Only Ten Days Ch. 02

Author's Note:

This chapter marks a small but intentional shift in tone. While this story has primarily explored heterosexual intimacy, Chapter 2 touches on themes of curiosity, submission, and emotional complexity--including a brief but significant moment of bi-curious confusion from Charles. This is not the dominant focus of the story, but it is part of his evolving arc of vulnerability, power, and identity as the story progresses in this chapter and beyond. If that's outside your usual taste, I encourage you to read with an open mind--or skip this story entirely. This is, after all, a story about discovery. All kinds.

☀️ DAY 5 - MORNING | Breakfast & Totals

The smell of toast, coffee, and something sweet lingered in the air as the trio moved slowly through the soft haze of morning. All three of them were naked, of course. They always were now. It no longer felt like a rule--just a condition of existence.

Charles sat at the table, his bare legs crossed casually, shoulders slightly hunched as he sipped his coffee. He didn't speak at first, only glanced occasionally toward Sophie as she moved through the kitchen, her presence as fluid as the morning light.

She was humming softly--something contented, something dangerous. When she reached up to a high cupboard for the honey, her body stretched with unconscious elegance. Her hips shifted, breasts lifting, ass tightening just enough to catch the attention of both men.

Malik leaned on the counter nearby, relaxed, coffee mug in hand. He watched her too, but not like Charles. Malik didn't hide it.

"You're in a good mood," he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Sophie turned to him, smile blooming. "I slept well." A beat. "Really well."

Malik gave a quiet, knowing nod. "Glad to hear it."

Charles chuckled dryly. "Yeah, I guess we all needed a deep sleep after yesterday."

Malik looked over at him and nodded again--friendly, measured. "You did good, man. Seriously. That wasn't easy. But you handled it."

Charles shrugged, his gaze lowered for a moment. "Thanks. Yeah. Weird... but I guess we're all getting used to it."

Sophie sat beside him, close--but not quite touching. Her hand rested lightly on Charles's knee. "We're doing really well." Then, after a pause, she turned her gaze across the table toward Malik. "All of us."

The eye contact held--longer than Charles liked.

The screen beside them lit up:

"Participant Earnings Update -- End of Day 4"

Sophie: £5,750

Charles: £5,000

Malik: £5,000

"Keep up the excellent work."

Charles let out a low whistle. "Not bad for four days of being naked and confused."

Sophie grinned. "Speak for yourself. I'm not confused at all."

That made Malik chuckle, just under his breath. "Some of us are adapting quicker than others."

Their eyes met again. No shame now.

Charles looked between them, then offered a faint smile. "Right. Well. At least we're all... adapting."

????‍♀️ LATE MORNING | Yoga Session

Sophie stretched lazily as she stood, the light catching the curve of her hips.

"I think I need to move. Clear my head a little," she said. "Anyone want to do some yoga?"

She didn't look directly at either of them--but her voice tilted, just enough. There was a thread of hope in it.

Malik nodded. "Sure."

Charles hesitated, then followed. "Uh, yeah. Why not."

She smiled, and it bloomed across her face.

"Okay. I'll lead."

Later, in the lounge, the mats were laid out in the soft light pouring through high windows. The space was quiet, warm, and wide open. Sophie stood in the centre, arms stretching overhead, her body long and lean, hips tilted just enough, breasts lifting as she breathed.

"Okay," she said. "Let's move. I'll guide." Her gaze drifted toward both men--but lingered a moment longer on Malik.

He nodded. Charles mirrored him.

They began.

Downward Dog. Warrior I. Warrior II.

Sophie moved with fluid ease--gliding, bending, her form almost feline, all grace and rhythm.

She walked behind Charles as he strained slightly in his pose.

"You're doing well, Chuck," she said softly--her tone somewhere between affectionate and condescending. She didn't touch him. Just moved on.

Malik held the same pose, his form solid. Sophie stepped behind him, placing her hands on his hips. Her fingertips warmed his skin, sliding across the edges of his glutes.

"A little wider," she murmured. He adjusted, shifting in response.

Her palms pressed across the swell of his ass, then glided up the lean muscles of his obliques, brushing along the edges of his ribs.

"There. Perfect," she said, her voice thick with warmth.

"You're really hands-on today," Malik noted, amused and low.

"I like helping," Sophie replied, stepping around in front of him.

They both moved into crescent lunge, facing each other. Sophie leaned forward, guiding his arms into place, her breasts just inches from his chest. She transitioned them smoothly into another pose, stepping behind him again. Her palms slid down his hips, adjusting his stance with deliberate care. Her fingers lingered over the outer curves of his glutes before drifting upward once more.

"Good. Open your chest more... right there," she murmured. Her voice had softened, dropped a register. "You feel strong," she added, her breath feathering the air. "Effortless."

Malik gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, his breath deepening as his arms lifted.

Sophie moved to face him again, her hands guiding his wrists into place. She trailed her fingers up his forearms, then over the curve of his biceps. Their eyes met--only breath between them.

As she adjusted his arm behind his back, she dipped lower. Her face hovered directly in the space between his chest and thighs. Her eyes flicked down.

His cock hung thick and relaxed, lightly flushed from warmth and motion. It curved forward with weight and promise, just inches from her face.

She didn't look away.

She didn't rush.

She simply stared--for a breath longer than she should have. Then exhaled softly.

"Beautiful," she whispered.

Malik's smile curled slowly. "The pose?"

Sophie rose with unhurried grace, her breasts brushing his arm as she came upright.

"Mostly."

Their eyes held.

"You're a good teacher," Malik said, his voice like warm velvet.

Sophie's lips parted slightly, her breath catching.

"You're... easy to work with."

Malik said nothing more. He didn't need to.

Across the room, Charles shifted on his mat, stealing glances he tried to disguise. He was still trying to keep up, trying to stay centred.

But the tension between Sophie and Malik had gravity now.

They moved toward each other like it was natural.

Inevitable.

And Charles was starting to feel like a prop.

When the session ended, Sophie lay back on her mat in savasana--arms open, legs relaxed, her chest rising slow and steady. Malik lay beside her, calm. Present. Together.

Charles lay a little farther away, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

On the outside of everything.

???? DAY 5 - AFTERNOON TASK: HEAT MAPPING

The screen lit up, followed by the soft chime that now triggered an instinctive stillness in all three participants.

"This afternoon's Group Task is now available: Heat Mapping."

"Each participant will lie still while the others explore their body using only their fingertips. Participants may touch as they wish--with the exception of deliberate stimulation of the genitals."

"You may not speak. You may not react. You may only feel."

"Completion bonus: £500 per participant."

The numbers flashed.

Sophie swallowed. Malik gave a single, measured nod--calm, focused. Charles shifted slightly, tension in his thighs, his jaw clenching just enough to betray him.

They knew what was coming.

None of them knew what it would cost.

????‍♀️ ROUND 1 - Sophie Lies Down

She reclined on the mat, her eyes soft, her body relaxed but humming just beneath the surface. Her arms rested at her sides, her legs parted--just slightly, naturally, intentionally.

Malik knelt to her left. Charles to her right.

The timer started.

Malik's hand moved first. It always did.

Two fingers traced the ridge of her collarbone, slow and deliberate, before gliding downward--along the gentle slope of her breast. He didn't grope, didn't linger. He followed the natural curve, until the cool air coaxed her nipple into a taut, sensitive peak.

He circled it once. Slowly.

She arched--barely.

His fingers continued their descent, sliding between the valley of her breasts, along the line of her sternum, and across the plane of her stomach. He hovered near the crest of her mound, fingertips brushing the edge of trimmed hair, the suggestion of touch without transgression.

No contact with her slit.

But the heat of his fingers pulsed through her regardless--an echo of desire that settled deep inside.

Charles moved too, but his touch was cautious. He traced along her shin, the outer edge of her arm--safe zones. Distant. Apologetic.

Sophie barely noticed. Her focus was singular.

Her breath hitched as Malik's fingers skimmed the inside of her thigh. He stopped just short of her lips. The ache to move, to open, shimmered through her--but she held still.

Then came her calves. Her feet. The soft ribs beneath her breasts.

And just when she thought it was over--

Malik reached for the inside of her elbow. His fingers glided upward, tracing the back of her arm to her wrist...

Then he leaned down.

And let his breath drift across her nipple.

Not a kiss.

Just warmth.

Just air.

She gasped--silently.

????‍♂️ ROUND 2 - Charles Lies Down

Charles lay stiffly on the mat, arms rigid at his sides, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He didn't move--not even to breathe deeper.

Malik approached first, moving with clinical calm. His hands slid down Charles's arms, across his shoulders, over the ribs and quads--efficient, detached.

Sophie followed a moment later, her fingers grazing his forearm, drifting over his kneecap. Light. Distant.

She didn't touch his cock.

Not even close.

She didn't even look at him.

He felt that absence more than he felt her hands.

And it stung.

????‍♂️ ROUND 3 - Malik Lies Down

Malik stretched out across the mat like a sculpture carved in heat and flesh. Arms behind his head, chest open, his entire body was a portrait of masculine ease. The ridges of his abs rose and fell with shallow breaths. His thighs were taut and powerful. And across one hip, resting thick and heavy, lay the coiled shaft of his cock--already beginning to swell from the air, from expectation.

Charles looked away.

Sophie did not.

Her eyes drank him in--like a starving artist studying her muse. Slowly, reverently, she knelt beside him.

Charles moved first, trailing fingers along Malik's arm, across his chest. The gesture was respectful. Careful. Emotionless.

Sophie stayed frozen, breath caught high in her chest. Then, finally, she reached out. Her fingers touched his shin--solid and warm beneath her hand, like steel wrapped in velvet.

She let her hand drift upward, slow and worshipful. At his thigh, she pressed more firmly, nails barely grazing the muscle, feeling the tension ripple beneath her touch. His skin radiated heat.

She paused.

Then turned inward.

Toward his cock.

Her hand slid along the inside of his thigh, curving upward until the edge of her pinky brushed the thick root of him.

Malik didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He didn't need to.

Her fingers widened, eyes full of awe as they traced beneath the weight of his shaft--from its thick base to the swollen head resting against his hip. It twitched beneath her touch. Her lips parted. Her breath caught.

She shivered.

It's real... and it's perfect...

Her fingertips explored the shape of him--the heat, the velvet softness, the veins, the impossible girth. Even without wrapping her hand around it, she felt it: the weight, the promise, the power.

Her heart pounded.

Her nipples tingled.

Between her thighs, she was soaked.

She had touched cocks before--of course she had. But never like this.

Never this.

Her fingers swept back up the length again, slower this time. Bolder.

And Malik?

He grew.

Right there. In her hand.

Across the mat, Charles watched. His hand had stilled mid-stroke along Malik's arm. His lips parted. His expression slackened.

He didn't say a word.

He didn't need to.

His eyes spoke plainly:

She's gone.

She's not pretending anymore.

Sophie withdrew her hand slowly. Her fingers lingered along Malik's thigh one last time before she sat back on her heels. Her eyes remained locked on the cock she'd just explored in reverent silence.

She was trembling, though she hadn't noticed. Her thighs had pressed together. Her breathing was shallow.

"Task Complete."

The system's voice cut through the air like a slap.

Malik sat up, slow and sure. His cock now stood fully hard, slick with pre-cum, unapologetic. He didn't hide it. He didn't speak.

Sophie stared down at the mat, her cheeks flushed, her heart pounding in her ears.

Charles didn't move.

???? Post-Task Announcement

The system chime sounded again--firmer this time, with an edge that snapped through the stillness.

"Task complete. Processing performance bonuses."

A pause. Then:

"Charles: £500 awarded."

"Malik: £500 awarded."

"Sophie: Rule violation detected. Bonus forfeited."

Silence.

Malik turned his head slightly--just enough to glance at her.

Charles didn't look at anyone. But his face, pale and tight with stunned disbelief, said everything.

Sophie blinked. Her cheeks flushed deeper.

Her fingers still tingled with the memory of Malik's cock.

????️ DIARY ROOM - Sophie (Day 5)

The chair was cool against her bare skin.

Sophie crossed her legs automatically, then uncrossed them--because the pressure only heightened her awareness of how wet she still was.

The chime played. The light came on.

She didn't look up at the camera.

"Participant: Sophie. Task Reflection. Begin when ready."

She swallowed hard. Her voice, when it came, was soft--but steady.

"I touched it."

"I knew the rule. I remembered it. I just... didn't care."

She looked down at her hands resting in her lap, fingertips flexing slightly, as if recalling the shape they'd memorised.

"I wanted to know what it felt like. Not from across the room. Not in a quick glance. But... really feel it."

Her breath caught.

"And it was... oh my god, it was incredible."

Her thighs pressed together again.

"It's not just big. It's not just thick. It's... heavy. Warm. You can feel the blood in it. Like it's alive on its own."

"And I just... I let my fingers follow the shape. The ridge underneath. The way it twitched. I barely touched the tip and it... responded."

She closed her eyes.

"I wanted to wrap my hand around it. Really hold it. See how it felt in my palm. Grip it. Feel the weight of it slap against my wrist."

She opened her eyes again--bright, wet.

Not from shame.

"But I didn't. I pulled away. Just... barely."

"It was the hardest thing I've done since getting here."

A pause. Quieter:

"Charles was watching. I knew it. I felt it."

"But for those few seconds... I didn't care."

Her lips parted again, her voice barely a whisper.

"I think... I wanted him to see."

"I think I wanted Malik to know what he does to me."

????️ DIARY ROOM - Charles (Day 5)

The chair felt colder today. Or maybe it was just him.

He sat hunched forward, knees apart, one hand running absently over the top of his thigh--not from arousal, but nerves. Discomfort. Displacement.

The chime sounded.

"Participant: Charles. Task Reflection. Begin when ready."

He gave a short, bitter laugh.

"It wasn't even sex."

A pause.

"But watching her touch him like that... it felt more intimate than anything she's done to me in weeks."

His eyes blinked slowly, heavy.

"She didn't just touch him. She... studied him. Explored him. Like he was some goddamn artefact and she had to memorise every curve."

"She didn't even look at me."

He shook his head, swallowing hard.

"I know I said I could handle this. That I wanted this. But I thought-- I thought she'd hold back. That she'd play along. That she'd be mine at the end of the day."

His voice cracked.

"But she's slipping. Further. Every time they touch. Every time he looks at her like he knows something I never will."

"I'm not just sharing her anymore."

"I think I'm watching her forget that I exist."

He breathed out, slow and shaky.

Wiped under his eye with a knuckle.

"And the worst part is... I can't even blame her."

???? SYSTEM PROMPT - Sophie

The hallway lights pulsed softly as Sophie stepped out of the Diary Room, her body still tingling, her mind hazy.

A low chime came from the nearest wall screen. She turned.

"Private Prompt for Sophie Only."

"You are invited to choose one housemate for an exclusive night of connection. This is a gift for your honesty and engagement."

"Choose wisely. Your selected partner will be removed from all other tasks for the remainder of the day."

Sophie smiled slowly. Her breath caught.

There was no real hesitation.

No real choice.

"Malik."

She pressed.

The screen blinked.

Accepted.

She turned away, heart pounding. A night alone. With Malik.

Maybe the rules would blur again.

Maybe she'd feel more than just the weight of his cock under her fingertips this time.

She was already growing wet again at the thought.

Then came the second chime.

Louder.

Sharper.

"Thank you, Sophie. Your selection has been registered."

"To honour your chosen partner, he will be removed from the house for the remainder of the night."

"You and Charles will now enjoy an intimate evening together, uninterrupted."

Sophie froze.

Her smile vanished.

She had misunderstood the prompt.

The screen remained lit, impassive.

And for the first time all day--

She felt completely alone.

???? DAY 5 - EVENING: INTIMATE NIGHT

The dining room was dim, bathed in warm amber from recessed lighting. Two glasses of wine sat between them, condensation beading down their sides. The food was laid out with care--elegant, almost romantic.

It should have felt like a date.

Instead, it felt like a test.

Sophie sat with her legs crossed, ankles tucked beneath the chair, her bare skin glowing faintly under the light. Her posture was relaxed.

Her heart was not.

Across from her, Charles rested his elbows on the table, fingers slowly rotating the stem of his wine glass. He studied it for a moment before finally breaking the silence.

"I was... surprised. That you picked me."

Sophie's stomach sank.

She offered a soft smile. Gentle.

Too gentle.

"Of course I picked you," she said.

Her voice was light. Steady. A little too rehearsed.

Charles chuckled, the sound thin, almost brittle.

"No, I mean... I didn't think I was the one who made you feel the most-- I don't know. Connected."

Sophie took a long, deliberate sip of wine.

You are.

You were.

I wanted Malik.

She set the glass down carefully, her fingers lingering at the base.

"I didn't want things to get lost. Between us."

That part wasn't a lie.

Not completely.

Charles leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles.

"I've felt like I was slipping. Like he was... pulling you away from me."

She said nothing.

"I watch the way you look at him. The way you... touch him. And I try to tell myself it's just part of the experiment. But it's getting harder."

Her heartbeat quickened. Tightened.

"I don't want to lose you," he said.

Sophie reached across the table and laid her fingers over his.

"Then don't."

????️ Later - In the Bedroom

The bedroom was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of low lighting. The sheets had been turned down with care, and the air carried a subtle scent of citrus, mingling with something more intimate and unmistakable--her own arousal, still lingering on her skin. Sophie lay on her side, facing Charles, her body relaxed but her mind restless, uncertain.

He moved closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her gently toward him. His lips found her shoulder first, then her neck, the warmth of his breath slightly unsteady. She let him continue, turning her face to meet his. The kiss was soft, tentative, tinged with sweetness--but beneath it, she felt the restraint. The mildness. The effort to feel something that refused to rise.

His hand slid over her breast, cupping it tenderly, while the other hand drifted lower, across the curve of her stomach and down between her thighs. He shifted on top of her, kissing with more urgency now, trying to lead, to stir something into life. But his body lagged behind the intention. There was no fire, no pressure, no insistence. He pressed against her, but the truth became quickly, undeniably clear.

He wasn't hard.

She kissed him again, more slowly, trying to ease him into arousal. Her hand moved between them, fingers wrapping around his cock, gently coaxing. It felt smaller in her palm than she remembered--softer, almost weightless, like it no longer believed in itself. She stroked with patience, careful not to shame him, and he closed his eyes, silent. But nothing changed.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice tight and ashamed. "I'm trying."

"It's okay," she said, her voice even and soft, though it wasn't.

Because while she comforted him, her thoughts slipped elsewhere--uninvited, unstoppable. She imagined Malik instead, imagined the feel of him, the heat of his presence. Malik wouldn't be apologising. He wouldn't be trying. He'd already be gripping her hips, already hard, already pressing that thick, perfect cock against her body with absolute confidence. He'd know exactly what she needed without asking. And her body would know, instantly, how to open for him.

She closed her eyes, the ache beginning to rise in her again--not from what she was experiencing, but from what she wasn't.

Charles sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just wanted tonight to be good. For you."

She nodded, offering a quiet "It's okay," though the hollowness in her chest deepened.

"I can still do something," he added, determination tightening his voice. He lowered himself between her thighs, and she let him, watching the crown of his head move closer. His lips pressed gently to her inner thigh, his tongue drawing slow, careful circles. He worked harder than usual--more focused, more precise. It wasn't bad. He was trying so much harder than before.

But it still felt distant. Like touch filtered through a layer of glass. There was no real depth, no primal urgency. She wanted to be grateful, to appreciate the effort. But her body had already remembered too much. Malik's breath. Malik's cock twitching beneath her hand. The way her whole body seemed to ignite whenever he was near.

Now, she was lying in bed beside a man who loved her. Who wanted to please her. Who was truly, sincerely trying. And all she could feel was the growing distance between what she had and what she wanted.

She came. Barely.

☀️ DAY 6 - SOPHIE'S MORNING

Sophie woke to the dull, aching throb of longing between her legs. Her thighs were sticky. Her skin was warm beneath the sheets. Her nipples brushed against the fabric, tight and flushed, the lingering pulse of desire still radiating through her body.

She was coming down from the dream.

In it, Malik had returned--not as he was before, but changed. Certain. He stepped into the bedroom already hard, already knowing exactly what she needed. She was waiting, naked, perched on the edge of the bed with her legs open. When he moved between them, she could feel the shadow of his cock fall across her thighs before he even touched her.

He knelt between her legs, his voice low and sure.

"You're ready now."

Then he took her--slow at first, thick and deliberate, stretching her open with such deep, relentless waves that she gasped into the sheets. He filled her in a way that both scared and thrilled her. His hands pinned her wrists. His breath was hot at her ear.

"Is this what you've been dreaming of?" he whispered.

And she had moaned his name--over and over--until she came with her fingers clawing into the mattress, her body jerking against his, begging for more even as she shattered.

Sophie blinked her eyes open.

Charles lay curled beside her, lips parted slightly, one arm folded across his chest like a boy hiding from a nightmare. Her clit still pulsed faintly. Her thighs were slick. Her mouth dry.

She remembered the night before--how she'd tried to help him, how soft he'd stayed in her hand, how small he had felt. Even when he'd gone down on her, it had felt... nice. That was the word. Not hungry, not devouring, not worshipful.

Just nice.

And then, worse--when she came, it had felt like a favour. A way to end the moment, to give him something, to make him feel whole again.

But now, in the cool quiet of morning, her body told the truth.

Malik was still inside her.

Not physically--but in her muscles, in her breath, in the burn behind her eyelids. She turned toward the empty bed across the room. Malik's bed. The sheets were untouched. The space felt enormous.

She bit her lip.

Come back, she thought.

I need you again. I need more.

The system chimed overhead.

"All participants, please report to the Diary Room."

Sophie sighed. She wiped the inside of her thigh with the edge of the sheet and sat up slowly. The sensation between her legs wasn't satisfaction. It wasn't even real release. It was a soft, echoing pulse--more a mini-gasm than an orgasm. A ripple of relief, not fulfilment.

Charles stirred beside her and climbed up onto the mattress, eyes wide with hope.

"Better?" he asked.

She leaned in, kissed his cheek.

"Yes," she said.

She smiled.

She lied.

He curled up behind her, one arm wrapping around her waist.

Sophie lay still, staring into the dark, her skin still tingling, her body still warm.

But not from him.

????️ DAY 6 - MORNING | DIARY ROOM - Replacement Offer

The lights in the Diary Room were dim, muted. The kind of lighting meant to make people speak softly, reveal things they hadn't meant to say. Sophie sat in the centre, Charles on her right. The chair to her left remained empty--a quiet, glaring reminder that Malik was still gone.

The screen flickered to life in front of them.

"Participant Trust Milestone: Decision Opportunity."

"You may now choose to replace Malik with one of the two original alternate candidates."

"Decision must be unanimous. If even one participant votes against, Malik will remain."

"You may discuss freely. Final choice will be locked when prompted."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Charles rubbed his palms over his thighs, as though trying to warm his thoughts into clarity. Then he cleared his throat, voice tentative.

"I mean... it's not that I want him gone. I just--if this has gotten weird. Or... too much."

Sophie remained quiet.

"I thought maybe, you know, starting over could be good. Cleaner. Like--we've made it a third of the way, and it's getting heavier. More... involved."

He looked at her, waiting. Hoping she'd meet him halfway. But Sophie was still thinking about the dream. About Malik's eyes, the weight of his cock pressing into her, the way her body had opened for him with effortless, instinctive hunger. Even now, her muscles remembered him.

She blinked, brought herself back into the room, then shook her head gently.

"Starting over wouldn't make it cleaner, Charles. It would make it harder," she said, her voice calm but firm. "You want to go through this with someone new? Someone who hasn't earned any trust, who hasn't shown us any respect?"

She leaned forward slightly, eyes on his.

"Malik's never crossed a line. Not once. He's been decent. Grounded. Safe."

Charles dropped his gaze to his hands, nodding faintly.

"And honestly," she added, "would you rather I start getting naked with someone else? Someone I don't even know?"

She gave him time to think.

"To you, Malik's hard to handle. But what if the next guy's worse?"

There was a long, loaded pause.

Charles let out a slow breath. "You're right."

He glanced at the screen, voice lower now. "It's not... him. I know that. It's me."

Another breath.

"I vote to keep Malik."

Sophie followed immediately. "Same."

"Final decision registered."

"Malik will remain your housemate."

The screen paused. Then:

"Would any participant like to explain their reasoning for the record?"

Charles hesitated, then spoke, more clearly than before.

"Because we trust him. More than we would trust a stranger. And because... even if this isn't easy--he hasn't made it harder."

He looked at the wall, then at nothing.

"He's been... good to her. To us."

Sophie's chest tightened.

Because it was true.

And because that truth meant Malik was slipping even further away.

Not just with her.

But with Charles's permission.

???? DAY 6 - MORNING: CHARLES'S PROMPT

Before Sophie had finished brushing her teeth, before Malik stepped back through the patio doors, the screen above Charles's bed lit with a soft pulse and a familiar chime. He looked up, still groggy, blinking against the light.

"Private Bonus Opportunity - Charles Only"

"£1,000 will be added to the accounts of all participants immediately."

"In exchange, you must speak the following truth aloud, sincerely, in front of your housemates."

"You must express gratitude to Malik. You must say you're glad he was chosen, that he's been a good third, that you appreciate how he treats Sophie, and that it makes you happy to see her feel safe and valued by him."

"This is a one-time opportunity. Refusal results in no bonus. No one will be told about this prompt but you."

Charles stared at the message.

He swallowed, his throat dry. His heart twisted. His pride flared, hot and raw.

But then he thought of the money.

Thought of Sophie.

Thought about how little fight he had left in him.

He pressed confirm.

☀️ DAY 6 - KITCHEN REUNION

Breakfast was nearly ready--fresh melon, hot toast, strong black coffee. Charles moved through the motions with quiet precision, every gesture a form of distraction. Sophie sat at the kitchen island, still nude, her hair damp from the shower, long legs folded beneath her, her body glowing in the morning light. Her nipples stood stiff in the chilled air, and a blush lingered across her collarbones. She hummed softly, a dreamy sound.

Then came the soft hiss of the patio doors sliding open.

She turned--and lit up.

Malik.

He stepped inside with the same easy calm he always carried, naked and radiant, water still glistening on his skin. His cock hung thick and heavy, fresh from the rinse, hips damp with clinging droplets.

"Morning," he said, voice smooth and low.

Sophie's breath caught. She crossed the kitchen in three quick, barefoot steps and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body fully to his. Breasts against chest, hips to hips, belly to belly--there was no space between them.

"Missed you," she whispered, cheek pressed to his chest.

Malik smiled and rested one warm palm on the small of her back. Not low, not suggestive--just present. Confident. Grounded. He didn't need to ask for permission.

Behind them, Charles cleared his throat and approached. His body was tense, drawn in. His cock hung small and pale in the morning chill, his posture closed but determined. He extended a hand.

Malik shifted, took it, and pulled him into a quick, firm half-hug.

"Welcome back, man," Charles said.

"Glad to be back."

There was a moment's pause. Then Charles cleared his throat again, this time with more weight behind it.

"Hey, Malik. Before we sit--can I say something?"

Sophie pulled back from Malik just slightly, curious. Malik turned toward Charles, one brow raised, but gave a nod.

Charles took a steadying breath.

"I just... I want to say thank you. I mean it. We got lucky. We didn't know what to expect when we signed up for this--what kind of third we'd get. And honestly? You've been... incredible."

Sophie blinked, the softness in Charles's voice catching her off guard.

"You've treated Sophie with so much respect," he continued. "I see how she looks at you, how she relaxes when you're around. It's clear she feels... safe. Valued. Even happy."

He faltered slightly, voice catching, but pushed through.

"And for me, that means everything."

He looked up at Malik, eyes steady.

"So... thanks. For being here. For being who you are."

Malik blinked slowly, clearly absorbing the weight of it. Then he nodded.

"That means a lot, Charles. Thank you for saying it."

He glanced between them. "You've both made this easier than it could've been."

Charles nodded, managing a faint smile, but there was something visibly smaller in his shoulders now. Like he'd handed something over he wasn't sure he'd get back.

Sophie looked at him with a softness in her gaze.

But it wasn't longing.

It was gratitude. And something close to release.

???? BREAKFAST BEGINS

They sat at the table, Malik at the head, Sophie beside him, and Charles directly across. The conversation started light--coffee preferences, who had snored last night, how strange and quiet the house had felt with only two people in it.

Malik smiled over his cup. "So... did you two enjoy your alone time?"

Sophie and Charles glanced at each other, an awkward beat passing between them. Sophie spoke first.

"It was nice... quiet. Different," she said with a casual shrug and a faint smile. "We had wine. Talked. Spent some time together."

Malik smirked slightly. "Sounds cozy."

"It was," Charles added quickly, his voice too eager. "Nice to reconnect a bit."

A lie.

Sophie sipped her coffee, her gaze drifting toward Malik. "But it wasn't the same without you," she said smoothly. Her voice was measured, deliberate. She reached to pass him the honey, letting her fingers brush his wrist just a little longer than necessary.

As the meal went on, Sophie's body language began to shift. She laughed more freely at Malik's teasing about the overcooked oats. When she got up to refill her cup, she touched his shoulder lightly. Her bare leg rested against his beneath the table--casual, unhurried, unmistakably familiar.

Charles saw all of it. Saw how natural it was for her now. How little she hesitated. How easily her affection flowed toward Malik. It didn't look like a woman touching another man.

It looked like her being herself.

???? BONUS REVEAL

Sophie stood to clear the plates just as the system chimed, crisp and even.

"Bonus Award Processed:"

Sophie: +£1,000

Charles: +£1,000

Malik: +£1,000

"No further details available."

Sophie raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "What was that for?"

Charles didn't look up. He kept his eyes on the rim of his glass, his fingers turning it absently. "No idea," he said, voice neutral, accompanied by a small shrug.

Malik smiled, slow and unreadable. "Guess we're just doing something right."

Sophie's gaze flicked to Charles. He looked smaller now somehow--shrunk by effort, by proximity, by something he could no longer control.

And for the first time... she didn't feel bad about it.

????‍♂️ ROUND 1 - CHARLES

The chime sounded again.

"First Participant: Charles. Please stand on the marked mat."

He stepped forward slowly, every movement tight and deliberate. His shoulders were slightly hunched, hands clenched at his sides. His cock hung soft and small, retreating into the space between his thighs as if trying to disappear. The mat beneath his feet felt colder than it should have.

Behind him, Sophie and Malik sat nude and comfortable, their bodies relaxed in the soft light, skin glowing with ease and confidence. They looked like they belonged there.

Charles tried to match their posture, tried not to look small.

Tried even harder not to feel small.

The touchpads in front of Sophie and Malik lit up, and both began typing--ten words being quietly offered as truths, judgments, confessions.

Then the system displayed the randomised results:

???? DESCRIPTIVE WORDS:

Kind

Sweet

Cute

Self-conscious

Gentle

Loyal

Supportive

Timid

Thoughtful

Overthinking

Charles stared at the list.

He searched for a pattern. For meaning. For something that didn't make him feel like a boy standing beside adults. "Cute" stung more than it should have. "Self-conscious." "Timid." "Overthinking."

Soft words.

Soft traits.

Not what Sophie had dreamed about the night before. Not what her body cried out for when Malik was near.

He inhaled slowly. Forced himself to speak with calm.

"Alright... I think Sophie wrote: Kind, Cute, Loyal, Supportive, Thoughtful."

"Malik: Sweet, Gentle, Self-conscious, Timid, Overthinking."

The screen blinked.

✅ Correct Matches: 6/10

???? Bonus Earned: £1,200

A beat of silence passed. Then another, softer chime.

???? Mystery Word Identified: 'Cute' - Submitted by Sophie

???? Bonus Interaction Unlocked

"The standing participant must now stand beside each seated housemate for a physical comparison. One seated housemate will provide a verbal observation about the physical difference between them."

???? COMPARISON - CHARLES & MALIK

Malik stood with quiet confidence, rising from his seat in a single, fluid motion. His shoulders were pulled back, chest open, posture relaxed and unapologetic. Even the sway of his cock as he moved felt natural, unbothered--effortless.

Side by side, the difference was immediate and undeniable. Malik was nearly half a foot taller, broader in every direction. Veins curled across his biceps like a roadmap. Even soft, his cock was stunning--thick, long, weighty. Not just a body part, but a presence. A quiet threat.

Sophie's eyes moved down the length of them, then back up. She exhaled.

"Malik takes up more space," she said softly. "Physically, sure. But it's more than that. He... owns the air around him. Charles doesn't do that. He fits into a space--Malik becomes it."

Charles swallowed, his throat dry. His shoulders lowered, just slightly. The words hadn't been cruel. They didn't need to be.

???? COMPARISON - CHARLES & SOPHIE

Now it was Sophie who rose. She stood beside Charles with an ease that highlighted every contrast between them. Her body was smaller, but more composed--confident in a way that had nothing to do with size.

Her breasts sat high and full, nipples flushed from the cool air. Her stomach was taut, thighs tight from yoga, hips curving with quiet power. She didn't fidget. Didn't shift. She stood, present and self-assured.

Charles looked pale beside her, drawn in, his posture unsure even now.

Malik was the one who spoke next.

"Sophie's body feels awake," he said. "Like it's used to being touched, wants to be touched, looked at. Charles feels... tense. Pulled inward."

Again, the difference wasn't just visual. It was presence.

And again, Charles couldn't deny it.

He stepped back toward the chairs and sat down quickly, face flushed crimson. He cleared his throat, tried to smile through the awkward weight of the moment.

"That was... kinda embarrassing," he said with a weak chuckle.

Sophie gave him a warm look, her voice soft. "You did fine, babe."

Malik nodded once. "Seriously. You handled it well."

Charles nodded too, offering the smallest of smiles.

But inside, a part of him shrunk just a little more.

Cute.

????‍♀️ ROUND 2 - SOPHIE

"Next participant: Sophie. Please step onto the mat."

She rose slowly from her chair.

There was no towel to clutch, no clothing to adjust. Just long legs, taut hips, high, full breasts, and the easy sway of a woman who had begun to understand the power of being naked--completely naked--and unapologetically looked at.

Her nipples were already stiff. Her lips parted. Between her thighs, she felt the faint throb of memory--a ghost of Malik's voice still echoing in her ear.

She stepped onto the mat and exhaled, standing tall.

Behind her, Malik and Charles picked up their touchpads. Neither of them spoke, but each glance at her body added something unspeakable to the words they chose.

They typed.

Then the words appeared on the screen.

???? DESCRIPTIVE WORDS:

Beautiful

Aroused

Curious

Restless

Magnetic

Intense

Sensual

Distracted

Open

Addictive

Sophie's cheeks flushed, but it wasn't from shame--it was from heat. Her gaze drifted across the list, taking in each word like a touch. When her eyes landed on Aroused, her breath hitched.

She knew.

She didn't need the screen to tell her who had written that one.

She just needed to pretend she wasn't thrilled by it.

She took a moment. Then spoke, her voice calm but pulsing with something deeper.

"Okay... I think Charles gave me: Beautiful, Curious, Restless, Distracted, Open."

"And Malik: Aroused, Magnetic, Sensual, Intense, Addictive."

The screen flashed.

✅ Correct Matches: 8/10

???? Bonus Earned: £1,600

Then came the softer chime.

???? Mystery Word Identified: 'Aroused' - Submitted by Malik

???? Bonus Interaction Unlocked

"Each seated housemate must approach the standing participant and whisper into her ear: 'What I'd do to you if the rules didn't exist.'"

???? BONUS - WHISPERED FANTASY

Sophie exhaled, her breath slow but tight. Her thighs pressed together just slightly--subtle, involuntary.

Okay...

Charles stood first.

He approached her with care, his body held close to itself, his cock soft, his expression open but nervous. His cheeks were red again--not just from embarrassment this time, but from effort, from wanting to be enough.

He leaned in, his lips brushing close to her ear.

"I'd kiss your whole body," he whispered. "Take my time. Make love to you slowly... until you couldn't stop saying my name."

His breath tickled her skin.

She smiled--gently, gratefully. It was sweet. Thoughtful.

But her body didn't respond.

Then Malik rose.

He didn't hesitate. Each step was confident, calm. As he came close, Sophie felt her breath catch in her throat. His cock brushed softly against her hip--still hanging, still not hard, but full. Promising. Undeniable.

He leaned in, his voice like smoke, smooth and low.

"I'd press you against the wall... slide in slowly... and not stop until your legs gave out. Until you begged me not to let you go."

Her knees almost buckled. Her nipples tightened with sudden, aching sharpness.

She closed her eyes--just for a second--and let herself picture it. The wall. His body. The sound she'd make.

When she opened them, Malik was already stepping away.

And Charles had seen her face.

She returned to her seat with composure, moving gracefully, but her whole body was still lit from within. She sat beside Charles again... but her weight tilted just slightly toward Malik.

The screen flashed once more.

"Final participant: Malik."

????‍♂️ ROUND 3 - MALIK

"Final participant: Malik. Please step onto the mat."

He stood slowly, unhurried and unapologetic. Every step was a quiet statement--his broad chest relaxed, abs rising and falling with calm control, his cock swaying heavily with each stride. Soft... but not quite. There was a subtle, semi-thick fullness to it now, the kind that suggested heat just beneath the surface, not sleep.

He stepped onto the mat and stood tall. Comfortable. Still. His arms rested loosely at his sides. There was no tension in him, no guardedness, no attempt to anticipate judgment.

He didn't brace for it.

He welcomed it.

Behind him, Sophie and Charles sat motionless, eyes fixed. Their fingers hovered over their touchpads, almost reverent as they began to type.

The screen displayed their choices:

???? DESCRIPTIVE WORDS:

Veined

Calm

Godly

Sculpted

Thick

Present

Stillness

Dangerous

Tempting

Powerful

Malik studied the words. His face didn't change. Only his cock twitched once--subtle, undeniable.

Then he answered, clear and unflinching:

"Sophie: Veined, Godly, Sculpted, Thick, Tempting.

Charles: Calm, Present, Stillness, Dangerous, Powerful."

The screen blinked.

✅ Correct Matches: 8/10

???? Bonus Earned: £1,600

Then came the lower chime.

???? Mystery Word Identified: 'Godly' - Submitted by Sophie

???? Bonus Interaction Unlocked

"Each seated participant must now give a full verbal description of Malik's body--out loud. Honestly. In detail."

????️ BONUS - VERBAL BODY DESCRIPTION

Sophie's breath caught. Her thighs pressed slightly together under the table. Charles looked frozen.

The system chimed again.

"Charles, begin."

He swallowed, his voice tight.

"Malik is... big. I mean, he's taller, broader--his chest is thick, defined. Not in that gym-flex kind of way. Just solid. Built."

He glanced toward Malik's arms, hesitating.

"His arms--look at the size of them. And his back? Wide. Tight. It's all... proportioned. Balanced. Like it all fits together, perfectly."

A pause.

His eyes dropped lower.

"His cock is... heavy. Even soft. Just--thick, long. Dark. Veiny. Like it belongs on a different man. A different species. A different planet."

He stopped.

The words hung in the air like smoke.

"Sophie, begin."

She stood slowly. Took a breath. Her eyes didn't rush--they traced him, from the warm tone of his skin, across the broad, soft slopes of his chest, to the tight cut of his waist, and finally to where his cock hung like heat made flesh.

"Malik is... sculpted," she began. "But not delicate. He looks like he was built to carry people. To hold them in place. To take what he wants."

She stepped forward, slowly.

"His chest is wide, but soft enough to rest against. His stomach is flat, but not rigid. He's not cold. He's present."

She paused in front of him.

"And his cock..."

There was no blush. No hesitation.

"It's veined. Thick. Long. Even now, it's heavy--like it never fully relaxes. Like it's always ready."

Her voice dipped lower, quieter.

"It's the kind of cock that makes you pause. Wonder if you could handle it. Wonder if you'd even want to go back after."

Malik didn't move.

He just looked at her.

And she didn't look away.

"Task complete."

"All participant scores will be tallied. Reward summaries to follow."

Charles exhaled--finally, visibly relieved.

Sophie sat down slowly, her legs still warm from standing so close.

And Malik stepped back to his chair like a man who had just been named.

???? TASK COMPLETE - PRIZE ANNOUNCEMENT

The system chimed once more--soft, calm, and just a little cruel.

"WORD PLAY COMPLETE. Final Scores:"

Charles: 6/10 - £1,200

Sophie: 8/10 - £1,600

Malik: 8/10 - £1,600

"Mystery Prompts successfully completed: 3/3"

"Total Group Bonus Earned: £1,200"

"Congratulations, participants."

Charles gave a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Better than I thought I'd do."

Malik nodded toward him, the gesture respectful, even warm.

Sophie leaned back in her chair, still flushed from standing on display. "You were both great," she said.

Then, without hesitation, she stood and walked straight to Malik.

She threw her arms around him. Not a polite hug. Not a casual thank-you. Her body pressed fully against his, bare skin to bare skin. His arms slid easily around her waist--one hand spreading across her lower back, the other settling near the soft curve of her hip.

"You were great, Malik," she said, her voice low. Just for him.

"You too," he murmured, close to her ear.

The hug lingered.

Longer than friendly. Longer than "good game." Her cheek rested against his chest. His cock, soft but full, brushed her lower stomach--present. Undeniable.

And Charles saw every second of it.

He looked down at the floor.

A few more murmured congratulations followed, with tired smiles and shifting eyes. Then the system chimed again--this time, brighter. Anticipatory.

"Evening Activity Unlocked: SPIN THE BOTTLE."

"This evening's activity will involve playful, physical dares--randomly assigned."

"Each round, the system will present a challenge. The designated participant must spin the bottle to select a partner."

"The challenge must then be completed with that partner."

"Each completed dare rewards both participants with £500."

"Bonus opportunities may appear."

"Spin the Bottle begins after dinner. Please enjoy your downtime."

Sophie turned back toward the others, her fingers brushing Malik's forearm lightly as she stepped away. The touch lingered--just long enough for Malik to feel it, and for Charles to see it.

"If this bottle lands on me..." she said with a teasing grin, "I'm blaming the system."

Malik's smile was slow, smooth. "Maybe the system knows what you want."

Sophie's lips parted slightly, as if she might answer. But she didn't.

Charles shifted in his seat. "Let's just hope it's not too intense... too awkward," he said, forcing a smile that was tight around the edges.

Malik glanced at him, not unkindly. "It'll only be that way if you make it. Let's just enjoy it for what it is. A little fun."

Sophie bit her lip and said nothing.

That hug? It was still blooming along her skin. Still pulsing between her thighs.

And Malik?

He sat back with easy posture, his cock resting lazily against one thigh--not hard, but not hiding.

The tension wasn't gone.

It was waiting.

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 1

The lights dimmed, casting a golden wash across bare skin as the system chimed again--smooth, teasing.

"Round 1: Sophie. Task: Give your partner a sensual shoulder massage for one minute."

Sophie arched a brow and grinned. "Starting gentle. I like it."

She knelt beside the bottle, fully nude, her skin flushed from wine and laughter. Her nipples were firm, her thighs pressed close together, and as she reached forward, her fingers brushed her own knee with absent, idle grace. She gave the bottle a playful flick. It spun once, twice, slowing quickly.

Then stopped--pointing directly at Charles.

He blinked. Then smiled, hesitant but hopeful.

Sophie clapped softly. "Look at that--your lucky night already."

Charles chuckled, trying not to sound too relieved. "Guess I'll enjoy it while it lasts."

She moved behind him, settling onto a low cushion. Her bare knees pressed into the sofa as her hands came to rest on his shoulders.

"Just relax," she whispered, and began.

Her fingers moved slowly, kneading gently into his traps, pressing thoughtful circles along the slope of his shoulders. She leaned in close, her breath brushing warm against his neck. For sixty uninterrupted seconds, it was just them. No comparisons. No rankings. No imbalance.

For the first time all day, Charles didn't feel watched. Didn't feel judged. He just felt... wanted.

Sophie smiled softly, her fingers never stopping.

But her eyes drifted once.

Past Charles.

To Malik.

Still watching. Still calm. Still very much there.

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 1, PART 2

Malik's Turn

The lights shifted again, a soft amber glow lighting the bottle as the system chimed.

"Next Spinner: Malik."

"Task: Your partner must sit on your lap, facing you, full body contact, for one minute."

Malik smirked faintly, then leaned forward and wrapped one large hand around the neck of the bottle. No drama. No hesitation. Just a smooth, confident spin.

The glass spun tight and fast, a deliberate flick of intention. Sophie held her breath. Charles stared.

The bottle slowed... ticked past Charles... and landed on Sophie.

Sophie's chest rose, her breath deepening. She didn't look at Charles. She looked only at Malik.

He leaned back against the couch, spreading his legs naturally. His thighs thick and relaxed, his cock resting against one--soft, but stirred. He opened his arms.

"C'mere, Soph."

There was no hesitation. She rose and walked toward him, her body radiant under the low lights. As she stepped over his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, she lowered herself--bare, smooth, breathless.

Their skin met everywhere. Her chest against his, stomach brushing his abs, the soft folds of her pussy settling directly atop his cock. Not fully hard--but growing. Present.

Malik's hands found her waist, resting there. Steady. Sophie's arms wrapped slowly around his neck. Her breath caught.

They didn't move--not much. Just held. Cheek to cheek. Body to body.

Charles sat two feet away and watched.

He watched her eyes flutter closed. Watched Malik's cock swell beneath her, the shape of it shifting, lengthening between them. Watched Sophie's hips adjust--barely. Not grinding. Not bold. Just a press. A want.

The timer ticked down in silence.

Sophie's lips brushed Malik's shoulder.

Malik's thumbs drew slow, lazy circles on her hips.

And Charles?

Charles sat still. Rigid.

And entirely forgotten.

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 1, PART 3

Charles's Turn

The system chimed again.

"Final spinner for Round One: Charles."

"Task: Kneel between your partner's legs and tell them the things you find most attractive about them."

Sophie blinked, her expression unreadable. Malik raised his eyebrows slightly--but said nothing.

Charles exhaled, low and tight, then reached forward and spun the bottle. It turned once. Twice. Slowed.

Ticked past Sophie.

Stopped. On Malik.

A beat of silence hung in the air.

Charles's throat tightened. He hesitated for half a breath, then stood. Malik leaned back slightly, legs spreading wider--not in challenge, but as instinct. Natural. Like a throne making room for someone approaching the seat of power.

Charles walked forward.

And knelt.

Naked.

Small.

Eye-level with Malik's cock, thick and half-resting between his thighs--so close he could feel the warmth of it in the air between them. He tried not to look. Malik didn't smirk. Didn't shift. He simply waited.

Charles looked up at him.

"You're confident," he began, voice tight and dry. "Not in an arrogant way. Just... solid. You take up space without having to try."

He swallowed hard.

"You look after Sophie in a way that... feels good. Like she feels safe. Comfortable."

His eyes flicked lower. Just once.

"And... yeah. You're built. Strong. You make an impression."

Another pause.

"I can see why she's drawn to you."

Malik tilted his head, eyes steady. "Thank you, man. That took balls."

Charles gave a faint, tight smile. But his jaw was clenched, his cheeks flushed. He backed away and returned to his seat without another word.

Round One complete.

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 2

Sophie's Spin

The lights warmed again, casting a golden glow over the room as the system chimed softly.

"Round Two - Spinner: Sophie."

"Task: Suck or lick one body part of your partner's choosing."

Charles swallowed.

Sophie raised her eyebrows and gave a breathy laugh. "Okay... guess we're skipping the foreplay now."

She knelt beside the bottle once again, naked and fluid, and gave it a gentle flick. The glass spun--tight circles, clinking lightly against the wood--until it slowed.

Then stopped.

Malik.

Sophie's stomach tightened. She rose slowly, graceful and poised, walking toward him without a glance at Charles.

What will he choose? Her mind raced. Neck? Nipple? His cock? Would he really ask for--

Malik watched her approach with calm, unreadable eyes.

"So..." he said, voice low and smooth, "what should I pick?"

Sophie didn't stop walking.

Malik spread his legs slightly as she neared, again without bravado--just comfort. Possession. His cock rested against one thigh, soft but promising. Present.

Charles watched, frozen. Watching her bare body approach the man he could never match.

Then Malik smiled. "My tongue."

Sophie blinked--and something fluttered in her chest. It wasn't lewd. It was deliberate. Dangerous. Intimate in a way that made her knees feel unreliable.

She stepped in close. Climbed into his lap, her knees straddling his thighs, her naked chest brushing his. Skin to skin. Heat to heat. Her hands lifted, framing his face. She held him there.

He opened his mouth just slightly.

She leaned in--and sucked.

Slow. Wet. Her mouth slid over his tongue, lips wrapping around it, her breath coming faster. Her eyes fluttered closed. She didn't just perform the task. She surrendered to it.

Malik's low growl vibrated against her chest--barely audible, all presence. His hands gripped her hips, firm but not pushing.

Charles didn't move. He couldn't.

The kiss lasted longer than necessary. It wasn't messy. It wasn't playful.

It was deliberate.

Sophie's thighs tightened. She moaned--quietly--into his mouth, then finally pulled away, slowly, lips parted and wet.

"... Wow," she whispered, breathless.

She slid off his lap carefully, her legs shaky, her body tingling.

Charles still hadn't blinked.

"Next spinner: Malik."

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 2, Part 2

Malik's Turn

The system chimed again.

"Spinner: Malik."

"Task: Lie back. Your partner will explore your body with their mouth--but only above the waist."

Sophie blinked, her lips parting slightly, a flick of her tongue tracing their curve. Charles sat forward in his seat, already tense.

Malik leaned in and spun the bottle with a smooth, unhurried motion--the kind of movement that said he had already accepted every outcome. The bottle spun fast, deliberate. Then slowed.

And stopped.

On Charles.

Silence.

Charles blinked, stunned. His throat tightened. "I--I don't think I can..."

He didn't look at Malik. He looked only at Sophie. The anchor. The witness. The one he was afraid of losing.

Sophie's voice was soft, steady. "It's just a game. It's not about... what it means. It's just a task. You've already done more than I expected. I'm proud of you."

He hesitated. His heart thudded against his chest. No answer.

Sophie stood, walked to him, and kissed his cheek. Her lips were warm. Grounding.

"The thinking about it is the worst part," she whispered. "It doesn't mean anything--you'll realise that once it's over. And you'll feel better. I promise."

She smiled, her voice dipping lower, intimate and playful. "Remember, it's just a dare. A task. For money."

She leaned in again, light but purposeful. "Just close your eyes... and pretend it's my body you're kissing."

Charles still looked uncertain, but something in her tone--her calm, her warmth, her faith--soothed the panic tightening in his chest. He nodded, slow and small.

Malik reclined on the couch, arms stretching out across the backrest, his entire body laid out like a throne. His chest was broad and smooth, his cock lying thick and idle along his hip--fuller than before, quietly responding.

Charles knelt.

He leaned in with his eyes closed, trying to conjure Sophie--her scent, her softness, her skin beneath his lips. But it wasn't her.

It was Malik.

And he could tell.

The taste was different--masculine, warm, faintly salty. The smell, too--earthy, clean, natural. A little sweat. A little something else. Something he didn't have a name for.

His lips touched the curve of Malik's chest--firm and wide, nothing like his own. He kissed again, slower this time, brushing over one dark nipple, lingering longer than he meant to.

Just a task. Just pretend it's Sophie...

But Sophie was fading from his mind. Her presence slipping away.

His mouth moved lower--across tight, immovable ribs, over the hard plane of Malik's abs, warm and shifting under his lips.

Then... lower still.

Just above the navel, Charles paused. Opened his eyes.

And there it was.

Malik's cock.

Thick. Heavy. Draped across his hip like it belonged there. Not hard. Not soft. Waiting.

Charles didn't close his eyes again. He kept kissing, just around it, just above it--his lips brushing the lower ridges of Malik's abdomen. But now his eyes were fixed. Drawn. Compelled.

His heart pounded. His mouth was dry. And beneath him, his own cock, small and twitching, betrayed him.

Then--softly, from behind--

"Well done, honey," Sophie said. "Time's up."

Charles flinched like he'd been caught. He pulled back fast, his face flushed, his chest tight. He sat quickly, knees pulled in, hands in his lap, trying to hide what had happened.

Sophie watched him quietly. Her eyes were soft, but there was no denial in them.

Malik stretched, casual and calm. "You did good, man. Seriously. You committed. Respect."

Charles didn't answer. Didn't move.

Still hard.

Still confused.

And Sophie saw.

She stood slowly, her gaze drifting between the two men. Her eyes lingered on Charles--red-faced, curled inward, trying to make himself smaller.

"Maybe we take a quick break?" she said gently. "Just for a few minutes."

Her tone was light, easy, casual--but the look she gave Charles carried quiet understanding. No one argued.

????️ 10-Minute Break Scene - Between Spins

The system's voice faded, replaced by soft lounge music pulsing from hidden speakers. The bottle sat still on the table, wine glasses half-full. The tension... was not.

Malik stood and stretched, long and unhurried. Every flex of his frame was a reminder: of presence, of ease, of unbothered strength. His body moved like it didn't know how to be self-conscious. He padded into the kitchen, shoulders loose, cock swinging with relaxed weight.

Sophie followed him, reaching for the bottle of wine. She poured, whispered something low into his ear. Then she laughed--open, loose, touched with flirtation. Malik smirked in return.

Across the room, Charles sat on the couch--legs crossed tightly, a pillow clutched in his lap. His face was still flushed. His heart still pounding. He could still taste Malik's skin.

He shifted again, adjusting the pillow. But it didn't help.

His cock was throbbing. Shameful. Firm. Refusing to settle, no matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else.

Are they laughing at me?

The thought turned sharp in his gut.

Sophie returned first, wine glass in hand. Her cheeks were warm--whether from wine or something else was unclear. She sat beside him and leaned in, her bare thigh brushing his leg. Soft. Warm. Familiar.

"Hey," she whispered. "You okay?"

He nodded stiffly.

She smiled--but it was distracted. Softer than before. A little less anchored.

"It was just a dare, babe. That's all. A task. It doesn't mean anything."

She looked at him carefully, then added, "Doesn't make you... you know. Gay. Or whatever you're worried about."

Charles turned toward her, his eyes glassy, his lips trembling with something he couldn't name.

"Get a grip of yourself," she added, still gentle. "You did it. You were brave."

Then she kissed his cheek. Soft. Familiar.

"I love you."

But the words didn't land--not the way they used to.

And both of them felt it.

Malik returned next, wine in hand, posture unchanged--easy, grounded, completely at home in his body. His cock hung heavily, unapologetically.

He stopped in front of Charles.

Charles looked up.

Then down.

And couldn't look away.

Malik's voice was easy. Friendly. "You did great, man. Really."

Charles opened his mouth to reply.

Closed it.

Swallowed.

Sophie took a sip of wine, hiding a smile behind the rim of her glass.

And in the silence that followed, the only sound Charles could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat.

Then came the chime.

"Round Three will begin shortly."

"Charles's spin was skipped due to break request."

"Thank God," Charles muttered.

It made both Malik and Sophie laugh.

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 3, Part 1

Sophie's Turn - Lap Grind, Eye Contact Only (30 seconds)

The bottle sat in the centre of the room, glowing faintly, as if it knew the heat it was about to unleash.

"Round Three - Spinner: Sophie."

"Task: Straddle your partner's lap and grind for 30 seconds. Eye contact must be maintained. No speaking."

Charles tensed the moment the words were spoken. Sophie blinked once, slow and deliberate. And Malik?

He exhaled--low, smooth, already knowing.

Sophie knelt at the bottle. No flirtatious flick this time. No smile. Just composure. She was ready. Wet. Steady in the way only a woman on the edge of surrender can be. She spun.

The glass turned, the silence humming louder than the music still playing in the background. It slowed.

Ticked past Charles.

Stopped. On Malik.

Her chest rose in a sharp, quiet breath. Victory. She stood, moved toward him--no hesitation, no performance. Just purpose.

Malik spread his legs slightly. Waiting. His cock rested against his thigh--not hard, but thick, warm, awake. Like it had been waiting for her.

She stepped between his knees, and his hands slid to her hips--casual, firm, like claiming her was second nature. Inevitable.

Sophie climbed into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, skin against skin, nothing between them. Her folds pressed directly against his shaft, parted lips to soft, heavy cock. Their eyes locked.

And she began to move.

At first, it was slow. Her hips rolled in long, dragging motions, pulling the heat of her arousal across the weight of him. Wetness met warmth. Flesh against flesh.

Malik's cock twitched beneath her--growing, thickening, swelling between her lips like it had been summoned. Sophie inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. She moved again, grinding deeper, searching for that place--yes, there--where the head of his cock brushed her clit and made her entire body jolt.

A moan escaped her lips before she could stop it. She bit down, caught herself, and kept moving. Again. And again.

She wasn't pretending anymore.

Her hips rocked with hunger. With precision. She was using him now--using his cock to scratch the ache that had been burning through her since day two. Malik's grip on her hips tightened, anchoring her, not controlling her. Just holding her still enough to push against. To hold her there. Let her ride.

Their eyes never broke.

Her lips parted, breath coming faster, more ragged, the rhythm of her hips matching the silent need building in the air between them.

Another moan. Louder.

"... Fuck," she whispered--violating the rule.

But neither of them stopped.

Malik didn't speak. He just stared up at her, steady, calm, blazing. He watched her lose herself. Watched her come undone on him. Watched her forget everything but the shape of his body and the heat of her own need.

Across from them, Charles sat stiff on the edge of the couch.

He should have looked away.

He couldn't.

His jaw hung slack. His cock pulsed hard in his lap, betrayed by everything he'd seen. His thoughts raced and twisted in on themselves--jealousy, yes. But curiosity too. And something stranger. Something closer to longing.

Sophie was panting now, sweat blooming across her chest, her hair clinging to the sides of her face. Grind after grind. Drag after drag. Every motion brought her closer, every pass of her clit against that now-thick cock drew her deeper into something she couldn't hide.

Thirty seconds came and went.

The system didn't chime.

She didn't stop.

It was Malik, finally, who spoke--low, quiet, reverent.

"Time's up."

Sophie froze. Just for a moment.

Then she climbed off, slow and shaky, her thighs wet, her lips parted. She didn't look at Charles.

She couldn't.

Her body had already spoken for her.

And what it said was:

I want him.

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 3, Part 2

Malik's Turn - Task: Kiss, lick, and suck your partner's chest/torso. Do not go below the waist or above the neck.

The system's voice returned, velvet-smooth and perfectly measured, like it knew exactly what it was stirring.

"Spinner: Malik."

"Task: Kiss, lick, and suck your partner's chest and torso. No contact below the waist or above the neck. Duration: One minute."

Sophie exhaled, already breathless. Charles's stomach tensed.

Malik leaned forward, gripping the bottle with one large, veined hand. His thumb brushed over the glass slowly, almost absent-mindedly, before flicking it with a smooth, practiced snap. The bottle spun fast--too fast--like it didn't want to stop.

Charles watched it blur past him once. Then again. Slower now. Slower still.

And then it stopped.

On Sophie.

A thick silence pulsed through the room. Sophie's lips parted slightly. She didn't speak. Neither did Malik. He didn't smirk. He didn't gloat. He simply stood, walked over to her, and extended a hand.

She took it.

He pulled her gently to her feet, and when she stood before him--nude, flushed, trembling with anticipation--he guided her down to the mat with the kind of grace that made the whole thing feel like a ritual. Not a task. A rite.

She lay back. Arms relaxed at her sides. Legs parted instinctively. Her breath already shallow, as if her body had been edging itself all night.

Malik knelt beside her and began.

He started with a kiss. Just one. Placed at the centre of her chest, right above her heart. Slow. Meaningful. Then his tongue traced a line between her breasts--deliberate, unhurried. A path. A promise.

Sophie moaned softly, her body shaking with a sound that felt like it had been waiting for permission to be released. Malik's mouth opened against her skin, sucking gently at the soft swell of her right breast. Just enough to leave it flushed. Damp. Alive. Then he turned to the other.

His lips wrapped around her nipple and sucked. Hard enough to make her hips twitch, slow enough to make her whimper.

Charles's heart slammed against his ribs. He sat forward on instinct, eyes locked on the scene. That sound she just made? She'd never made that sound with him.

Sophie's fingers tangled in the mat beneath her. This wasn't performance. It wasn't play. She was being devoured.

Malik dragged his mouth lower--over her ribs, across the soft rise of her belly. His tongue flicked into her navel, drew a slow circle, then dipped lower. Lower. Until it hovered just above her mound.

He stopped there. His breath fanned her skin.

Sophie gasped, her back twitching off the mat.

"F-fuck..." she whispered, biting her lip.

Her nipples were swollen, achingly stiff. Her thighs trembled, parted wider, as if trying to invite him in without asking. Her body was opening itself, rule or no rule.

Malik kissed back up her stomach, slow and reverent. He lingered beneath the curve of her breast, tongue pressing flat against her skin like he was memorising her taste. Sophie arched into it. Moaned again.

That sound--raw, involuntary, the kind of sound that tells the truth.

Charles had heard her moan before. But not like this. Not from this.

He watched her chase Malik's mouth with her body, watched her arch up for more like she couldn't get enough. She wasn't thinking about the rules. She wasn't thinking about him.

She was his.

And he was watching it happen.

Malik closed his mouth over her nipple again--slowly, then harder. He sucked deep and let it pop free with a wet slurp that echoed through the quiet room. Sophie's body jerked in response, her breath catching like a cry she couldn't form.

Her skin gleamed with sweat and saliva. Her chest rose and fell in quick, desperate waves. Her stomach twitched every time Malik exhaled near it. Her thighs... parted, slick, glistening.

Charles sat motionless, his jaw clenched, his cock pulsing, useless.

"One minute complete."

The system chimed. But no one moved.

Malik pressed one last kiss to her sternum and pulled back.

Sophie stayed on the mat, eyes closed, her breath ragged and breaking in waves. Her nipples were dark and engorged. Her skin shone where his mouth had touched her. Her legs still lay open. Her body looked like it had just been fucked--and they hadn't even broken the rules.

Charles swallowed hard.

It already looked like Malik's mouth had done more to her in sixty seconds than his ever had.

???? AFTERMATH -- The Quiet Between Touches

The system had spoken.

The task was done.

But Sophie hadn't moved.

She lay still on the mat, her bare chest rising and falling in quick, shallow waves. Her nipples stood stiff and aching, dark pink, glistening from Malik's mouth. A sheen of saliva still glowed on her stomach--cool now, but not forgotten. Her thighs twitched gently. She was still dripping.

Malik sat beside her, knees bent, one hand braced behind him on the mat, the other resting casually on his thigh. Not touching her anymore. But still close.

His cock had thickened--not hard, but full. Proud. It lay against his hip like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting to be remembered.

He didn't speak.

He didn't gloat.

He just... watched her.

Sophie turned her head slowly, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. She looked at him like she wasn't fully back inside her own body yet. Like she was still drifting, still humming, still coming down from a high she hadn't meant to climb.

Then--softly--she whispered, "I could've stayed in that forever."

Malik's jaw flexed once. Subtle. Controlled.

Then he leaned in. Just a little. Not touching. Just closer. His voice, when it came, was a gravel-wrapped promise:

"Next time."

Sophie's breath caught.

Her eyes fluttered.

And across the room...

Charles heard every word.

He hadn't said a thing since the chime. He hadn't moved, except for the pulse in his neck, the way his jaw tightened as he sat there--watching. Listening. Knowing.

The room held its breath. Sophie's body still glowed--her chest and stomach slick, nipples visibly throbbing with leftover ache. Malik remained beside her, solid and calm, still warm from her skin.

Charles sat frozen.

Hard.

Quiet.

But before the silence could bloom into something irreversible--

BEEP.

The system chimed again, cool and neutral as always.

"Final spinner: Charles. Round 3."

Sophie flinched. Just slightly.

Her breath hitched in her throat as Malik's hand finally left the mat.

They both stood slowly.

No words. No goodbye. Just the end of something that hadn't quite finished.

Sophie returned to her seat--nude, flushed, barely composed. Her nipples still stood proud and wet. Malik followed, his cock swinging thick and unbothered, still shining from where she'd grinded against him.

Charles didn't move at first.

Then--quietly, slowly--he leaned forward and reached for the bottle.

His hand was trembling.

???? SPIN THE BOTTLE - ROUND 3, Part 3

Charles's Turn - Task: Tell your partner what you found to be the sexiest or most arousing moment of the game--and explain why. Be honest. Be specific. Make eye contact.

The bottle sat waiting. Still. Innocent. But everyone in the room knew this was the hardest spin of all.

Charles reached forward. His fingers hesitated--just for a breath--then pushed. The glass spun fast, then slower, clicking rhythmically across the floor. It passed Sophie once. Slowed. Then stopped.

Sophie.

She blinked. Lifted her chin. Met his eyes. And waited.

The system spoke, calm as ever.

"Please describe the sexiest moment of the Spin the Bottle game so far. Look your partner in the eye. Be specific. Do not lie."

Charles exhaled. The sound was more like surrender than preparation. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough--less from nerves than from something deeper. Frayed.

"It was the lap grind," he said. "When you were on him."

Sophie didn't flinch. Didn't smile. She just listened.

Charles kept going, steady now, even as something inside him cracked with every word.

"You didn't say a word. You just moved... like you couldn't help it. Like something in you needed to feel him under you."

His eyes dropped, briefly, to her thighs--then lifted again to her face.

"You were so slow. Controlled. But your face gave it away. The way you bit your lip. The way your eyes fluttered shut when your hips rolled just right and his cock hit your clit..."

Sophie's breath caught--just slightly. Her thighs pressed together.

Malik said nothing. But he was watching.

Charles's voice dropped lower.

"You moaned. Not loud. Not fake. Just this little sound... like your body didn't ask your permission first."

He paused, his mouth twitching with something between pain and awe.

"And I sat there. Watching the woman I love grind herself into someone else's cock... like it belonged to her. Like it had always belonged to her."

His gaze rose again and locked with hers.

"And I hated it."

He breathed in, slow and shallow.

"Not because you looked like a stranger. But because you looked... like yourself. More than I've seen in years."

"You were beautiful. Untouchable. And it made me want you..."

A beat.

"... and I hate that in that moment, you weren't mine anymore."

Sophie swallowed. Her eyes were wide--but not from shock. Something behind them shimmered. It wasn't pity. It wasn't guilt.

It was something heavier.

Malik remained perfectly still. Still as stone.

Charles leaned back, slowly. The air felt thinner now. No one moved. No one spoke.

And then the system chimed, neutral and cold.

"Round 3 complete. Spin the Bottle session concluded. Participant bonuses will be tallied and displayed shortly."

The bottle dimmed. The glow faded.

But the heat it had spun into the room still lingered.

No one laughed. No one stood.

Sophie just stared at Charles--her thighs still damp, her lips still tasting Malik. And somewhere inside her, a wire had pulled taut. A line had shifted.

Because Charles had told the truth.

And somehow...

That made everything worse.

???? END OF DAY SIX -- Bedroom, Low Light

The lights had dimmed across the house--soft amber bleeding into dusk-blue. The lounge had fallen quiet, the bottle long stopped, its final click still echoing somewhere in their bones.

Then the system spoke, precise and indifferent:

"Daily Bonus Update -- Spin the Bottle Completed."

"Participant Payouts:

-- Sophie: +£2,000

-- Charles: +£1,500

-- Malik: +£2,000"**

"Total Earnings to Date:

-- Sophie: £7,750

-- Charles: £6,500

-- Malik: £7,000"**

A quiet chime followed.

But in the bedroom... no one moved.

Sophie stood at the wall panel, the soft glow of the numbers reflected faintly across her bare skin. She didn't reach to tap anything. She just stood there.

Behind her, Charles sat at the edge of the bed. Naked. Still. Not watching the screen--just watching her.

Her back was straight. Shoulders tense. Like whatever she had to say next might snap something between them. Or save it.

Then she turned. Walked toward him--slow, barefoot, her body still radiant with the afterglow of Malik's mouth, her skin flushed and gleaming. But her eyes were different now. Soft. Unshielded.

She sat beside Charles, close enough for their thighs to touch. Neither of them looked at the screen anymore. It had finished counting. They were still measuring.

Sophie spoke first.

"I'm still yours, you know."

Charles didn't look at her.

But he was listening.

"Even after everything?" he asked.

"Especially after everything."

She took a breath. Deep. Grounding.

"What I do with Malik... it's in the moment. It's part of the task. It's what this house asks me to give. And I do."

She reached out and brushed her fingertips across the top of his knee.

"But when the lights go down? When it's just us? I'm yours. I come back to you. Every time."

Charles turned toward her then. Slowly.

His voice a whisper: "You come back."

She nodded. "Always."

She looked down for a second, then back up.

"But I need this. I need what I feel in those moments. Not because I want to leave you. But because I want to find... more of myself."

There was a pause. Then--softer, steadier:

"And this experiment. This house. These tasks. Malik..."

She hesitated, but didn't lie.

"They give me a safe place to do that. To be that. Here. Now. With rules. With time. With permission."

She breathed, then added:

"And when we leave..."

Her voice dipped.

"These will just be memories. Experiences. Not mistakes."

She let the silence stretch.

"Things will go back. But I don't want to go back feeling like I missed this chance... to know more of who I am."

Charles stared at the floor for a moment.

Then lifted his hand.

Placed it gently over hers.

A nod.

Small. But real.

Not a pass.

Not a command.

Just a kind of allowing.

A soft unlocking of the door she'd already stepped through.

Sophie leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

The room was warm. Their bodies were bare. And somewhere across the house, Malik lay alone in a different bed.

But his presence still pulsed between them.

Charles didn't speak again.

And Sophie didn't say thank you.

Because deep down, they both knew:

The real experiment had just begun.

☀️ DAY 7 -- WELLNESS IMMERSION

Theme: Relaxation. Trust. Touch. Tease.

Setting: The newly unlocked Spa Pavilion at the end of the garden.

???? Morning -- Light Breakfast & Lingering Glances

Sophie moved through the kitchen like a woman reborn.

She had always carried herself with confidence in the house--bare skin unashamed, legs crossed at the table like they were made to be admired--but today, something was different. Not louder. Not exaggerated. Just... free.

Her eyes lingered longer. Her smile curved slower. She poured tea like a goddess serving ambrosia to two men she might ruin before lunch.

The conversation with Charles the night before had shifted something inside her. Not softened her. Loosened her. She was no longer pretending restraint.

She had permission now.

And the shackles were off.

She sat at the kitchen island, nude, skin still dewy from a quick rinse. Her hair was loosely pinned, her thighs tucked beneath her, breasts gently swaying each time she reached across the counter. She didn't flinch when Malik walked past. She didn't look away when Charles caught her eye.

She just smiled--slow and sure--like she knew exactly what the day would bring.

And that none of them were ready for her.

???? SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT -- SPA DAY UNLOCKED

The house chimed--lower and softer than usual, as if it too had taken a breath and decided to exhale slowly.

"Day Seven: Wellness & Intimacy."

"The Pavilion at the far end of the garden has now been unlocked."

"Today's activities will take place inside the Wellness Facility."

"All participants are required to remain nude in all spa zones."

"Please explore at your own pace. Your first task will be announced shortly."

Sophie raised her brows, the smile already curling.

"Spa day?" she grinned. "God, finally. I was starting to think this place didn't believe in foreplay."

She stood, hips rolling lazily as she stretched her arms overhead--every inch of her catching the light like a sun-warmed statue. Malik smirked. Charles blinked.

And Sophie walked past them, barefoot, humming softly to herself.

"Come on, boys," she said without turning. "Let's go get wet."

????‍♂️ THE SPA PAVILION -- First Entry

The mirrored structure at the far end of the garden had shimmered with mystery for days. Now, as the trio approached, the doors parted without a sound--and the world changed.

Inside, the air shifted. Low lighting. The scent of eucalyptus and something darker--maybe sandalwood--hung thick in the warm air. The floors were smooth stone, soft beneath bare feet. Everything pulsed with a curated, almost reverent calm.

Sophie's eyes lit up instantly.

"Holy shit..." she whispered, stepping deeper. "This place is like a five-star orgasm."

????️ Steam Room

Mist curled in gentle ribbons around a long bench of dark tile. The heat hit them immediately--not overwhelming, but close. Comforting. The lights glowed a dim amber. Breath fogged the air in slow pulses. It was the kind of space where silence touched the skin before hands ever could.

???? Infrared Sauna

A twin-level cedar bench stretched beneath soft red-toned lights. The wood was warm and fragrant, the space just big enough for three--if they sat close.

Sophie peeked in with a slow grin.

"Ten bucks says Malik ends up in the middle," she murmured, just loud enough for Charles to hear.

???? Massage Area

Two wide, padded tables stood at the centre, their surfaces gleaming beneath soft overhead light. Underneath, silent warmers buzzed gently. Above each table: a shelf of oils, balms, and tools. A wall-mounted touchscreen blinked to life.

"Guided Touch Sequences Available."

Malik stepped forward, ran a finger along the edge of the nearest table.

"They really want us soft today."

Behind him, Sophie laughed. "Some of us already are."

Charles didn't respond. But he glanced--quickly. At Malik. At himself.

???? Wet Room

Rainfall shower-heads gleamed overhead. Tiled alcoves framed the space, misted and glowing. A towel rack stood to one side, along with a hydrating spray station and a chilled mini-fridge labeled "Aftercare & Recovery."

Inside: cold water, electrolyte packs, and tiny glass bottles filled with amber liquid.

Sophie plucked one from the rack, turning it over in her hand. She read the label aloud:

"Arousal Oil - External Use Only."

Then she turned to Charles, her eyes bright with mischief.

"Want me to test it on you later? See if it works?"

Charles blinked. Swallowed.

Malik said nothing.

But he was watching her now.

????️ THE LOVE NEST -- Hidden Room Discovery

At the end of the main hallway, past a curtain Sophie tugged back with idle curiosity, they found a second door. Heavy. Unmarked. No panel. No instructions.

Malik reached for it first, his hand sure. He opened it slowly.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted. The lighting was redder, lower, glowing from velvet-trimmed sconces that lined the walls. The temperature had risen--barely a few degrees--but it felt like entering a breath.

In the centre of the room stood a wide, low-framed bed, dressed in crimson sheets. Plush pillows arranged in suggestive clusters. Everything soft. Everything deliberate.

One wall was lined with shelves: soft cuffs, blindfolds, floggers, coils of rope. A mirrored ceiling stretched above the bed. A sound system embedded discreetly into the bed-frame. And at the far end--one cabinet, sleek and locked.

Its label read: "Use With Consent Only."

Sophie's mouth parted in surprise. "Oh my god..."

She stepped in, barefoot and curious, and opened a drawer.

Inside: a box. She pulled it out, lifted the lid, and blinked.

Two stacks of condoms. Clearly labeled.

"Standard."

"XXL."

She lifted one of the XXL packets between two fingers like she'd just found a prize in a treasure chest.

"Hmm..." she mused aloud. "I wonder who these might belong to."

She didn't look at Charles.

She looked directly at Malik.

He didn't flinch.

Didn't smile.

His voice was smooth, steady.

"System must've measured us in our sleep."

Charles stood at the doorway. His face carefully blank. His cock... not entirely soft.

Sophie placed the condom back in the drawer like it was a trophy being returned to its rightful display.

"We are definitely coming back here," she murmured under her breath.

And then she turned, walked out slowly--unbothered, unclothed, humming faintly--as if nothing had just shifted.

???? SYSTEM CHIME -- TASK ONE: INTIMATE SHAVING

As the trio returned to the lounge area, the system chimed again--soothing, clinical.

"Today's first task: Intimate Grooming."

"Each participant must receive a full shave of their intimate areas from another housemate."

"You may not shave yourself."

"Speech is allowed only for comfort or safety."

"Participation Bonus: £500 per person."

The screen dimmed.

Sophie turned slowly to face the two men. Her head tilted. A smile curved across her lips--equal parts invitation and provocation.

"So... who does who?"

Her thighs gleamed under the soft spa lights. Her breath came quicker now, quiet but unmistakable--like arousal had already begun whispering beneath her ribs.

Charles swallowed visibly.

But Malik was already stepping forward.

And the silence that followed wasn't empty. It was thick, viscous, humming with the weight of inevitability. The kind of silence that stretches between people who know exactly what's about to happen, even if no one dares to speak it aloud.

Sophie didn't move. Just tilted her chin upward, eyes half-lowered, watching him through lashes heavy with want. The air in the room shifted. Thickened. Wrapped around them like heat.

Malik radiated stillness. Not performance. Not posturing. Just presence. That sovereign kind of stillness that doesn't need to announce itself.

He didn't look at Charles. He didn't glance down.

He just... was.

Solid. Calm. Completely in control.

The scents of the spa--eucalyptus, cedar, citrus--faded into the background. Sophie could smell only him. Could feel only him. Every line of his body seemed exaggerated now--sculpted by light and the kind of confidence that doesn't need to be spoken.

His cock hung soft but full against his thigh, shrouded in a dark halo of coarse hair. Not hard. Not performing. Just present. Heavy. Real.

A symbol of readiness. Of potential.

"You can do me," Malik said, his voice low and sure. It didn't fill the room--it cut through it.

"I'll go first."

No smile. No tease.

Just the offer. The permission. The unspoken dare:

Let's see how close you can come without losing yourself.

Sophie moved automatically, reaching for the tools--warm cloth, razor, oil--her body remembering its role even as her mind dissolved into heat. She knelt beside the table, the ground warm beneath her knees, heart pounding a muted drumbeat between her ears. Overhead, the amber light caught the sheen of Malik's skin, gilding every line of him like sculpture come to life.

He lay back without hesitation, arms folded behind his head, legs parted just enough to show he wasn't here to be shy or careful. He was here to be given to.

He was the kind of man people dream of touching, Sophie thought distantly.

And then wake gasping, wet, ashamed--and desperate to dream again.

She dipped the towel, wrung it slowly between her fingers, and leaned in. When the hot cloth pressed against his groin, Malik didn't so much as flinch. The steam rose between them, a living thing.

She worked the heat into him, softening hair, preparing skin, watching helplessly as his cock gave a lazy twitch--one slow, devastating pulse. Her breath hitched, caught like a hook in her chest.

She slicked her palms with oil, rubbing them together to warm it before touching him properly. First, just fingertips--testing, reverent. Then her full hand, gliding in slow, deliberate strokes across his pubic mound, down to the base of his shaft, along the ridge of his sac.

Her motions were efficient. Clinical. But no amount of professionalism could disguise the truth burning under her skin.

He was gravity.

Not just in size, but in presence. Every brush of her hand reminded her she was orbiting something she could never truly escape.

His cock thickened fractionally beneath her fingers--not an invitation, not a request. Just a man's body answering pleasure without shame.

She lifted the razor.

Paused.

Looked up.

"You sure?" she asked, voice thin around the edges.

Malik's gaze didn't waver. "I trust you."

Two simple words.

And she felt them like a hand closing gently around her throat.

The first stroke of the blade whispered across his skin, clean and precise. Then another. And another.

She started at the perimeter, clearing careful lines above the pubic bone, revealing smooth, dark skin beneath. Each pass stripped him cleaner, sleeker--making him look somehow more dangerous, not less.

To reach lower, she had to lift his cock, balancing its weight against his stomach. It lay semi-erect now, warm and impossibly real in her hand.

He didn't shift.

Didn't tense.

He simply allowed.

She worked with quiet focus. No flirting. No teasing. Just task.

And yet her fingers trembled slightly when she cradled his balls in one hand, stretching the thin skin taut to shave beneath. Every inch she revealed felt like unwrapping a secret. Like laying bare something primal and holy.

It didn't feel like grooming.

It felt like unveiling a god.

When she finished, she reached for a clean cloth, cooled it in water, and wiped him down. The touch was slow, almost ceremonial--the final strokes of a rite she hadn't realised she was performing.

Malik's skin gleamed in the low light. Smooth. Bare. Waiting.

His cock lay thickened across his abdomen, a pulsing presence. Not fully hard. Not soft enough to forget.

Not seeking approval.

Seeking acknowledgment.

Sophie sat back on her heels. Palms damp. Heart hammering.

She had shaved him.

Touched him.

Learned him.

And now, even with her hands empty, she could still feel his weight resting in them.

Malik sat up slowly, unhurried. His eyes found hers. There was no smugness. No gloating.

Just quiet certainty.

"Thank you," he said.

Simple. Like it was nothing.

Like she hadn't just been given the holiest burden she'd ever touched.

Then he stepped off the table. No towel. No attempt to hide himself. Just Malik--shaven, gleaming, a living monument to everything Sophie hadn't even known she craved.

And as he walked past her, the scent of sandalwood and clean, bare skin curled around her like a chain she would never break.

The warmth from Malik's body still clung to Sophie's palms as she turned, her skin humming faintly from the aftermath of touch, of ritual, of something that had felt sacred without her fully realising why. But the moment her eyes fell on Charles--naked, pale, visibly shrinking into himself--the charge in the room drained as if a window had been thrown open to winter.

He stood awkwardly by the table, arms crossed tight over his chest, his body folded inward like he could make himself smaller, less visible. And Sophie, standing before him, felt no sharpness rise. No cruelty. Only the quiet resignation of a woman who had already chosen something else.

"I guess it has to be me," she murmured, voice stripped of invitation or warmth--flat, like a chore already decided.

Charles gave a small nod and stepped forward. Each movement was heavy, mechanical, like a man approaching a duty he couldn't refuse but deeply wished he could.

He climbed onto the table and lay back stiffly, arms pinned close to his sides, legs parted only as much as necessary. There was no grace to him, no offering. Only the grim preparation of someone bracing to endure, not to be desired.

Sophie moved automatically. Towel. Razor. Oil. Her hands repeated the same motions as before, but the reverence was gone. This wasn't ritual. It wasn't touch. It was maintenance--sterile and necessary--the way one might change a bandage or wipe down a counter left unwatched too long.

She pressed the warm cloth to Charles's groin. He flinched--not from pain, but from the contact itself, the way the heat bloomed without lighting anything real inside him. His cock lay small and inert against his pubic bone, the hair around it sparse, fine, unimpressive. His balls were drawn up tight against his body, as though trying to retreat from what was coming.

Sophie oiled her hands by habit. She rubbed them together, warming the liquid, then touched him--efficiently, impersonally. Her fingers slid across his skin with no lingering, no exploration. No reverence. Just the task.

When she lifted his cock--between two fingers only, careful, impersonal--there was no gravity to it. No weight. It flopped weakly against his stomach when she let go. An object to move. A formality to clear.

The razor whispered across his skin. Swift, clean, mechanical strokes that revealed pale flesh without ceremony. She worked her way around his mound, stripped the soft hair from his shaft, smoothed the skin of his sac with silent precision. Charles lay still, his breathing shallow, eyes locked on the ceiling, already trying to leave his body behind.

He didn't seek her gaze. Didn't watch her hands.

Maybe he already knew there was nothing there to find.

When she finished, she wiped him down briskly with a cool cloth. Not gentle. Not symbolic. Just done. Her touch left behind no warmth, no closeness. Only the chill of something exposed without being seen.

"All done," she said, already turning away, rinsing her hands at the basin like she was scrubbing off something that had never belonged to her in the first place.

She didn't look back.

She didn't smile.

She didn't linger.

She didn't even pretend.

There was no gravity to the moment. No silent weight pressing at the air. Only the sharp, metallic taste of something inevitable--and quietly sad.

Charles lay motionless a moment longer, staring up at the ceiling tiles, the weight of his own smallness settling over him with a kind of grim clarity. He was smooth now. Bare. Technically prepared.

But there was no pride in it.

No eroticism.

No sense of readiness. No sense of belonging.

Only the hollow ache of knowing he had been touched not because he was wanted, but because there was no one else left to do the job.

And as he pulled himself stiffly upright, as he glanced across the room and caught the lingering gleam still clinging to Malik's skin, he understood--with a clarity so cold it almost burned:

Sophie had never once looked at him

the way she had looked at the man who came before him.

The air in the Pavilion felt thick enough to drink, heavy with the scents of warm oil, cedar wood, and something darker--something unspoken but pulsing between them all the same. Sophie stood by the table, every nerve in her body tuned to the heat of the room, the ache in her thighs, the weight of the choice she was about to make.

Charles shifted beside her, stepping forward almost without thinking--some deep, desperate instinct compelling him to reach for her, to reclaim his place before it was taken for good.

But Sophie's voice stopped him.

Soft.

Immovable.

Slicing clean through the silence.

"No."

One word, and the room changed.

Her gaze passed over Charles, over the trembling need he couldn't hide, and found Malik--who had not moved, but somehow expanded in the space she offered him. She lifted her chin. A small gesture. But it carried the gravity of surrender, and decision, and something final.

"I want you," she said.

And in that moment, there was no shame. No hesitation.

Only the raw, aching truth of what she craved.

Malik accepted without question. No smirk. No arrogance. Just the quiet authority of a man who understood that some things--some women--were not to be begged for.

They had to be claimed.

He stepped forward, unhurried. Gathered a clean towel, folded it once over his arm. Reached for the tools with a calm precision that made her thighs twitch before he ever touched her.

Sophie climbed onto the table. The vinyl was warm beneath her skin. She lay back slowly, adjusting with unconscious grace. Her legs parted. The air kissed the slick heat between them. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it in her ears--but her hands stayed at her sides, palms up.

Offered.

Completely.

Malik knelt between her thighs. Close. So close she could feel the heat of him even before he touched her. He didn't speak. Didn't reach.

He simply existed.

And somehow that alone stripped her more completely than any hand.

He soaked a towel in steaming water. Wrung it with slow, firm twists. Then pressed it to her mound with a touch so deliberate, so devastatingly gentle, Sophie had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

The heat bloomed instantly--through her hips, her stomach, her chest. It coaxed her open, melted her in places she hadn't even known she was clenched.

She arched into the pressure instinctively, a low, broken sound slipping from her throat. Malik didn't comment. Didn't react. He simply moved the cloth in patient, methodical circles--tender, impersonal.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Made her wetter.

Made her ache to be handled with anything but care.

The towel fell away, and the cool rush of air against her heated, damp skin made her shiver.

Without pause, Malik poured warm oil into his palms, the scent of sandalwood blooming thick in the humid air between them. He rubbed his hands together once.

And then--finally--he touched her.

The first glide of his fingers over her mound was almost unbearable. Slow. Heavy. Claiming. He spread the oil over every curve and crease, working it between her folds with maddening thoroughness. It had nothing to do with preparation. Everything to do with possession.

His thumbs parted her slick lips, exposing the glistening pink beneath. His palms pressed low, massaging her clit in lazy, devastating circles that made her legs fall wider, made her mouth fall open around another helpless sound.

Sophie whimpered.

She couldn't stop it.

The need inside her coiled so tight it almost hurt.

Malik continued, indifferent to her writhing. He worked the oil into her skin with slow, reverent cruelty--sculpting her, reshaping her into something that belonged to him.

No words passed between them.

Not even a glance toward Charles, who hovered somewhere at the edge of her world now--faded. Forgotten.

There was only Malik's hands.

Her heat.

And the aching, aching need.

He picked up the razor.

Braced his free hand against her lower stomach, grounding her to the table with a weight that made her gasp.

Then came the first stroke--slow, deliberate--the blade whispering across her mound.

He shaved her with quiet precision. Each pass peeled away the fine fuzz to reveal soft, exposed skin beneath. He parted her lips again when needed, guided the blade along the tender seams of her body without hesitation, without fear, without shame.

Sophie trembled under his hand, breath shallow, thighs twitching with every careful stroke. Each near-graze of his knuckles against her clit made her leak--slick and constant--a silent, desperate plea for more than she was being given.

He cleared her completely.

Mound. Lips. The soft crease beneath.

Until she was nothing but raw, glistening skin--pink, vulnerable, perfect.

Then he set the razor aside.

Malik picked up another cloth, cooler now, and wiped her clean in long, unhurried sweeps. Each pass made her hips lift involuntarily, made her gasp, made her clutch the edges of the table with trembling hands.

And when he finally stepped back--when his warmth left her skin--Sophie felt the loss like a blade.

She lay there.

Bare.

Open.

Trembling.

Shaved clean by the man she had chosen.

Her chest heaved with shallow breaths. Her legs refused to close.

Malik said nothing.

He didn't need to.

The way he looked at her--calm, inevitable, patient--told her everything.

This wasn't the end.

It was the beginning.

And as he turned and walked away, leaving her glistening and waiting, Sophie realised--perfectly, shatteringly--that what bloomed inside her wasn't guilt.

It was hunger.

????️ Diary Room -- Sophie

The chair was cool against Sophie's bare thighs as she sank into it, the dim lighting casting a soft glow across her still-oiled skin. Her hair was damp from the steam room, stray strands clinging to her collarbones. She didn't bother to cross her legs.

Modesty felt like a distant, irrelevant concept now.

She stared into the recording lens for a long moment before speaking, as if weighing her words--or savouring them.

"Being touched like that... being prepared like that..." Her voice was low. Dreamy. "It's not just physical."

"It's stripping away something I didn't realise I was still holding onto."

She exhaled--slow, full, like the breath had been waiting all day to leave her.

"I chose Malik. I didn't hesitate. And I don't regret it."

Her lips curved. Not into a smile, not quite--but something heavier.

"Because it felt inevitable. It felt... right."

She shifted slightly in the chair, her thighs parting a little wider, as if memory alone could summon the ghost of his hands back onto her skin.

"Charles..." she murmured. "I think he understands more than he lets himself admit."

Her gaze softened, drifting somewhere inward.

"Chuck's confused. Humiliated. Aroused. But I think... he's on a journey too. Just a different one."

A pause.

She licked her lips, unconscious of the gesture.

"It's not just me losing myself to Malik."

"It's Charles... finding something inside himself he's spent years pretending wasn't there."

Another beat. Then, softer--intimate, almost reverent:

"Maybe we're both becoming who we're supposed to be."

She leaned back in the chair, legs relaxed, skin glistening.

Content.

Unapologetic.

Freed.

As if confession itself had set something deeper loose.

????️ Diary Room -- Charles

The chair groaned softly beneath Charles as he sat down, his body still damp from the steam room, beads of sweat tracing slow paths down his bare chest. He wiped his palms on his thighs, as if he could scrub away the weight pressing against his skin.

He didn't look at the camera.

His gaze stayed low--locked somewhere on the floor.

"When she chose him..." he started, the words dry and awkward in his mouth.

"When she chose Malik to shave her instead of me..."

He shook his head, just slightly. A tight, broken motion.

"It felt like... betrayal. Like she was standing there telling me I wasn't enough. Not even for something that small. Not even for trust."

He drew a shallow, ragged breath.

"I was jealous. Humiliated. Hurt. I felt all of it. And it hit all at once."

His hands clenched lightly in his lap. The muscles in his forearms tightened.

But his voice didn't rise. It just... collapsed inward.

"But..." he hesitated. Licked his lips.

"... somewhere, deep down..."

Another breath--rougher this time. Like something cracked as it left him.

"... something told me it was the right choice."

He laughed. Quiet. Bitter. Confused.

A sound that didn't know what it was supposed to be.

"It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. It's like... part of me already knew. Part of me understood."

He rubbed a hand hard across his face, like he could force the feelings back down. Hide them under the surface. Pretend.

"It's confusing. It's so fucking confusing."

He didn't say he was hard.

He didn't say he couldn't stop watching.

He didn't say he hated how right it had felt.

He didn't say any of it.

Maybe because he couldn't.

Maybe because the look in his eyes said everything.

--------

The lunch spread was simple: cold meats, fresh fruit, cheeses, warm bread.

None of it mattered.

They sat outside under the shade canopy, plates half-full, drinks sweating on the table, the heat of the afternoon pressing against their bare skin. The steam and oil still clung to them, making their bodies gleam in the light.

Sophie picked at a slice of melon, licking the juice from her fingers in slow, distracted laps of her tongue.

Charles barely touched his food--his appetite strangled by the ache twisting through his gut.

Malik ate methodically, unbothered. His muscles shifted with each movement, his cock lying thick and soft against his thigh like a casual threat.

There wasn't much talking.

There didn't need to be.

As they dried from the last steam session, the overhead speakers chimed with their now-familiar velvet hum--a sound so smooth and measured it almost felt like a seduction. The Pavilion paused. The light held its breath.

Then the System's voice poured through the air, calm and clinical:

"Participants:

This afternoon has been designated for relaxation and recovery.

You are free to use all Wellness facilities at your leisure.

No tasks will be assigned until this evening."**

A pause.

Then, almost tenderly:

"Please take this time to prepare yourselves.

Tonight's final Spa Task will require your full attention...

and your full surrender."

The chime faded.

But the weight of it hung in the humid air long after.

Sophie smiled faintly, turning away from the speaker, a slow curl of excitement blooming low in her belly.

Malik's face remained unreadable--but his stance had shifted. Wider. Looser. Certain.

He was already prepared.

Charles swallowed hard.

A knot rose in his throat that had nothing to do with thirst.

They hadn't been asked for consent.

They hadn't been asked if they were ready.

They had simply been given time--

to realise they weren't.

???? Evening System Announcement -- Submission Massage Task

The Pavilion lights dimmed subtly as the afternoon burned itself out, the sun sinking behind the garden walls, bleeding soft gold through steamed glass. The humid air had cooled--but the tension hadn't.

It clung to their skin like the oil that refused to fully rinse away, seeping into their pores, into their breath, into their bones.

A familiar chime echoed overhead--low, rich, undeniable.

All three turned toward the lounge. Not with hesitation. With gravity.

Then the System's voice filled the air. Smooth. Composed.

Like it wasn't about to destroy them.

"Participants:

It is now time for this evening's final Spa Task."

A pause.

Not dramatic.

Just... inevitable.

"Two housemates will perform a guided massage on each other.

The third housemate will serve as Assistant."

Another pause. Deeper now.

"The Massagers will work directly on each other's bodies, using hands, skin, and pressure to provide full-body contact.

Massagers are prohibited from touching each other's genitals with their hands.

However, all other body parts may be used to assist and stimulate the massage process."

A slow breath moved through the room. No one had taken it.

"The Assistant will obey all orders issued by the Massagers.

The Assistant must provide oils, towels, praise, and verbal gratitude as needed.

The Assistant may reposition or assist with body parts upon request."

And then--

Almost an afterthought.

Almost.

"Sophie will assign the roles of Massagers and Assistant."

"Creativity is encouraged.

Restraint is not required."

The final chime was softer than usual.

But its echo carved the room in two.

And then--silence.

But not the kind that waits.

The kind that knows.

A silence thick with anticipation.

A silence that tasted of sweat and oil and submission.

A silence that already knew--

who would kneel.

The massage room was drenched in warm amber light, the temperature calibrated to keep their skin slick and sensitive, every surface gleaming with invitation. A wide, padded table dominated the centre, low and solid, surrounded by neatly folded towels, trays of oil, and bronze bowls that shimmered with heated stones. The air hung thick with the scent of sandalwood and sweet clove, so rich it clung to the tongue like honey and smoke.

Sophie entered first, bare feet whispering against the stone floor, her body still slick from the sauna. A sheen of heat clung to her skin, accentuating every curve, every sway of hip and thigh. She moved slowly, deliberately, letting the quiet ritual of the moment settle into her bones. There was no performance in her steps, no question in her posture. She knew what this was. She knew what came next.

Behind her, Malik and Charles followed. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The room itself seemed to draw them in, its silence heavier than sound. Sophie felt their presence fill the space behind her--Malik steady and grounded like stone, Charles hovering on the edge of stillness, restless and taut.

But Sophie didn't turn. The decision had already taken shape inside her hours ago. It lived somewhere deep and low, a hum that had only grown louder as the day slipped by. Tonight was about touch. About surrender. And for the first time, it was about touching Malik not under the guise of a task or a dare--but because she wanted to. Because she needed to.

She had spent days circling him. Grinding against his thigh while pretending it was just part of the game. Breathing in his scent during yoga, pressing close during heat mapping, stealing moments like secrets. But tonight, there was nothing left to steal. Tonight, she had been given permission. And she intended to take her time.

The soft chime of the System still echoed faintly in the air, a velvet thread pulling them all toward this moment. Sophie turned to face them--her hair loose around her shoulders, her thighs slick, her nipples hardening against the cooling air. Her body betrayed nothing but truth. No more hiding. No more denying.

Malik stood tall, unmoving. His presence filled the space like heat from a hearth--controlled, powerful, waiting. He didn't posture. He didn't need to. He simply existed. Whole. Ready.

Charles stood just behind him, shifting on the balls of his feet, hands fidgeting at his sides, his cock already swelling from something he hadn't named yet--dread, desire, confusion, all wrapped tight around the same burning need.

Sophie let her eyes rest on them both. And then she smiled. It wasn't cruel, and it wasn't soft. It was quiet. Certain. The kind of smile that speaks a truth no one is brave enough to say out loud.

She already knew what she would ask of them.

And they already knew who would be chosen.

She let her gaze linger on Malik a moment longer, savouring the promise of what was about to unfold--the heat of his skin beneath her palms, the slick weight of his body sliding against hers--before she turned her eyes to Charles.

The difference in her gaze was unmistakable.

Affection, yes--but without urgency.

Kindness, but absent hunger.

The smile she offered him was soft. Almost sympathetic.

The way one might look at a once-beloved toy--still cherished, but too worn to be what it once was.

Her voice, when it came, was low and certain, wrapped in the inevitability the entire day had been building toward.

"Chuck," she said, the name like silk between her teeth, "you'll be our Assistant tonight."

A pause.

Just long enough to let the humiliation settle on his skin.

"You'll help us. Serve us. Obey every instruction."

She stepped forward, bare and gleaming, and touched his chin with two fingers, lifting his gaze until he had no choice but to meet hers.

"Chuck, you'll call me Mistress," she continued, her smile deepening just enough to burn, "and Malik... Master."

Charles's breath caught.

His cheeks flamed.

And his cock twitched--betraying him in a single, silent pulse.

But he nodded.

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered, voice cracking at the edges, the words shivering from his mouth like surrender.

Sophie dropped her hand without ceremony and turned away, already moving into the golden glow of the massage table, where Malik waited with the quiet patience of a man who understood that gravity always finished what desire began.

Charles moved mechanically to gather the oils, his fingers trembling slightly as he poured the golden liquid into the bronze warming bowls. The scent of sandalwood thickened, heavy and heady, filling the room like smoke from something sacred.

Sophie climbed onto the table, kneeling astride the cushioned surface, her skin radiant under the low amber light. Her thighs framed the space Malik would soon fill, her body gleaming like something anointed.

She raised her arms overhead, stretching languidly, the movement lifting her breasts, pulling her stomach taut, her body shimmering with tension and promise.

"More oil, Chuck," she said without looking back, her voice casual, easy--thoughtless in its dominance.

"Pour it into Master's hands."

Charles obeyed. Quickly. Quietly.

He lifted the bowl with both hands and tipped it carefully into Malik's waiting palms, the thick oil spilling in slow, golden ribbons. The scent bloomed between them--hot, rich, humid.

Malik rubbed his hands together, slow and deliberate, warming the oil until it was an extension of his heat.

Then he reached for her.

And Sophie smiled--this time just to herself.

Tonight was hers.

And she intended to savour every second of it.

Malik Massages Sophie -- Charles Assists

Malik stepped closer to the table, his palms slick with warm oil, glistening beneath the amber glow. Sophie knelt before him on the padded surface, her spine curved in a slow, aching arch, shoulders relaxed, her ass high and gleaming, thighs parted just enough to tease without apology. She was still, waiting, every breath a quiet plea.

A few feet away, Charles knelt on the floor, cradling the oil bowl in trembling hands. His cock lay soft and uncertain against his thigh, stirred only by the quiet agony curling through his stomach. The scene before him was unbearable--and they hadn't even begun.

"Begin," Sophie whispered, her voice low and wrecked with hunger.

Malik smiled faintly. No rush. No bravado. Just certainty. He rubbed his palms together once, and then lowered them onto Sophie's bare shoulders.

The first touch was deep and deliberate, a claiming. Sophie exhaled sharply, her lungs catching as his fingers began to work her body--slow and methodical, his broad hands moulding her like wet clay. He moved down her back, dragging heat through the muscles of her shoulders, over the swell of her ribs, tracing the dip of her waist. His hands slid without hesitation to the curves of her ass, gripping her as if testing her weight, her shape, her readiness.

Charles watched, mute, unable to look away as Malik worked with effortless control--taking, sculpting, commanding.

When Malik reached Sophie's hips, he shifted, stepping up onto the table behind her. He straddled her thighs, wide and stable, letting the full weight of his presence settle into position. His cock, thick and dark, now heavy with blood and heat, came to rest in the cleft of her ass like it belonged there--like it had been waiting.

Against Sophie's creamy, pale skin, the contrast was striking. Stark. The sheer size of him, the colour, the power--everything about Malik seemed exaggerated in that moment, obscene in the most devastating way. His shaft gleamed where it touched her, wet with oil and promise.

And then he moved.

He rocked forward, dragging the oiled length of himself between her cheeks in a slow, grinding stroke. The heat of it, the weight, made Sophie gasp--made her thighs tremble beneath him. Her pussy had already begun to leak, slick glistening across the table, untouched and insistent.

"Assistant," Malik said, his voice deep and quiet, like a tremor from beneath the floor, "pour oil onto my cock."

Charles moved slowly, like a man walking toward a noose. He lifted the bowl and tipped it, watching helplessly as the thick, golden oil poured in a slow cascade down Malik's shaft. It ran in rivulets over the dark skin, over the blunt head, down between Sophie's parted cheeks--pooling, slipping, dripping in obscene streams onto the table below.

Malik hissed softly through his teeth at the heat of it. Then he moved again.

Long, slow, devastating thrusts. He slid himself through her cleft with deliberate pressure, the oiled friction making each glide wet and perfect. Sophie whimpered with each stroke, hips twitching, her body rocking slightly beneath him as his cock dragged heavy between her cheeks again and again.

Charles could only kneel there. Silent. Staring.

His hands shook.

His cock stirred, traitorously.

And still, Malik moved. Slow. Measured. Inevitable.

"Tell Mistress what it looks like," Malik said, his voice low and unhurried, not breaking rhythm as his cock glided--wet and slick--between the soft, pale halves of her body.

Charles's breath stuttered. His voice caught in his throat like a sob denied permission. The words were there, clinging to him like shame.

"I... It looks beautiful, Mistress," he finally choked out.

A pause.

It wasn't enough.

Malik slid forward with more weight, the broad head of his cock dragging up the base of Sophie's spine, leaving a gleaming trail across the small of her back.

"Be specific," he murmured, not as a challenge--but as a command.

Charles's stomach clenched. He swallowed, the taste of humiliation thick and metallic in his mouth.

"You look beautiful with... with Master's big cock sliding between your cheeks, Mistress," he whispered, the words trembling with defeat, each syllable peeling something away from him.

Sophie laughed, low and indulgent, her body twitching with need beneath Malik's weight, the sound decadent as honey poured over stone.

Then Malik shifted. His hands gripped Sophie's hips with confident strength, guiding her.

"Turn over," he said.

She obeyed instantly, rolling onto her back with the languid grace of a woman long past pretending she didn't love every second. Her breasts rose, flushed and full, nipples stiff with arousal. Her thighs parted without thought--inviting, glistening, claimed.

Malik climbed astride her, his knees straddling her ribcage. He placed his cock along the swell of her chest, the shaft resting like a brand across her breasts--thick, dark, gleaming with oil. Against her soft, creamy skin, it looked even more enormous. More obscene. A symbol. A weapon. A throne.

Charles stared, throat tight, lungs refusing to fill. His hands trembled around the bowl of oil.

"More," Malik said, without looking at him.

Charles obeyed, pouring the warm liquid directly onto Sophie's breasts, letting it cascade over the slick column of Malik's cock. Oil ran in glossy rivulets over her chest, pooling between her curves.

"Press her tits together," Malik said calmly, like he was directing a servant to fold a napkin.

Charles's hands rose. Shaking. Obedient.

He cupped Sophie's breasts, pushed them together with trembling reverence, creating a soft, oiled channel of flesh around the cock that had already unraveled everything. Her body was hot beneath his fingers. Slick. Willing.

Malik began to thrust--slowly, powerfully--his cock dragging between her breasts, the head smearing oil up her sternum, past her collarbones. The sound was wet and obscene.

Charles held her breasts together as best he could, but the pressure of Malik's thrusts made his palms shake, made the heat of it rise up his arms like punishment.

It wasn't just the size.

It was the weight.

The power.

The inevitability of it.

Malik's cock wasn't a point of comparison--it was a different reality entirely. A different order of manhood.

"Chuck... Describe it," Malik said, his voice a slow thunder.

Charles's voice broke when it came. His eyes locked on the impossible sight framed between his own trembling fingers.

"It... it looks perfect, Mistress," he rasped, hoarse and broken.

"Master's cock... sliding between your beautiful tits like that... it's the most perfect thing I've ever seen."

Sophie moaned--deep and guttural--her throat trembling against Malik's thrusts. Her chest rippled under the pressure, her body slick and shivering, arousal pooling thick between her thighs.

Charles's cock twitched helplessly, dripping onto the towel beneath him--untouched. Unseen. Forgotten.

Malik kept moving. Slow. Full. Measured. Until Sophie's moans melted into quiet, breathless whimpers.

And then he stopped.

Pulled back.

Still hard. Still gleaming.

Still undefeated.

He didn't need to finish.

He had already taken what he wanted.

"You've done well, Assistant," Malik said, his voice warm, indulgent--the kind of praise meant for a well-trained pet, not a man. "As a reward, you may massage Mistress's feet while I continue to enjoy her."

Charles moved without argument, hollowed out and obedient. He knelt at the end of the table, lifting Sophie's trembling foot into his lap, his hands shaking as they began to work the oil into her arch. Each stroke was careful. Precise. Meaningless. Above him, Malik continued to stroke his cock lazily across Sophie's gleaming chest, the wet sound of it a rhythm neither of them could pretend not to hear.

Charles bowed his head. His fingers moved over her feet with reverence, pressing into the soft flesh of her arch, her toes, her delicate ankle bones. His touch was small. Diligent. A faithful little servant tending to the woman he could no longer claim as his.

Sophie let her head fall back against the padded table, eyes fluttering closed, her entire body awash in sensation. Malik's hands were slow, devastating--working oil into her breasts, cupping their fullness, thumbing her nipples in slow, rolling circles that made her jerk beneath him. Each time his thumb grazed a nipple, it sent a bolt of pleasure down her spine, pooling between her legs in a slick, pulsing ache.

She was soaked. Not just wet--soaked. Her pussy clenched around nothing, fluttering in desperate waves, dripping freely onto the table beneath her. Oil pooled in the hollow of her collarbones, streamed down her ribs, glided over her trembling belly and into the warm folds between her thighs. Every inch of her skin was a canvas Malik painted with pressure and heat.

He moved with total ownership, his hands slow, commanding, moulding her into something soft and open beneath him. Not coaxing. Claiming.

At the far edge of her awareness, Charles still worked, kneading her feet with quiet, careful attention. He was present--obedient, thorough, good. But it wasn't his touch that made her moan, hips writhing helplessly. It wasn't his hands that drew fresh trails of heat from her body, or made her nipples throb so hard she thought she might cry.

It wasn't him she ached for.

It was Malik.

It had been Malik for a while now.

And as Sophie floated in the thick heat of surrender, she felt something dark and dazzling settle over her--a need so stark it left no room for shame. She didn't want to be adored. She didn't want to be cherished.

She wanted to be used.

Owned. Taken.

And the only thing keeping her from begging for it--desperately, shamelessly--was the thin, trembling veil of rules that separated tonight from what they both knew was inevitable.

Malik lay stretched across the massage table, a living sculpture of heat and muscle, his massive frame spanning nearly its full length. Under the amber lights, his skin gleamed like polished obsidian, every ridge and plane slick with oil and sweat. His breath was slow, controlled. Every exhale whispered with dominance--not forced, not performative. Just truth.

Sophie knelt beside him, the bottle of warm oil trembling slightly in her hands as she tipped it. A golden stream poured down the length of his spine, pooling briefly between the ridges of muscle before trailing outward in lazy rivulets. The scent of sandalwood thickened in the air, heavy and sweet. She set the bottle aside and placed her palms flat against his back.

Heat met heat.

She began to move.

There was no hesitation--just reverence disguised as pressure. Her hands glided over the wide planes of his shoulders, kneading into the thick cords of his traps, the slope of his delts, the powerful stretch of his lats. But the more she touched him, the more it became clear: her hands were too small. Too delicate. Not enough.

He was more than a man. He was a force. A mountain. And no single set of hands could fully worship him.

She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder.

Charles knelt at a respectful distance, eyes downcast, his hands neatly folded in his lap. His cock twitched uselessly between his thighs--hard, soft, confused. He looked like a man trying to become invisible. But Sophie saw him.

"Assistant," she said, her voice smooth, commanding. "Help me. There's too much of him."

Charles scrambled forward without protest, pouring oil into his palms with shaky fingers. He stepped up to Malik's other side, his movements awkward but eager, and together, they began to work.

Sophie's touch was fluid, almost greedy, moving with rhythm and want. Her hands roamed Malik's back like it was hers to learn, hers to claim. Charles, by contrast, moved with mechanical precision--his smaller hands tentative against the vast, muscled canvas of Malik's lower back, the oil sliding easily beneath his fingertips.

Sophie glanced sideways at him and smiled--low, amused, indulgent.

"Tell me," she murmured, dragging both palms in a long, sensual stroke down the thick swell of Malik's sides, "how does he feel, Assistant?"

Charles faltered. His hands froze for half a breath.

He swallowed.

"Solid," he said at last, voice rough with something that might have been shame... or awe.

A pause.

Then, softer--softer than he meant to say it: "Muscular... like a man."

Sophie laughed, quiet and decadent, the sound rolling through the humid air like silk unspooling in the dark.

"Good boy," she purred.

She leaned forward now, gliding her hands lower, slipping down the small of Malik's back, her thumbs skating along the twin grooves that led into the firm rise of his ass. His muscles flexed faintly beneath her touch, a silent acknowledgment that he felt her. That he approved.

Charles didn't speak again. He didn't need to. His face was red. His chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. And though his hands kept moving, they felt smaller now. Less real. As if Malik's body was something sacred, and he had been invited to touch it only so he'd understand how far away he was from ever deserving it.

Sophie, meanwhile, had found her rhythm. She worked slowly, reverently, rolling her palms across Malik's flanks, watching the oil pool and spread, watching the man beneath her accept every inch of contact like it was owed to him.

Because it was.

And as Charles rubbed and followed and learned... she couldn't help but wonder how much longer he'd pretend he didn't love every humiliating second of it.

After long, heavy minutes of reverent massage, Malik shifted slightly under their hands, a deep, rumbling breath escaping him.

And then he moved.

Effortless.

Inevitable.

He rolled onto his back, his muscles rippling like molten steel under their touch, until he lay sprawled in the centre of the table, arms loose at his sides, his chest rising and falling slowly.

And there--heavy, oiled, monstrous--his cock slapped wetly against his abdomen, fully hard, fully magnificent.

The sight of it stole the breath from the room.

Thick, dark, glistening, monstrous in scale and weight, Malik's cock lay proudly across his stomach, the swollen head angry and slick with precum, the shaft pulsing visibly with every beat of his heart.

Sophie stared, her mouth dry, her thighs clenching instinctively.

Charles swallowed audibly, his hands twitching uselessly at his sides.

There were no more rules now.

No more barriers.

Only heat, hunger, and the inevitable collision that had been building between their bodies since the first moment Sophie had laid eyes on Malik.

She straddled him slowly, her thighs trembling slightly as she lowered herself over his hips, lining her soaked, desperate pussy against the thick, slick heat of him.

The first contact stole her breath, a strangled sound breaking from her throat.

Her pussy lips parted around his cock like they were made for it--slick folds gliding against rigid, unyielding flesh, the heavy length of him pressing against her clit, dragging along her aching slit with a friction so raw, so devastating, she nearly came from the first glide alone.

It was the first time.

The first real contact.

Her sex on his.

Her surrender.

Not hidden behind dares or rules anymore.

Not pretending.

Malik didn't move.

He lay still, letting her use him, letting her claim her own undoing.

Sophie rocked her hips slowly, dragging her soaked, swollen pussy up the thick ridge of him, feeling the thick veins against her clit, the hot pulse of his cock against her tender flesh.

It was huge.

Solid. Heavy. Sacred.

It wasn't something she could dominate.

It was something she was meant to worship.

Every slow grind lit another fuse inside her, another burst of filthy pleasure that seared its way up her spine.

But the slickness betrayed her.

Malik's cock slipped sideways, sliding off her mound, the sudden loss of pressure making her whimper with frustration.

She couldn't touch it herself.

The rules forbade it.

But she could command.

She turned her head sharply toward Charles, who knelt a foot away, his hands trembling in his lap, his cock bobbing helplessly.

"Assistant," she gasped, her voice cracked and raw, "move it. Put it back."

Charles crawled forward, swallowing hard, and wrapped both hands around Malik's shaft.

It was boiling hot.

Slick.

Bigger than anything his hands had ever been forced to touch.

He lifted it carefully, positioning it back along Malik's stomach.

The weight of it dragged against his fingers, alive, pulsing, for her.

Sophie moaned low in her throat and resumed grinding, sliding her drenched pussy along the perfect line of him, soaking him, claiming him.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her hands splayed against Malik's chest for balance.

She rocked harder, faster, chasing the orgasm that was already tightening in her gut.

"Massage Master's chest," she gasped to Charles, who immediately obeyed, rubbing his small hands along the slick planes of Malik's torso, circling his nipples with trembling thumbs.

Malik exhaled softly, a rumble of pleasure deep in his chest.

Sophie rode him shamelessly, her body reduced to need, her clit catching on every hard vein, the head of his cock dragging perfectly over her folds with every desperate thrust.

The friction built higher, faster, sharper, her body trembling with the effort to stay upright, to stay grinding, to chase the orgasm that burned like a brand inside her.

But then--again--the slickness betrayed her.

Malik's cock slid sideways, slipping off her pussy, the loss of pressure making her cry out in frustrated, desperate anguish.

"Fuck--no--" she gasped, writhing uselessly.

She couldn't reach down.

She couldn't fix it herself.

But she had a solution.

She turned her head sharply toward Charles, who froze mid-massage, his hands slick with oil.

"Assistant," she ordered, her voice ragged, cracked open with raw need, "move it back. Hold it steady for me."

Charles hesitated for half a heartbeat, his mouth working silently.

Then he obeyed.

He crawled forward, his palms shaking as he wrapped both hands around Malik's cock again.

It throbbed in his grasp, slick and boiling hot, heavy enough to need both hands to manage.

He guided it carefully back against Malik's stomach--lined it up against the soaked, dripping split of Sophie's pussy.

And this time--this time--he held it.

His fingers curled tightly around the base of Malik's cock, steadying it like a foundation post, anchoring it so Sophie could grind herself against it properly.

The shaft twitched, pulsed, slick under his grip, alive with the life he could never match.

Sophie moaned low, a sound ripped from her chest like a prayer, and immediately resumed grinding.

Her slick folds dragged shamelessly up and down the rigid length, her clit catching perfectly now, every stroke driving her higher, every thrust harder.

Charles kept his hands locked around the base, his face burning with humiliation, his cock throbbing uselessly against his thigh.

He watched, helpless, as Sophie rode Malik's cock with reckless, desperate abandon--his hands keeping the very weapon steady that was being used to destroy her.

Her body shook, her thighs trembling, her breath tearing from her lips in ragged gasps.

And then the dam broke.

Sophie cried out, a wild, broken sound, her body seizing around the cock she was grinding herself against.

Her thighs locked around Malik's hips, her nails scraping against his oiled chest, her entire body convulsing in shuddering, overwhelming release.

The orgasm tore through her like a storm, her pussy spasming helplessly against the thick, unmoving shaft, soaking him, soaking Charles's hands, soaking the table.

She collapsed forward onto Malik's chest, her body a limp, trembling mess of sweat and oil and bliss.

Malik's arms came up lazily, cradling her to him without a word, holding her close like something claimed, something kept.

Charles remained where he was--still kneeling, still clutching the base of Malik's cock in both hands--his face slick with sweat, his chest heaving.

The shaft twitched against his palms, still hard, still wet, still utterly, brutally beyond him.

He didn't know when he had started crying.

Or if the wetness on his cheeks was sweat or tears.

Maybe it didn't matter.

Malik lifted his head slightly, his eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction, and looked down at him.

"Tell us what you see, Assistant," he said, voice low, rich, inevitable.

Charles stared at them--Sophie's body sprawled and shuddering against Malik's chest, her thighs still glistening with arousal, Malik's cock still thick and pulsing against his hands.

He gripped it slightly tighter without even thinking.

And when he spoke, it wasn't a choice.

It was a confession.

"Belonging," he whispered.

The massage room still smelled of oil and sweat and broken submission when the System chimed softly overhead, calm and indifferent.

"Participants: Task One -- Intimate Grooming: £500 awarded to each participant.

Task Two -- Submission Massage: £1,000 awarded to each participant."

There was a pause--sterile, complete.

"Cumulative earnings after Day 7:"

The numbers slid into place as if none of it had been personal.

Sophie: £9,250

Charles: £8,000

Malik: £8,500

A final, gentle chime sounded.

"You may now rest. Wellness Day complete."

Malik shifted on the table, drawing Sophie against his chest with slow, possessive ease. His hands moved lazily over her trembling back, soothing and claiming in the same breath. Sophie melted into him, boneless, undone, her body still glistening with oil, her thighs slick from the aftermath of an orgasm that had remade her from the inside out.

It hadn't been just pleasure. Not merely a climax. It had been a quiet annihilation--an unmaking of everything she thought she was, followed by the sweet, terrifying clarity of who she now belonged to. The thick glide of Malik's cock against her swollen clit, the throb of her pussy clenching around the idea of him--it had torn her open and written something new inside.

She had given in. Completely. Willingly. Hungrily.

And there was no pretending now. It had changed her.

Charles remained kneeling for a long time after. His hands were still damp with oil, his face hollow with silence. He moved eventually, gathering towels and cleaning the space around them with the slow, mechanical precision of a man with nothing left to fight for. Only obedience. Only longing. Only the bitter ache of knowing he'd been allowed to watch--but never truly touch.

Later, the bedroom welcomed them with soft amber light, warm and dim, though it did nothing to ease the sharp lines drawn between them. Two beds waited. One belonged to Sophie and Charles--a place of laughter, safety, of rituals they had once believed were enough. The other, now undeniably claimed, belonged to Malik. He was already sprawled across it, dark and still and sovereign, his breath steady, his presence commanding even in sleep.

Sophie paused in the doorway, her body still flushed and glowing, Malik's scent clinging to her like a brand. She looked at the bed she had shared with Charles. It was neat. Familiar. Waiting. But it wasn't where she belonged anymore.

Still, she slid beneath the sheets beside Charles, her skin fevered, her body tight with want, her heart pounding against the quiet scream of her own denial. He shifted slightly, giving her space without touching her. He didn't reach for her. He didn't dare.

And she didn't move closer.

They lay together in a silence so thick it felt like a second skin. Sophie stared at the ceiling, her mind nowhere near sleep. Her thighs ached, her clit still pulsed with phantom pressure, her pussy slick with the memory of Malik--his weight, his heat, his inevitable presence. She could still feel the crown of his cock pressing against her, gliding between her folds with devastating promise. She could still feel the way her orgasm had broken her, not like glass--but like a dam.

She turned slightly on the pillow, her eyes drifting toward the other bed. Malik's silhouette rose and fell with every breath, his body outlined by the soft glow of the low lights. He was already half-asleep, content and stretched wide like a man who knew exactly what he'd taken--and that it would be offered again.

She should have been in that bed. Everything in her whispered it.

She belonged to him now.

Not to Charles.

Not anymore.

Charles shifted beside her again, the motion restless and fragile. He felt her slipping away. He just didn't know how to hold on without breaking.

Sophie closed her eyes. She could still feel Malik's cock against her pussy, still feel him between her legs, thick and unrelenting, the friction of him burned into her like a scar she never wanted to heal. Her orgasm echoed inside her like a bell still ringing.

And as she drifted off beside the wrong man, in the wrong bed, her body ached for the one she hadn't stopped choosing since the moment she knelt to touch him.