Whitegirls Like You Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Black Fucked

The clock on the studio wall blinked past 11:00 p. m., but Millie didn't care. She was sprawled on the worn velvet couch in Studio B at White Hot Pop, barefoot, loose in her favorite oversized hoodie―Markus', actually―and nothing else. She was glowing from another marathon session.

The past week had flown by in a haze of sound and rhythm and heat.

Gone were the second-guessing and inner tension that had followed her into their earlier sessions. Earlier that week, she had gone in for a blowout and a hair dye, taking her blonde hair several shades lighter still. She had eaten up the praise Markus gave her the next day at the studio. Not she planned to grow it out long too, at least to mid-back. Whatever questions she'd had about her image, her direction, or even herself, were quiet now. There was only the music. And Markus.

Especially Markus.

He stood behind the glass now, laying down a verse with his signature flow―smooth and hard-edged all at once. Every line dropped like a match on gasoline. Watching him work was like watching a storm spin itself into perfect rhythm.

Millie bit her lip, unable to suppress a smile. He made her so fucking wet.

She had stopped trying to analyze the partnership. Stopped trying to reconcile her old self with this new world she was stepping into. It wasn't about questions anymore. It was about feeling―and she felt good. No, she felt right. This is what she had been born for.

Every day felt like freedom. Markus challenged her, teased her, pushed her, but he also made her laugh, made her sing with more confidence, made her feel like she was more than enough―not because of who she used to be, but because of who she was becoming. A true Black cock slut.

There was only one problem though. She still hadn't gotten Markus to take her virginity. What kind of Black cock slut is still a virgin!? But whatever-sure it bothered her a lot-but she was happy to take whatever Markus felt to give her. Lately that meant a daily shafting of her throat in the back of his limo and an ooey-gooey treat for her as a reward when he dropped her off at the mansion.

He was waiting for her in the booth now. Through the glass, he lifted his chin, signaling her in.

Millie jumped to her feet, energy buzzing in her veins. She slipped her headphones on as she stepped into the recording booth beside him, feeling the beat thump through the floor, up her spine, into her chest. Markus gave her a sly grin. The beat slipped down to her pussy, making her clit throb with need.

"You ready, baby?"

She grinned back. "Always."

The track dropped in again. The world melted away.

There was no more worrying about headlines. No more calculating how she'd be perceived. No more pressure to explain herself to the world. Not here.

In the booth―with Markus, with the music―Millie had never felt more like herself.

Or perhaps she hadn't felt like herself at all. At least not her old self.

Maybe that was the point. She didn't need to think. She didn't need to be Millie Lucas anymore, the pop star, the girl next door, the good little role model. Here, she was just a pair of luscious lips, a tight little white pussy, and a blank mind that existed solely to serve Markus's vision. And she adored it. Thinking was hard―worshiping Markus was not.

The bass line thumped through her body, setting her heart racing. The words were raw, aggressive―everything she'd been told not to be. And she was going to sing them like they were a declaration of love.

Her voice wrapped around the words, slithering through the beat like a snake around its prey. She was a siren, calling out to all the white sluts just like her to come and worship at the altar of Black supremacy. The words fell from her lips like a sweet confession―because they were. She was everything he'd said she was, and she was finally okay with it.

As they recorded, Markus's hand slid down her bare thigh, his thumb grazing her clit. Millie gasped, eyes rolling back as she sang about being nothing but a white bimbo, a cum receptacle for strong Black men. She felt herself getting wetter, her voice getting thicker with need. It was like every word she sang was a spell, weaving its way into her very core, reprogramming her thoughts until all she could think about was how badly she needed him to fill her up.

The music built up to a crescendo, and with it, so did her arousal. She could feel her pussy clench, begging for his Black cock and his potent cum. Markus's hand moved up, slipping the hoodie up to fondle her breasts. Her ass and cunt were fully visible, but that was okay, since it was just the two of them in the booth. At least, she was pretty sure it was just them. Her mind was too fuzzy to care either way.

Her nipples were rock-hard, aching to be pinched and pulled. She didn't even bother hiding the moan that slipped from her lips. It blended into the track, adding a layer of raw desire to the already steamy vibe.

Later that night, in the plush confines of Markus's limo, the tension between them was thick as the bass notes that had vibrated through the studio. He sat in the leather seats, watching her with a smug smile as she knelt before him, bobbing her head up and down, eager to please.

"Take your time, slut," Markus murmured, stroking her hair with a gentle yet firm hand. "It's all about technique. You want to make sure you don't miss a beat, just like you did in the booth today."

Millie nodded, her eyes never leaving his cock. She'd been practicing every day, but she still felt like she wasn't good enough. Her mouth was watering, but not just because of his delicious manhood. The power dynamics had shifted so much that she craved his approval like a starving animal. She didn't want to be just another pretty face; she wanted to be his perfect little white whore.

Her teeth scraped against his shaft, and she jerked back, her eyes wide with horror. Markus's grip tightened in her hair, pulling her face back up to his crotch. "Not like that, dumb cunt," he said, his voice a low growl. "You know better than that. Teeth are for biting, not for cock sucking. If you do that again, I'll have to teach you a lesson you won't forget."

The fear in her eyes was palpable, but it only made her more determined. She took a deep breath, trying to focus on his instructions, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing in her chest. She knew that every mistake she made only took her farther away from the ultimate prize she desired: feeling his thick, hot cum fill her mouth, a symbol of her complete and utter submission to him.

"Sorry, I'll do better, promise," Millie begged. For extra measure, she lovingly kissed his cock where she had scrapped her teeth against it.

"Good girl," Markus murmured, his hand moving from her hair to her cheek, giving it a gentle tap. "Now, let's try that again. And remember, don't just suck like a vacuum. Use your tongue, lick the shaft, show me what you can do with that mouth of yours."

Millie nodded, eager to prove herself. She leaned back in, her lips parting as she took his cock into her mouth again. This time, she was more careful, her tongue sliding along the velvety skin, her teeth safely behind her lips. She felt his cock twitch with approval and felt a thrill of pride. She was getting better.

"Mm, now you're really getting the hang of this, baby girl," he murmured, stroking her hair as she took his massive, Black cock in her mouth. Millie felt a thrill of pride at his words. She'd been practicing every day, eager to make him happy. The taste of his pre-cum was sweet and addictive, making her crave more. She worked him hard, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked and licked with fervor.

But it was a delicate dance she performed. She didn't want to make him cum too quickly―she lived for the moments when he'd grab her hair and force his cock down her throat, making her gag and squeal around him. Yet, she couldn't resist the siren call of his seed, the way it painted the back of her throat and coated her mouth. Black seed was like nothing she'd ever tasted before, and ever since her first taste at the rally, she'd grown to crave it like an addict, needing a regular supply from Markus after each of their recording sessions.

Her eyes watered as she took him in deeper, her throat muscles stretching around his girth. The smell of him filled the air, musky and intoxicating. She knew she was his, utterly devoted to his desires. And she liked it. The way he talked to her―like she was nothing but a piece of property to be used and discarded―turned her on like nothing else. It was a high she never wanted to come down from.

"Look at me, baby," he ordered, his deep, velvety voice cutting through the sound of her desperate slurps. She obeyed, her eyes meeting his through the tears. He watched her with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. "That's it. Now breathe through your nose. Yeah, just like that. Hold it, hold it, almost there..."

Millie's eyes went wide as she felt his cock hit the back of her throat again, pressing down hard. She tried to hold her breath, her cheeks bulging around him. She could feel her eyes watering more, and her nose was starting to run a little. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she pushed through the discomfort, eager to take all of him. Markus's hand tightened in her hair, and she knew she'd hit the spot. The thought of him being pleased was all she needed to keep going.

"Good girl," he crooned, his voice low and seductive. "So eager to please your Black master. Keep it up, baby. You're going to make me cum so hard down your throat, and then you're going to swallow every last drop like a good little slut. Do you want that?"

Her muffled moan was all the answer he needed. He chuckled darkly, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. "Yeah, I knew you did. You love the taste of your own submission, don't you?"

He pushed her head down again, holding her there as he began to fuck her face. She felt her gag reflex kick in, but she fought it, focusing on the sensation of his cock in her mouth, the way it felt to be under his control. He tapped her cheek lightly with his free hand, and she knew that was his signal to breathe. She took a deep breath through her nose and went back to work, her mouth a tight, wet ring of pleasure for him to use.

The sounds of their bodies colliding filled the space, the smack of her lips, the wet suck of her mouth, the gagging noises she couldn't hold back. It was messy, it was raw, and it was the hottest thing she'd ever done. Markus's hand was a gentle guide, pushing and pulling, pushing her limits further and further. And with every thrust, she felt her resolve to be the perfect Black cock slut grow stronger.

But she was still learning. And tonight, she messed up yet again.

Her eyes went wide as his cock hit the back of her throat too hard, too fast. She gagged, sputtering and choking, her throat tightening around him. Panic set in for a brief moment as she realized she couldn't breathe. But Markus was swift with his correction. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, his cock popping out of her mouth with a wet sound.

"Now, now, baby girl. We can't have you choking on me, can we?" His tone was stern, a firm daddy-like reprimand that sent a shiver down her spine. "Remember, this isn't about your needs, it's about making sure I'm satisfied. Your air isn't as important as my cock, is it?"

He tapped his cock against her forehead, a blunt statement of his dominance. She blushed, feeling small and silly for her failure.

"I'm sorry, Markus," she whispered, her voice hoarse from his abuse.

"Mm, good girl. You know what you have to do to make it up to me, don't you?"

He didn't wait for a response. He slammed her head back down, her nose pressing into the warm, musky space between his legs. She took him back into her mouth, eager to please, eager to show she'd learned her lesson.

This time, she focused solely on his pleasure. She didn't fight the urge to breathe, didn't fight the urge to pull away. Instead, she let his cock fill her throat, let him use her mouth as he saw fit. Her eyes watered, and she felt the salty precum leaking into her throat. She swallowed reflexively, and Markus chuckled above her.

"That's my girl," he said, his voice a mix of pride and ownership. "You're learning so fast. Just keep going, baby. Make sure every inch of me is wet with your spit."

Millie nodded, her eyes glazed over with a mix of fear and desire. She pushed herself further, willing herself to take more of his massive Black cock down her throat. The pressure built, and she felt her eyes bulge as she tried to keep up with his pace. Her lungs burned for oxygen, but she didn't dare pull away. This was for Markus. This was what he wanted. And if it meant choking on his cock to get it, she would do it.

Her mind grew fuzzier with every passing second, the lack of air sending a delicious buzz straight to her clit. The panic grew, but so did the thrill. The world outside of the limo, the music, the cameras, the critics, they all faded away until there was only her, Markus, and the thick, velvety length of his cock. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she could feel drool spilling down her chin, pooling onto her chest, soaking into her hoodie. She was nothing but a mindless white slut for his enjoyment.

"Deeper, baby, deeper," he urged, his voice thick with lust. "Take it all. Yes, just like that. You're doing so good, Millie."

Her eyes watered, her nose was running, and she was choking around his cock, but she didn't stop. She took a deep breath and forced herself to go further, her throat stretching around his girth. She could feel the head of his cock nudging against the back of her throat, and she knew she was close to making him cum. The idea thrilled her.

"Hold your breath, slut. Keep it in there," he ordered. She nodded, her eyes wide with the challenge. He grabbed her hair, holding her in place, as he pushed himself deep into her throat. She felt his cock hit the back of her throat and held her breath, her eyes watering even more. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she swallowed around him, her throat muscles working to take him deeper.

With a final, desperate effort, she took him all in. Her nose was buried in the coarse hairs at the base of his cock, her throat tight around his shaft. She could feel the veins pulsing in time with her racing heartbeat. The world was spinning around her, a symphony of darkness closing in from the edges of her vision. And then she felt it: the sweet release of his cock slipping out of her mouth, a spurt of hot precum hitting her tongue.

"That's my girl," he said, his voice strained with pleasure. "Now, suck it like you mean it. Show me what you've learned."

And she did. She sucked and licked, her tongue swirling around him, her teeth never touching. When she felt his cock start to pulse, she knew she'd done well. He was close. So close. And she was going to make sure she got every drop of his Black cum.

He held her head in place with both hands now, his hips thrusting up to meet her mouth. As she bobbed her head, trying to delay the inevitable, she could feel him getting closer. His breaths grew ragged, his thighs tensing. But she didn't stop. She needed this, needed to make him lose control. And when he finally did, the warm, salty rush of his cum washed over her tongue, down her throat, filling her up like nothing else could. Her eyes rolled back, eyelids fluttering from the mind-blowing pleasure as she savored her reward. She swallowed greedily, her glazed eyes staring into his as he watched her, his expression a mix of satisfaction and dominance.

And when it was over, when she sat back, wiping her mouth and smoothing her hair, she felt empty. The high had passed, but the craving remained. She wanted more of him, more of what he had to give. The taste of him lingered on her lips, a reminder of her submission, her purpose. And she liked that, too. But her bare pussy drooled and ached, slimeing the car floor beneath her. She needed a different hole filled by him.

Markus leaned back in his seat, zipping up his pants. "Good girl," he said, patting her head like she was a pet. And she beamed up at him, feeling like the most cherished pet in the world. She'd do anything for his praise, for his cum.

The city lights flashed by outside the tinted windows as she stayed on her knees between Markus' thighs, like she usually did after blowing him. Millie's hand slipped down to her needy cunt, her fingers idly circling her clit.

The taste of Markus's seed had filled her mind as well as her mouth, echoing through her thoughts. She couldn't get enough of it―the way the delicious cream lingered in her, inflaming her need for his cock. It was like a drug, and she was an eager addict. She craved the feel of his thick, Black cock stretching her, claiming her.

As the limo glided through the city, Millie's mind was lost in a haze of lust. She could still feel the sticky warmth of his cum in the corners of her mouth, and her pussy quivered at the memory of his taste. Her fingers played with the zipper of his pants, tracing the outline of his cock as it swelled beneath the fabric. She wanted it again. No, she needed it again.

Her thoughts grew more and more intense, her imagination running wild with fantasies of being taken by Markus's powerful cock. She'd watched so many videos, confirming the rumors about how superior Black men were in bed. The idea of her tight, white pussy being filled with his hot, potent seed was all she could think about.

Her hand glided over his pants, her small, soft fingers wrapping around his cock. He was already getting hard again. She stroked him gently, her eyes locked on his cock, her pupils wide with desire.

She didn't want the night to end. Not yet. Not like this.

"Markus," she said quietly.

He looked down, one brow slightly raised. "What's up?"

She hesitated, fingers knotting together in his lap. "Will you come in tonight?"

He blinked, almost surprised by the question. Then he leaned back against the seat, stretching one arm across the top of the leather upholstery.

"You mean your place?"

She nodded, her voice softer. "Yeah. Even if it's, like, just for a little while. We've been spending so much time in the studio, and I just, like... I wanna be around you more. Outside of all that."

He watched her in silence for a moment, his face unreadable.

Then, calmly, he said, "Not tonight."

Millie's chest tightened, a pout forming on her lips. "Why not?"

Markus shrugged, casual. "Because you haven't earned that yet."

The words landed with a quiet weight that made her stomach twist. She stared at him, trying to find a trace of teasing in his tone. There wasn't any.

"But―" she started, then stopped, unsure how to even finish the sentence.

They had spent hours together these past few weeks. Aside from being his resident cocksucker, Millie had thrown herself into their work, into his world. She had adapted, embraced, followed every twist and turn of this new identity of hers. She had stood by him through the increasingly scandalous headlines and commentary, through the heat of the spotlight and the shadows behind the scenes.

And yet... that wasn't enough?

Millie turned her face toward the window, quickly blinking away tears. She didn't want him to see how much that had stung. How badly she wanted more than just cockteasing him in the booth, more than passing moments on her knees and full of his cock in the back of a limo.

She didn't understand what she had to do. How much further she had to go to matter to him. It was as vexing as it was arousing. Even at the start of her career, Millie had never felt so desperate for approval than she did now.

In the reflection of the glass, she watched him, unmoved, composed.

And in her chest, a quiet ache bloomed.

What more do I have to become... for him to want me?

The limo rolled on in silence.

The limo pulled up to the gleaming facade of the Lucas Mansion, and Millie's legs felt like jelly as she stepped out into the cool night air, a stark contrast to the warm, heady confines of the vehicle. She felt like she was stepping out of a haze, slowly coming back to her sense as the taste of Markus' cum continued to linger in her mouth.

"We made a lot of progress today, baby," Markus said from a lowered window. "Make sure you get plenty of rest, you'll need lots of energy from now on."

"You bet I will," Millie forced a giggle, winking at her Black lover. She didn't want him to see her acting depressed. "See you in the morning?"

"Count on it, baby." Markus said as the limo pulled away. Millie sighed, watching it disappear into the distance before turning toward her home.

Millie stepped through the grand double doors of her mansion, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors. As she set her purse down on the foyer table, a soft laugh echoed from the kitchen. Millie perked up. Her mother wasn't alone. Curious, she padded toward the open archway and peeked inside.

Trisha stood at the island, wine glass in hand, her cheeks slightly flushed as she laughed at something Reggie had said. He leaned casually against the counter, his arms crossed, a charming smirk on his face. The same tall, strong man who had rescued them at the rally, the one who had shielded her mother from danger with effortless ease and helped Millie clean up after the alleyway.

Millie stayed hidden just outside the kitchen, watching with quiet amusement. Her mother was different―looser, freer. The polished, always-composed Trisha was gone, replaced by a woman who leaned in when Reggie spoke, who playfully touched his arm as she teased him about something.

Millie grinned. Look at you, Mom.

She had been worried about her mother's resistance to change, to progress, to everything Millie was embracing. But seeing Trisha here, laughing with Reggie, made her hopeful. She was openly flirting with a Black man alone in her home after all, so she must understand their appeal. Maybe she was finally starting to open her eyes and see the truth.

Reggie reached for the wine bottle to refill her glass, their hands brushing for a moment too long. Trisha didn't pull away. Instead, she held his gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

Millie leaned against the archway for a moment longer, enjoying the sight of her mother smiling in a way she hadn't seen in years. But she wasn't going to sneak around all night. With a smirk, she stepped into the kitchen.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Trisha nearly jumped, her fingers tightening around her wine glass. "Millie!" she said, smoothing down her blouse as if she'd been caught doing something scandalous.

Reggie, on the other hand, remained perfectly at ease. He turned toward her with a slow grin, giving her a nod. "Hey there, superstar. How's life in the fast lane?"

"I see you've figured me out," Millie smiled. "Mom tell you?"

"She did, but I'd pretty much pieced it together by then anyhow," Reggie said, gently resting his hand on Trisha's shoulder. Millie had wondered if Reggie had recognized her that day at the rally.

Trisha stiffened, watching for Millie's reaction. Millie simply maintained her smile as if this was all totally normal. "So, um, how was recording today, honey?" Trisha said, finally relaxing again.

Was she really worried about my approval of Reggie? Millie wondered. Of course I'm going to say, 'hell yeah!'

"Oh, that's right, you're working with that rapper, Markus Khan Kwaest," Reggie said. "How's that going?"

Millie laughed, sauntering over to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. "Oh, you know. Just making history." She popped the cap and took a sip, winking at him over the rim. "But enough about me―what's going on in here?"

Her mother's cheeks grew even redder. "Well, I've been texting with Reggie for a while now, and I thought it was time we... uh, had dinner together. Here. At home. Just us two."

The awkwardness was palpable, but Millie played along. "Well, I'm happy to see you're finally getting out there, Mom. You deserve some fun."

Reggie chuckled, his hand moving from Trisha's shoulder to the small of her back. "Your daughter's got a point, Trish. You're a knockout. I just feel lucky I met you when I did, before some other guy moved in on you."

Trisha rolled her eyes, but the blush deepened. "Thank you, Reggie. But you're not so bad yourself." She took a deep breath, then turned to Millie. "I know this might seem sudden, but we've actually been seeing each other a few times in town. I just... I wanted to bring him here, to get to know him better in a more... comfortable setting."

"Mhm," Millie hummed, unconvinced. She glanced between them, noting the way her mother's body was angled toward Reggie, the way her eyes kept flicking to him even as she spoke.

Reggie chuckled. "Your mom was just telling me about how she's been expanding her horizons lately."

"Oh, that she has been, definitely, and I'm sure she'll get to know you very well, right Mom?" Millie beamed. She set down her water and leaned in, lowering her voice just enough to tease. "So... should I be expecting to set an extra place at Thanksgiving this year?"

Trisha shot her a sharp look. "Millie! That's so..."

Reggie only laughed. "We'll just take things one step at a time." His eyes gleamed with amusement, and he took another sip of his drink. "That said, I think you're right, Millie. Your mother's got quite the sense of humor. And she's got a taste for the finer things in life, like good music and... good company."

Trisha looked between them, a mix of embarrassment and excitement in her gaze. Millie could tell they had teased her as far as she would allow right now. But it was just too much fun! How could she have resisted?

"Well, if you don't mind, Millie, I'd love to have Reggie all to myself tonight," she said, her voice a little shaky. "You understand, right?"

Millie held up her hands in surrender. She got the message loud and clear―her presence wasn't exactly wanted right now. And honestly? She was more than happy to leave them to it. "I totally get it, Mom. You two have fun. I've got some... composing to work on anyway."

With that, she turned and sashayed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Once in her bedroom, Millie practically floated to her vanity, her mind already spinning with ideas for the next day. How would Markus be expecting her to "earn" his love? She still didn't know what he wanted that to look like, but she knew that she wanted to look perfect for him.

She rifled through her wardrobe, pulling out tops and holding them against her body. Something tight, something that made a statement. Her fingers trailed over a sleek black tube top with bold lettering across the chest―"Black Only". The fabric was tiny, barely enough to hide her areolas and definitely revealing some underboob for him to ogle. She smiled. Perfect.

Digging into her makeup, she thought about Markus's gaze on her, the way his presence electrified her. Tomorrow, she'd make sure he really saw her. Her hands trembled with excitement as she applied thick layers of makeup, her eyes transformed into seductive, smoky pools. The eyeliner was a stark contrast to her baby blues, and the dark lipstick made her smile look more predatory than ever before. She painted her nails a vibrant red, the kind that screamed for attention―the new slutty hooker look that Markus preferred her to put on.

Millie's push-up bra was a struggle to get on, but the result was worth it. Her breasts looked plump and inviting, begging for his touch. The tiny tube top with the words "Black Only" stretched tight across her chest, leaving little to the imagination. It was a declaration of her newfound identity―as his property, his plaything. And she felt a strange thrill knowing that she was slowly living up to his expectations.

But as much as she wanted to please him, she had to draw the line somewhere. She'd seen the way Markus's eyes lingered on women with those ludicrously large fake breasts, the kind that defied gravity and common sense. And while she knew he'd love her even more if she had them, she couldn't do it. She had to hold onto some semblance of herself―even if that self was now a submissive, eager whitegirl who craved his approval.

Millie picked out a skirt so short it was practically a belt. The fabric was so thin it was basically see-through, showing off her ass cheeks when she bent over. The thong she chose bore a Queen of Spades emblem boldly printed on the rear fabric so that every bend at the waist would display what she truly was. The front portion was a g-string so tiny it barely covered her pussy, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. But that was the point. She wanted him to want her, to crave her like she craved him. And she hoped that looking like a complete slut was what would do it.

The shoes she found were the pi? ce de r? sistance. High-heeled stilettos, a glossy black that matched her top. They had a thick platform that made her legs look like they went on forever. They were so high that she could barely walk in them without wobbling. But she'd practice. Anything to make him proud.

Her heart raced as she stepped into the skirt, the fabric slithering up her legs and making her feel like a whore. But it was the good kind of feeling, the kind that made her pussy wet and her skin tingle. She looked in the mirror and tugged the skirt even higher, watching as it barely covered the crotch of her thong.

The final touch was the necklace. A delicate gold chain with a tiny Black fist charm, nestled between her breasts. It was a symbol of her loyalty to the cause, to the Black New World Order that Markus was building brick by brick.

With one last check of her makeup, she twirled in the mirror, watching the skirt flutter around her. It was a look that said, "I'm ready to be used," and she liked it. She felt powerful, like she had some kind of control in this twisted game of theirs. She practiced her sexiest pout, her body moving to the beat of the song that played on repeat in her head―their song, her mantra.

This was the new Millie Lucas. Such a good white slut!

Laying back on her bed in the sluttiest outfit she'd ever worn, Millie felt a thrill of excitement. Her skin was a canvas painted with the dark desires that had taken root in her soul, her thoughts a whirlwind of passion and submission.

I'm being such a good white ally now, Millie thought. Surely I deserve a reward?

She didn't need anyone's permission, of course. But Millie now felt a thrill from degrading herself, one which enhanced her pleasure whenever she gave into her porn addiction, knowing that she'd earned it. That she'd proven herself worthy of the reward of her own pleasure. It was a strange dynamic, one that she'd never experienced before Markus. She felt like she'd been enslaved by her urges for Black cock, but had no interest in doing anything other than deepening the enslavement.

She picked up her phone, her fingers sliding over the screen as she typed in the words that had become her constant fix, the drug that started her mornings and ended her nights―"BBC porn". Millie searched for the darkest, most depraved interracial videos she could find. It had become a ritual for her now. The more slutty and degrading the content, the better. She needed that high, that feeling of falling into the abyss of her own desires and then being caught by the strong, unyielding arms of a Black man.

The videos loaded, and she scrolled through the thumbnails, each one more tantalizing than the last. She had always loved the escape that interracial porn offered, but now, it was different. It was personal. It was her life.

She found one with a particularly vapid looking bimbo surrounded by a horde of Black cocks and decided to stop scrolling. The bimbo on the screen giggled like a schoolgirl, her massive inflated boobs jiggling, her eyes glazed over with a hunger that was both desperate and adorable. She was the kind of bimbo that looked eerily like the plastic dolls Millie had once collected, only this doll was alive and bouncing on a thick, Black cock like her life depended on it. Her voice was a high-pitched whine that made Millie's core ache. "Yes, Daddy, I'm a good little slut, aren't I? I'm just your cumdumpster, here to be used by your big Black cock!"

Her breath grew shallow as she watched the scene of a whitegirl just like her begging for Black cock after Black cock, her hands and holes filled with them, her body stretched and used in the most delicious ways.

Milie craved it so much now―that thick, powerful organ that had come to represent everything she wanted. It was a need that had grown exponentially stronger since she'd met Markus, and she didn't fight it anymore.

In the quiet of her room, she allowed herself to indulge, slipping her dampened thong to the side to give her access to her cunt, letting the images consume her. It was a therapy of sorts―a way to release the tension that built up every time she saw Markus's smoldering gaze, every time she heard his voice, deep and commanding.

But it wasn't just about the release anymore. It was about the craving―the deep, all-consuming need for more. And as she watched, her hand slipped between her legs, her fingers finding her wetness, her mind racing with thoughts of Markus and the men from the video.

It was a strange feeling―this need for something that had once been so taboo. But now, it was all she could think about. And she realized, as she watched the scenes unfold before her, that maybe it was okay to crave it. Maybe craving it was natural. She was just embracing who she truly was. Who she'd always been.

Millie's hand moved faster, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She felt the familiar tightening in her belly, the heat building, her body begging for release. But she held back, her eyes glued to the screen, her mind filled with images of Markus, of Tytus, of Reggie, of every strong, dominant Black man she'd ever met.

This was her addiction now. This was what made her feel alive. She knew that she would never, ever go back to the girl she used to be.

But just as Millie felt her body start the climb toward an orgasm, her ears perked up at the sudden sound of a muffled moan. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but she knew it wasn't the porn. It was real. And it was coming from next door―from her mother's room. She paused the video.

Millie's heart skipped a beat.

What was going on?

The moan grew louder, clearer. And as she listened, her eyes widened in shock and something else―desire.

That wasn't her mother's usual moan, like when she stubbed a toe or got frustrated about some task. This was something else entirely―something primal.

And then she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a man's deep, satisfied grunt.

Reggie's voice, thick with lust.

Millie's hand stilled between her legs.

They were fucking.

Trisha and Reggie.

Her mind raced. She should be disgusted, right? Horrified? Scarred? This was her mother after all. But instead, all she felt was a strange, twisted thrill.

Curiosity overwhelmed her.

Carefully, quietly, she climbed off her bed and tiptoed to Trisha's bedroom door. Both the hallway and Trisha's room had the lights off, but even in the dim light, Millie could tell that the bedroom door wasn't fully closed―in their haste to make love, Trisha must have left it open a crack by mistake.

Pressing her ear to the wood without shoving on it, Millie listened intently. The sounds grew clearer―the slap of flesh, the wetness of her mother's cunt taking a big Black cock deep for the first time, the grunts and gasps of a woman lost in pleasure.

And beneath it all, she heard the steady beat of Markus's music playing in the bedroom. The music that, Millie now realized, had been the key to her transformation into a slut for Black cock.

The song was Gold Digger again. The song that had brought Trisha to this moment, listening to it with Millie on their way to the rally and which, quite possibly, was guiding her mother down the same path Millie had chosen.

And she wasn't even a little bit disgusted with herself for eavesdropping.

In fact, she felt a strange kinship with Trisha in that moment. A bond formed by their shared love for the Black men who were opening their eyes to a new world.

They were both becoming what they were meant to be―what Markus said they would be.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle, stopping short to hover over it as her heart raced in her chest. Millie knew she should be disgusted, knew she should be horrified. But instead, she found herself feeling a twisted kind of excitement that had her pussy wet and throbbing. She could hear the unmistakable sounds of sex, of her mother's newfound freedom, and she felt... proud? Jealous? She wasn't sure. But she knew she had to listen. She had to hear it all.

Slowly, she pushed the door open, just a little more. The lack of light made it difficult to peer into the darkness of Trisha's room, but Millie could see enough to make out the silhouettes of their bodies on the bed. The shadowy outline of Reggie's muscular back, the arch of her mother's spine as she took him deep inside her.

The sounds grew clearer, more intimate. The rhythmic slap of Reggie's balls against her mother's ass, the wet squelch of her cunt being filled with his Black cock, the cries of pleasure that grew louder with every thrust.

And through it all, the music played on, switching to the next track, Daddy, Stretch My Pussy. The beat pulsed along with the rhythm of their fucking.

"She tells me, 'Daddy, stretch my pussy,

make it wide with your Black monster cock,'

This whitegirl's got a hunger,

she's been taught to never lock.

Yeah, she's a slut, a whore,

a whitegirl with a taste,

For the biggest, darkest dick

that's ever creamed her face.

Her tight little cunt's been craving what I got,

Her cherry's ripe and ready, for my chocolate nigga cock."

The lyrics were raw, unfiltered, and spoke directly to the desires that had been planted in Millie's mind. They were a declaration of what she had become and what she craved. And apparently, her mother did too.

Millie bit her lip, her hand sliding back down to her pussy. She couldn't believe she was doing this, that she was watching her mother like this. But she couldn't tear her eyes away. Millie remembered flicking her clit in the bathroom stall as Tytus had his way with Helen next to her. Millie was sick, a dirty slut who got off to watching BBC conquer other whitegirls like her.

But this time was even better―so deliciously depraved. Because she was getting off to her own mother being claimed. It was like watching a live version of the porn she'd become addicted to. And she knew, deep down, that she wanted to be part of it.

Through the crack in the door, she watched as Trisha's pale body writhed under Reggie's muscular frame, face down in the sheets with her legs spread wide, his large Black cock sliding in and out of her. Her mother's eyes were squeezed shut, her face a picture of blissful agony.

"Oh, yeah, baby," Reggie murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Take that Black dick."

Trisha's eyes flew open, a look of shock crossing her face. But instead of pushing him away, she whispered, "More. Say more."

Reggie chuckled, his grip tightening on her hips. "You like it, huh?"

"Yeah," Trisha breathed, her voice low and needy. "Call me... call me your white whore."

Millie's hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. She had never heard her mother talk like that. Her pussy was soaked, and she could feel her clit pulsing as she watched.

Reggie's eyes locked on the door, pausing with his Black cock planted firmly inside Trisha's cunt, and for a heart-stopping moment, Millie thought he had seen her. But then he leaned back, his thrusts becoming more deliberate. "You want that, baby?" he said, his voice dropping to a growl. "You want me to call you what you really are?"

Trisha nodded, her eyes glazed over with lust. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Millie felt a strange thrill as she watched her mother's transformation. She had seen it in herself, but to see it in someone she had known all her life was surreal. The woman who had raised her, who had been so firm in her beliefs, was now begging for a Black man's cock.

Reggie's hips slammed into Trisha's, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room. "You're my white bitch," he grunted, each word punctuated by a hard thrust. "My little slut, taking this Black cock like it's all you ever wanted. I own this pussy now, don't I?"

Trisha's eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a moan that was almost a scream. "Yes, yes!"

Millie's hand was moving faster now, her own orgasm building. She couldn't believe it. Her mother was just like her now, a whitegirl who craved the biggest, darkest cock she could get. But even more than that, Reggie owned her now. Trisha had given herself to him fully―body, mind, and soul. It was a powerful revelation that made her feel both closer to her mother than ever before and also like she was watching a stranger.

The bed rocked harder as Reggie picked up the pace, his hand snaking around to cover Trisha's mouth, muffling her cries. Millie watched as he reached down and slapped her ass. Millie wished there was more light then, so she could she the dark handprint that he'd surely left there, standing out against her pale skin. Millie knew, in that moment, that she wanted to be just like her mother. To be used, claimed, and owned by a Black man who would treat her like the slut she was meant to be. Why the fuck wouldn't Markus claim her yet? What more could she offer him?

My body, Millie realized with a shudder. I need to offer him my body.

She didn't mean the use of her body―her holes that were already eager to be used by him. She needed to offer her body to him so that he could change her, transform her, remold her into exactly what he said she would be. What better way could she show the world that Markus Khan Kwaest owned Millie Lucas than by surrendering herself like that?

Millie was abruptly pulled from her epiphany when she noticed Reggie's eyes staring back into her own. She froze. There was no doubt he was looking right at her now. He'd caught Millie dead to rights, masturbating like a whore while he fucked her mother's brains out.

Millie gulped in fear, not knowing what Reggie would do. But then a knowing smile played upon his lips. He leaned closer to Trisha's ear, his voice a harsh whisper. "You like that, don't you, you little white whore?"

Trisha's cheeks flushed even redder, but she didn't protest. Instead, she nodded, her hips bucking up to meet his. "Yes," she breathed. "I do."

The room was thick with the scent of their lovemaking, with the scent of her mother's desire and submission. Millie felt a strange heat in her chest, watching them. She was seeing her mother in a new light, a woman who had been hiding in the shadows for too long.

And as she watched, she realized that she wasn't just watching. She was learning. She was seeing what it truly meant to be a good little white slut for a Black man.

Reggie's strokes grew harder, faster. "You're going to be my little cumdumpster, aren't you?" he said, his voice gruff with his own arousal.

"Yes," Trisha gasped, her eyes rolling back. "Your white cumdumpster."

The words were like a trigger for Millie, her own pussy clenching with need. She watched as Reggie reached between them, his thumb circling her mother's clit as he fucked her with everything he had. Trisha's moans grew louder, the words she whispered back to him dirtier, more depraved.

And then, it happened. The moment Millie had been waiting for without even realizing it. Her mother's body tensed, her back arching, her head rising off the bed. She screamed out her climax, the words "fill me with your nigger cum!" leaving her lips in a breathless gasp.

Reggie complied, his hips bucking, his cock plunging deep. The headboard slammed against the wall in time with his thrusts as he emptied himself inside Trisha, painting her womb with his hot, thick seed. Millie's eyes widened in shock and arousal, watching as her mother's body was Blackened forever.

Trisha's cries grew quieter, her body going limp as Reggie's thrusts slowed to a stop. She lay there, panting, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her whole being seemingly lost in the aftershock of her orgasm, twitching from the pleasure. And then she whispered, "Oh god, that was so fucking good. So much better than I ever thought it could be. Your cum, Reggie. Your beautiful, thick, Black cum. I want it in me all the time. I love the way you fuck me..."

Her words trailed off into a murmur, and then silence.

Trisha's body went slack, the last remnants of her climax rippling through her before she lost consciousness completely, clearly exhausted from her first time getting Blacked. Millie could see her mother's chest rising and falling heavily as she struggled to catch her breath, her skin glistening with sweat. Reggie's large frame hovered over her, his chest heaving with exertion, his cock still buried deep within her.

Reggie's eyes found Millie's again, issuing her a silent challenge. And Millie knew she had to match her mother's depravity. She knew how she had to prove herself to Markus now.

Taking the cue to leave, she turned away from the door and returned to her own bedroom with a newfound sense of purpose. Back in her bed, Millie resumed caressing her sex as the images of her mother and Reggie played on repeat in her mind. Her mother, a woman who had raised her to be prim and proper, had begged for Black cock like a whore. The thought sent her heart racing again.

Markus had been grooming Millie for this moment, pushing her boundaries with every recording session, every text message, every drop of his cum that had painted her throat. He'd told her what she needed to do, but she hadn't truly understood until now.

With a growing resolve, Millie's hand slipped from her pussy, the sticky mess of her arousal cooling on her fingers. Immediately she felt the desperate need to return her hand, her cunt begging to be played with. Millie picked up her phone, opening it to the sight of Black cocks still filling the bimbo's holes in the porn she had been watching.

Her pussy quivered, the walls tightening around nothing but air, eager for the thickness of a Black cock to fill her, to stretch her, to make her feel whole. Millie hovered over the video, but ultimately bookmarked it for later, then closed the site.

Her pussy protested, her clit begging for attention. But Millie ignored the ache, the throbbing need, and instead she opened up the search bar. At the moment, Millie was stronger than her addiction, because she was acting with intent. She knew that she hadn't earned the pleasure she craved. Not yet. She had more to do first.

At the end of the next day, Markus' limo pulled up to the studio, and Millie stepped in with him, feeling a new level of anticipation. She'd spent the morning thinking of nothing but Markus and her mother's unexpected encounter with Reggie. She was dressed to the nines in the outfit she'd picked out the night before, her hair and makeup done to perfection.

It was easily the skimpiest outfit Millie had ever worn in public, and yet no one at White Hot Pop had seemed to mind. In fact, she'd been showered with compliments.

"You look so good, girl," Helen had said with a knowing smirk as Millie walked into the studio. "I like it."

Susan had been even more blunt. "Hell, girl, you're rockin' that shit. Glad to see you took our conversation at the gala seriously. Where'd you get something that hot?"

The words had made Millie blush, but she'd felt a thrill run down her spine, the compliments merely fueling her desire to impress Markus further. She wanted him to see her, to acknowledge that she'd gone all in on his vision for her. Then she would surprise him with the next step she had planned.

But she hadn't expected Susan to lean in, her eyes sparkling with something darker than simple approval. "We should totally go shopping together, babe," she'd whispered. "I know some places that'd just love to see that body of yours in their outfits. Black-owned businesses that cater to your new sense of style."

It was an offer that had sent Millie's mind racing with possibilities. She had set a date for the shopping trip with Susan right then. She couldn't wait to find more clothes to entice Markus with.

But now in the limo, her heart thudded in her chest as she took her seat opposite Markus, her knees pressing together tightly to keep her thighs from spreading and revealing the wetness already pooling between them. The recording session that day had gone really well, that much she remembered. But he hadn't really said much about her outfit.

Markus looked her over, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He knew what she was doing, and at last she could finally see the approval in his eyes. "We made some magic today, didn't we, baby girl?"

"Yes, sir," she murmured, her voice breathy and submissive. She hadn't called him "sir" before, but it felt right, like she was acknowledging his power over her. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes traveling over her body like a man surveying a delicious meal.

"You look... hungry," he said, his voice low and gruff. "Is that for me?"

"Always, Markus," she said, her eyes never leaving his. She'd never used his first name before in such an intimate setting. It felt strange, but also incredibly hot.

His hand reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Good girl," he murmured, gently grabbing the back of Millie's head and pulling her down onto her knees.

Some time later, as Millie was happily sucking on Markus' cock, she noticed he was gazing at her with something more than just lust. She paused to blink up at him, batting her lashes as she suckled on the tasty mushroom in her mouth.

"You're acting different today," Markus said, his voice gruff with need as Millie's tongue resumed licking at the sensitive bit beneath his cockhead. She felt a thrill of power at the thought that she could make him feel this way.

"well, I had a bit of a revelation last night," Millie replied, her voice low and sultry. She kissed her way along his shaft before nibbling on the tip of his cock, her tongue teasing the pre-cum out of the slit there.

His eyes lit up with interest. "Do tell."

"I figured out what you've been trying to teach me," she said, her hand sliding down to cup his heavy balls. "I know what I need to do now."

"And what's that?"

"I've been thinking a lot about what you've asked me to change," she began, her voice a seductive purr. "And I think... I've made a decision."

Markus leaned closer, his eyes dark with interest. "What kind of decision?"

Millie bit her lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've finally decided to give it to you."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that, baby?"

With a flick of her wrist, she pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up the dim interior of the car. She showed him her calendar, and the appointment she'd booked for next week―breast augmentation with the doctor he'd recommended to her, the same one who had clearly transformed so many of the women he'd had hanging on his arms before.

"I'm giving you my body, Markus." Millie said, staring up at him with pure devotion. "You can change it in whatever way you want. I trust you to turn me into the perfect popstar."

Markus's eyes widened, a smirk spreading across his face. "Well, well," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Looks like someone's been a busy little slut."

Her pulse quickened, the thrill of his approval coursing through her like a drug.

"Surprise," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his as she took his cock in deep, careful not to gag on his girth.

Markus leaned back in his seat, his gaze raking over her, calculating. She hoped she was right, that this was how she would finally earn getting fucked by his cock.

The rest of the drive passed in a haze of anticipation. Millie's mind was racing with images of her new, bigger breasts, of the way Markus would look at her once she'd given him what he'd been waiting for. She knew she was playing with fire, giving up control over her own body, but she didn't care. The heat between her legs was too intense to ignore.

The limo slowed as the towering gates of Millie's mansion came into view, the long driveway lit by subtle golden lights that cut through the late-night darkness. Millie sat with her heart pounding―not from nerves, for once, but from hope.

She had stopped asking Markus to come in. After that night in the limo, she'd learned to hold back, to wait, to prove herself through patience.

But tonight had been different. After her surprise, Markus's eyes had never left her, his gaze burning through her clothes as if he could see the new her already. When the car pulled to a stop, Markus cleared his throat.

"You want company tonight?" he asked, voice low, casual―but there was something in his eyes that told her she had struck gold. Still, she felt stunned by the question.

Millie blinked. "Wait, really?"

He smirked, opening the door. "Yeah. I think you've earned it."

Her breath caught. She barely had time to register it before he leaned toward the limo's front and told the driver, "Come back for me in the morning."

Millie's heart soared.

As they stepped out together and climbed the front steps, her hands were practically trembling with excitement. It wasn't just about being with him―it was that he'd chosen her, finally, outside the booth, outside the image, just her.

Inside, the house was still and quiet. Millie flicked on the hallway light and noticed a folded note sitting on the entry table in her mother's familiar cursive.

Gone to Reggie's for the night. Don't wait up.

― Mom

Millie raised her eyebrows. Already going back for more, mom? That works out perfectly for me. Millie flashed a grin as she held it up for Markus to see. "Looks like we've got the place to ourselves."

He leaned in, wrapping one arm around her waist as he scanned the note. "Guess it's our lucky night."

Then, before she could speak again, he kissed her. Slow. Confident.

By the time they pulled apart, Millie felt like the ground beneath her had disappeared entirely.

She took his hand and led him upstairs, her mind light, her steps quick. She led him to her bedroom, her heart pounding in her chest like the bass at a concert. The door clicked shut behind them, and she turned to face him, her hands trembling slightly.

He didn't waste any time, pushing her back onto the bed and climbing on top of her. His strong hands were everywhere, ripping her clothes away with the kind of urgency that made her pussy throb. Millie's eyes went wide as she stared up at him, his Black skin a stark contrast against her pale body.

"You've been a very good girl, Millie," Markus murmured as he kissed his way down her neck. She felt his teeth graze her skin, his breath hot against her flesh. "Very, very good."

He leaned back, his own clothes coming off in a blur of motion. And there he was, in all his glory. The man who had filled her dreams and fantasies, the man who had whispered sweet nothings and harsh truths into her ear, the man who had changed everything about her future.

His shoulders were broad and powerful, his chest a landscape of muscles that rippled with every movement. His abs looked as if they'd been chiseled from marble, each one a testament to the kind of masculine perfection that made her knees go weak. Millie's eyes traveled down further, taking in the thick, proud cock that swung between his legs, the head glistening with more of the pre-cum that tasted like heaven to her.

She gasped as Markus leaned over her, his body a sculpture of Black beauty that seemed to radiate power and control. He was everything she had ever desired, and she felt a thrill run through her as he took her hand and placed it on his chest. "You like what you see?" he murmured, his voice thick with arousal.

"Yes," she breathed, unable to tear her eyes away. She ran her hand sensually through his curly chest hair. "More than I can say."

He smirked, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "Good," he said. "Because I'm going to make sure you remember this night for a long, long time."

With that, Markus leaned in, his cock slowly inching closer to her naked pussy. Millie felt a spike of fear and excitement mingle together in her belly, the sight of it being so close to her unprotected cunt for the first time sending her arousal into overdrive. This was it, she realized―the moment she'd been waiting for, dreaming of, ever since she'd first seen him. She felt the heat of his cock, the velvet-covered steel that had haunted her dreams and her every waking moment.

As he positioned himself at her entrance, she felt the tip of his cock push against her, the pressure making her gasp. He nudged the entrance, pulling his cock back and forth between her lips, soaking the tip with her juices and teasing the hole, but not stretching it yet.

"I'm going to give it to you, baby," he growled, his cock pressing hard against her fuckhole, threatening to pop inside with the slightest movement. "You're going to take it all, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, please!" she begged, her voice a high-pitched whine. Millie wiggled her hips, enjoying the sensation of his rigid dick sliding against her. She was more than ready.

With a triumphant grin, Markus pushed into her tight, virgin cunt. Millie's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt the tip of him push inside, stretching her open with a gentle ease that belied his size. Her body was more than ready for him, slick and begging for the fullness she knew was coming. Millie gasped as she felt herself stretching around more and more of his thick girth. It hurt, but she didn't care. It was what she'd been waiting for, what she'd been dreaming of.

He took his time, easing in and out of her, watching her face intently. She bit her lip, trying not to show any pain. She wanted to be the perfect slut for him, wanted to take everything he had to give without complaint. Her mother's moans from the night before echoed in her mind, a reminder of the depraved ecstasy she'd witnessed. She wanted that too.

But soon, the pain gave way to something else. Something deep, primal, and incredibly hot―coming from the depths of her womb. She moaned Markus' name, her nails digging into his back.

"That's it, baby girl," he murmured, his voice deep with pleasure. "Take that Black cock. You were made for this."

His Black cock slid past her g-spot for the first time, causing her body to arch and clamp down on him, a scream of ecstasy tearing from her throat as he brushes the tip against her magic button, back and forth, inch by thick, delicious inch.

He paused again, giving her a moment to adjust, and then began to move with long, slow strokes. Each one sent a ripple of pleasure through her, her juices coating his cock, making it easier for him to slide in and out. Millie's pussy gushed around him, the sound of their fucking echoing through the room. She felt so wanton, so used, and she loved it. Her mind surged with pleasure as she felt herself being Blackened forever, bit by bit.

The wetness grew, and soon thick strings of her grool were dripping from her pussy onto the bed, leaving a sticky trail. She watched as one particularly long strand stretched and snapped when Markus pulled out of her, the sight making her quiver with desire. Then she let out a gutteral moan as he plunged back into her soaked snatch, her pussy squelching as it was invaded yet again. It was all so primal, so raw, so right.

The room grew hazy, the world outside fading away as she focused solely on the feeling of his cock inside her, sliding ever deeper. Her hips began to move of their own accord, meeting his thrusts with an eagerness that surprised even her. She was no longer a pop star or even her mother's daughter―she was a creature of lust, a vessel that craved his seed.

"I'm going to fill you up with my cum, baby girl," Markus murmured into her ear, his breath hot and sweet. "You're going to be my little white whore, won't you, baby?"

"Yes!" Millie moaned. "I'm your white whore, Markus! Please fuck me full of your cum!"

And then, with a gentle but firm thrust, he entered her all at once, filling her completely. At last she felt his balls nestled against her ass, the heat from within them a pleasant feeling against her skin. She smiled deliriously. He was in, all the way in, his cock filling her up until she could feel the head of him pressing against her cervix. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as he finally picked up the pace, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was both familiar and utterly new. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before―so much more intense than her own fingers.

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Markus's as he pounded into her relentlessly. His strokes grew harder, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. She could see the hunger in his eyes, the desire to claim her fully. And she wanted it, she wanted him to take her, to make her his.

As Markus's strokes grew more frantic, so did her cries. She felt herself climbing higher and higher, her orgasm building like a crescendo in one of her songs. And when he finally spurted his hot, sticky cum deep within her, she knew she'd reached the highest peak of pleasure a woman could feel.

Her body shuddered with the force of her release, her pussy clenching around him, milking him as she screamed. For a moment, they lay there, panting, his cock still buried inside her, trapping his seed against her cervix. Then, with a final, deep thrust, he pulled out, his cum dripping from her pussy. Millie watched it with a strange fascination, the reality of what had just happened finally setting in.

"You're mine now," Markus said, his voice dark and possessive.

And as she stared at the ceiling, her chest heaving with the aftermath of their passion, Millie knew it was true. She was his, body and soul.