brilliance destined to be eternal.

As her breathing naturally calmed, Azuki's lips finally formed the shape of a smile--faint and tired, but a smile nonetheless--and she directed it immediately at her savior.

Cassie returned it with a broader, more radiant grin, truly satisfied that she had managed to pierce through the darkness. Only a hint of mischief crept into the left corner of her mouth, giving her smile a slightly cheeky twist.

She knew exactly what had happened inside Azuki's head. She'd nailed it once again.

Her unapologetically bare body, sultrily elongated by the heels and made even more alluring by her damp hair, combined with such a simple but loving gesture, had managed to dissipate the shadows on both sides of Azuki's complicated personality.

So, Cassandra raised the glass to her partner's face, offering her the symbol of their temporary but significant victory.

Azuki took it in both hands as if it were the bread of communion.

But instead of drinking, she held it to her chest, as if wanting to keep it close to her heart. Against the bittersweet undertone of the moment, she felt the need to dispel the last remnants of guilt that prevented her from looking Cassie in the eye without a trace of shame.

How could she possibly accept such kindness after the perverse treatment she had subjected her partner to just minutes earlier?

Her lips parted slowly as her brain struggled to find the right words to express her embarrassed remorse, but she hesitated a moment too long.

Before she could exhale a single word, a sound from behind Cassandra froze the fragile bud of tranquility that their communion had painstakingly nurtured: something was vibrating on the countertop near the pitcher of Piña Colada.

Her pupils instantly dilated, engulfing her irises. The same happened to Cassandra, who became a pillar of salt, incapable of doing anything but watching in terror as Azuki's gaze darted over her shoulder, searching for the source of the noise behind her.

On the table, Azuki's communicator trembled rhythmically, announcing an incoming call.

Azuki's teeth clenched nervously as she swallowed loudly, her breathing once again uneven. Cassandra cursed herself for giving in to her meticulous and obliging instincts, which had prompted her to make sure that damn communicator was ready for her mistress, fetching it from the disaster zone of their bedroom. She grimaced even though she knew resisting such an urge would have only bought them a few extra seconds before the emergency call bypassed the silent settings and reached them, even in the noisiest corner of the loudest nightclub.

All she could do now was stand there and watch as her beloved walked past her with anxious steps, picked up the communicator, stared at the display grimly for a moment, and then brought it to her ear to answer.

"I'm listening" was all Azuki said before Cassandra's superhuman hearing picked up the voice of the Command Center attendant breaking through the line, spitting out alarming mission details directly into her partner's ear.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed in anguish, holding back tears only because she knew losing control would only add another burden to her love. Similarly, she resisted the temptation to beg Azuki to say no, to refuse such a last-minute assignment when she hadn't even slept. She knew Azuki wouldn't turn it down. They would guilt her into accepting it, pulling the same old "for everyone's sake" card.

Azuki stayed silent throughout the call, while that empty, resigned look--one Cassandra had worked so hard to banish--slowly returned to her beautiful face. She resumed smoking as she listened, leaning against the edge of the table in a posture that radiated tedium and irritation at the relentless cruelty of fate, which seemed determined to deny her even a moment of peace.

There wasn't even room for surprise anymore. It had happened so many times that she didn't know why she still thought that, just for once, it might not. Every time she reached her limit, flickering like a candle about to go out, without even knowing why she kept pushing herself--sacrificing herself for no reason other than to convince others she was "good."

When she couldn't take it anymore, she sought solace in her obscene perversions, in those raw, primal sensations of pleasure, because she needed to snatch a crude reward from life to replace the one the world refused to give her.

All just to forget she was tired. Dead tired.

Tired of repeating the same vicious, draining cycle endlessly.

Every time, she told herself that this time would be different, that this time she'd make it, that this time she'd find balance.

Every time, she told herself she'd take a break, that she'd rest and come back strong enough to hold off all those suffocating thoughts.

Then the shitstorm would pass, and she'd find herself in front of a bed--but she couldn't bring herself to lie down on it.

Because in that bed, she didn't see a night of rest--she saw the next morning when it would all start again.

Start again without even a shred of happiness. Not even that--a crumb of fulfillment. So to sleep, she first had to satisfy the only part of her that desired something attainable in this godforsaken material world.

Screwing, banging, fucking.

The primordial imperative that every reptilian brain obeys.

Then, maybe, she could finally sleep.

Thinking back on the sadistic privileges she'd wrung out of her encounters with her playthings, maybe she'd manage to close her eyes, focusing on the gratifying present instead of the suffocating future.

But she never could.

She had so much to forget, so much suffering to shake off, that a quickie missionary style wasn't enough to erase it.

She needed more. Now that the day was distracted, now that no one was watching to judge her, now was her chance to make up for lost time.

But there was too much to make up for.

Her rituals for banishing pain were so necessary that she couldn't stop... until another day dawned.

And then it all started over. But now she was more exhausted than before and still unable to collapse.

She'd piece herself back together and move forward. One more time.

"Understood. ETA at the pickup point: 10 minutes," she said before ending the call.

Cassandra finally mustered the courage to turn around, but she suppressed the instinct to rush over and hold her tightly, waiting instead to sense what kind of medicine might soothe her pain this time.

The answer became clear when she saw Azuki's gaze, emptied of all emotion--just as it had been a few hours earlier, after the emergency call for Bridge 12 had come in.

Azuki didn't give a fuck anymore. About anything. She specifically thought about how pointless it had been to stab her soul with guilt, as if someone else needed to punish or torture her.

As if there were some kind of reward for tearing out your own heart in penance for your sins.

Well, there wasn't.

So who the fuck cared if she was just a dumb, domineering slut?

If she had to start over again, she wanted the full package--not just the downside.

"It was Command Center," she announced, her voice practically devoid of tone. "I have to go. You stay here and take care of the girls. It's just a pain in the ass. I'll be back before noon," she spat out mechanically, with no interest in providing any real explanation. "Come here," she added, with the exact same tone she'd used a few hours earlier--right before she'd aggressively face-fucked her. "I need to piss."

Cassandra dropped to her knees immediately, pausing only to tie her still-damp hair into a ponytail, ensuring a more comfortable grip in case her beloved tormentor decided that a blowjob might help ease her nerves further.

Then, her face dove into Azuki's thick bush, lips parted and tongue extended, ready to guide the stream straight down her throat, thrilled to be of any service in alleviating her beloved's suffering.

She waited patiently between Azuki's thighs, intermittently pressing her tongue against her lips to savor the raw, intoxicating flavor of her womanhood, already potent despite the very recent shower. Azuki, for her part, didn't discourage her in the slightest; in fact, she encouraged it, gripping Cassandra by the back of her head and pressing her cunt firmly into her face, bending her knees just enough to give Cassandra full, deep access to her slit. She positioned her partner between her legs like a chamber pot, ready for use.

Satisfied with the arrangement, Azuki released Cassandra's head and reached for her glass, freeing up the hand holding her cigarette, which she'd soon need. Content with the setup, she finally downed her Piña Colada, relishing the delightful sensation of Cassandra's tongue. Unable to resist temptation, Cassandra began fervently licking Azuki's pussy, her tongue sweeping deeply and thoroughly with the same passion as a first kiss between lovers.

The circle was complete. Once again. Perversion and ecstasy--her only shield against the relentless frustration of never knowing true rest.

"It's true what they say, after all..." Azuki commented absentmindedly, taking a relaxing drag from her cigarette while she began to carelessly pour a foamy torrent of piss down her obedient fuckslave's throat,

"... There ain't no rest for the wicked."

"Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked

Until we close our eyes for good."

Ain't No Rest for the Wicked--

Cage The Elephant--