In at the Deep End

Hope you enjoy this slow-burn, sensual tale of discipline unravelled, of desire denied for too long--and what happens when a tough, controlled man finally gives in to temptation and his wild side.

It's the story of Mack, a man who thought he had his life all figured out, until a chance connection with someone unexpected--someone brave, beautiful, and full of secrets--lit a fire he couldn't put out.

If it makes you blush, ache, or just linger a little too long... leave a comment or drop me a message. And don't be shy--check out my other stories too.

As always this is a work of fantasy. Things do get a little rough and wild at times, but it's all consensual. All characters are adults aged 18 and over

Chapter 1: Order and Discipline

I unlocked the doors at 5:45 sharp, like I did every damn morning. The metal clicked, echoed down the tiled hallway, and that old smell of chlorine hit me like an old comrade--sharp, sterile, oddly comforting. Same lights flickered on overhead, slow and humming like they needed coffee too. I liked the silence before the team rolled in. It was mine.

Dropped my bag on the bench by the lockers. Hoodie off, folded tight, towel draped over it the way I'd learned back in the Corps. You don't forget that kind of thing, not even after two decades and a couple lifetimes' worth of shit between then and now.

Water was still. Undisturbed. I dove in.

Each stroke was a rhythm. A reset. Lap after lap, the sting in my shoulders reminded me I was still here. That I still had a body, still had control. Sixty laps most mornings, eighty when I needed the silence to last a little longer. Today was one of those days.

When I climbed out, I stood there a minute, dripping on the tiles, watching the sunrise through the high, frosted windows. The ache in my knees was sharper than it used to be, but I welcomed it.

Pain was a tether. A reminder. You're alive. You're not some twenty-year old bull anymore, but you're still standing.

My body still held the shape of the life I'd lived--broad chest, thick arms, scars and stretch around the joints. Not the cut definition of some gym rat influencer, no. This was earned. A solid, working man's body. A Marine's body, even if a bit softer now. My thighs were thick from years of drills and pool work, and my back had that old, hard-set curve of someone used to carrying weight--physical, emotional, all of it.

Hair at my temples had gone silver, beard too. Skin deepened by sun and time, still marked here and there with the map of old injuries. Nothing flashy. But I looked like a man who could pick you up and carry you out of a fire. Because I had. More than once.

When I was young I used my size, my muscles and that hard stare to scare the shit out of anyone who got in my way. To intimidate. I still could now, if I needed to. But the beast I used to be was in check now. Harnessed by years of discipline and the hard knocks of life.

I changed quick, toweling off with the efficiency of someone who's been cold and wet in worse places. Threw on my grey tee, the one with the old unit logo faded near the hem, and joggers. No reason to dress up for a bunch of teenage swimmers.

Coffee came next. The thermos was dented, lid cracked, but it still held the heat like a champ. The word MACK was printed bold across the side. The nickname had stuck since I was a broad-shouldered, overgrown seventeen-year-old just joining up. Mack, as in Mack Truck. Six five with arms like tree trunks and a fuck you attitude. Real subtle.

My actual name's Miles, Miles McKinney--a solid Irish name, I know. For a Black guy from Detroit, go figure.

My boy--Eli, the older one--gave the thermos to me when he got his first posting at Fort Benning and ended up with the same nickname as the old man. He was a kid pretending to be a man back then. Now he's got more stripes on his sleeve than I ever did. Time moves fast.

Cal, the younger one, took a different road, one that gave me some trouble at first, but no less tough. Works homicide in the city now--scrapes himself outta bed before dawn, deals with the worst of humanity, and still finds time to call his old man once a week. He's married to a good man. They adopted a little girl last year, my first grandkid, and from what I hear, she's already running the household.

Once I got over myself and let go of my old, dinosaur-brained hang-ups about Cal's sexuality, our bond only grew stronger. He's a good man, with a kind heart--and a family full of love.

Cal's got my stubborn streak but his mom's smarts and personality. Broad shoulders, very clean cut, the kind of guy you'd want at your back in a bad situation.

I know parents aren't supposed to have favourites--but if you put a gun to my head, it had always been Cal. He reminded me so much of his mom, while Eli... well Eli took after me. Stubborn same as Cal, but a wild animal when he let himself be, full of anger until the Army channelled it, just like they had with me. Poor bastard.

By 6:30 I was in the pump room, checking the filters. Clipboard in hand, notes from last week's drills. I ran a tight program. Didn't matter if the kid was a natural-born swimmer or flailed like a beached fish--I trained them all the same. That's what second chances looked like. That's how you build men. Or try to. Life had taught me that.

Sometimes I looked at the smaller ones, the ones who didn't fit the mold, and I remembered things I didn't like to admit. How, back when I was eighteen and angry at the world, I might've been the one giving them hell. But service has a way of knocking that shit out of you. I saw big, loud, tough-as-nails guys crumble. And I saw a chubby mess sergeant patch up a wounded kid under fire when no one else moved. Courage isn't loud. Doesn't always come in the body you expect.

I finished my coffee. Water still calm. My reflection looked back at me--older, sure. But solid. Unmoving. I was proud of my body, of those marks, of how I had molded through discipline and training. I liked how I looked, the muscles, the still taught stomach, despite the years. Even though I was a different person now, no longer that beast, I still liked how my body, my size, could intimidate people if I wanted it to. It was a tool I'd learned to use the right way.

I'd earned this. Every scar, every sleepless night, every busted bone and late-night cry from a kid who didn't understand why Mom wasn't coming back... all of it led here. She'd passed too young -- cancer doesn't give a damn if your boys are only thirteen and ten. It damn near broke me, but I didn't let it. I got up, I showed up, I kept them fed, kept them safe. Taught them what a man looks like when everything falls apart -- and he stands up anyway.

Now? I had peace. Structure. A job that mattered, and a life that fit like a glove. I'd built it with my own hands. No chaos. No regrets. Just the steady rhythm of work. I saw it as my reward for the tough years and hard work. I was content. Comfortable. Master of my little corner of the world.

The boys I trained here were a good bunch, mostly. Confident, clean-cut, sun-browned and strong. That swimmer look -- broad shoulders tapering into tight waists, long arms built for pulling through water. Smooth, sculpted lines from hours in the pool and weight room. Every shape and shade, every background. It made no difference here. In the water, they were all chasing the same seconds.

They joked too loud, shoved each other into the cold end, strutted like the gods had carved them from marble and bravado. Full of the kind of fire you didn't know what to do with at eighteen and nineteen. I let it ride most days. A little cockiness didn't hurt, long as it didn't tip into cruelty.

The college staff and the parents liked my discipline--how I could keep their wild boys in line and be a steady role model, especially when most of their stockbroker or lawyer dads were out of shape and screwing their secretaries.

I walked the edge of the pool, watching them take their positions for sprint drills -- four-lap bursts, all-out, then back in line. Routine. Discipline. Sweat and repetition. That's what made champions, not just talent. And my teams had the medals to prove it.

Then Noah hit the water.

He always slipped in quiet, without the fanfare of the others. No roar of laughter, no backslaps or howls. Just a quick dive, clean and sharp. Barely a splash.

He didn't have their build or size -- didn't carry the bulk through his shoulders or the power in his legs. He was narrow. Lean. Much shorter than the other guys and a late developer when it came puberty, something the others were well past at eighteen and nineteen.

Noah was more like a distance runner than a sprinter like the others. In swimming, that counted for something -- long strokes, endurance over raw strength -- but even then, he'd never match the top-tier kids. He didn't win races. He wasn't going to medal. But he showed up. Every goddamn day.

He took the ribbing without lashing out, without sulking. Just absorbed it, brushed it off, and dove in again. Same stroke count. Same focus. Grit in his jaw. Some kids flinch under pressure. Noah never flinched. He didn't rise, but he never folded. He just smiled.

I respected that. Even if the other boys didn't see it yet.

I kept an eye out for him. I knew when I was their age I'd have picked him out like an alpha chasing out the runt. Back then a look from a guy like me to kid like him would have been enough. I could see in his eyes he appreciated me keeping an eye on him. In fact he kinda followed me round like a puppy at times, real teachers pet.

Damn there was so much I regretted that I had done as a young asshole to people like Noah. I wouldn't have tolerated the young me in this team. Too wild and angry at the world. But now, much older and wiser I knew it was my job to use my physical gifts to look out for the weaker ones.

I blew the whistle for the next set, the sharp sound cracking across the water. The boys surged forward.

Noah, a heartbeat behind... gliding, unbreaking.

The guys were climbing out of the pool, breathless and slick with water, slapping each other's backs like they'd just stormed Normandy. That kind of bravado never changed -- I'd seen all my life.

"Coach, you gonna join us for burgers or are you scared we'll out-eat you again?"

That was Roman -- big, blond, built like a Viking and twice as loud.

I gave him a look. "You think I got this body from fries and milkshakes son?"

That got a round of hoots and a wet towel snapped across someone's back.

"C'mon, Coach, just one beer--"

"Coach doesn't drink with kids," I cut in. "Go hydrate, stretch, and don't end up in ER on my weekend off."

More laughter. Good kids. Loud, dumb, testosterone-fueled -- but good.

Most of them filtered out, their voices echoing through the tiled corridor, footsteps squeaking and fading toward the showers and locker room beyond. I did my usual end-of-session rounds -- checked the gear, tossed a few stray towels into the bin, noted the time. Out of habit more than anything else.

The pool was still. Quiet. I liked it that way.

That's when I noticed the motion in lane five -- steady, deliberate strokes cutting through the water.

Noah. Kid was still going.

He was always the last one out, never loud, never quitting.

Eventually, he climbed out -- slow, deliberate. Didn't look around, didn't join the chatter. Just grabbed his towel and vanished down the corridor like he was invisible. Part of me admired that. Most boys that age were trying so hard to be seen.

The other boys packed on bulk like it was armor. Noah looked like something from a painting -- lithe, pale, just enough definition to show work without trying to impress. And he didn't. He just swam.

I gave it another ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Locker rooms needed a once-over. Just to make sure no one had trashed anything, left a faucet running, or passed out in the steam.

The place was quiet. Echoes of water dripping. Smell of chlorine, soap, and boy-sweat still hanging in the air.

I rounded the corner near the back stalls -- then stopped.

Noah was there.

Didn't see me.

He was halfway through dressing, towel slung over his shoulder. He was oiling his body, stroking smooth lines down his pale, hairless legs, skin glistening in the locker room light. And just as he stepped into his jeans, I saw it.

A flicker of soft pink -- lace at the waistband.

Panties.

For a second I thought maybe I'd misseen it. But no -- he paused, adjusted them. Pulled the satin tight across his hips, smoothing it with both hands across his round behind.

I froze. The pure shock of what he was wearing. At first I smirked, but then the smirk fell away.

Couldn't move. Couldn't look away.

The fabric clung to him -- soft and snug, catching the light. His body was lean and delicate, but not weak -- legs toned, ass tight, waist narrow. Feminine, almost, certainly looking that way now. Curving at his hips, his soft perfect skin lean and tender. Not a woman. Not a man trying to be one. Just... something in between.

And something about it stirred that old place in me. The one memory I'd boarded up, locked tight, and buried halfway across the world in a Bangkok backstreet. A night. A body. A softness that didn't belong but fit perfectly in my hands anyway. A beast I unleashed in a night of passion I'd tried to forget.

I cleared my throat.

Noah jumped like I'd fired a round.

"Jesus--!" he gasped, clutching at his jeans. The pink disappeared. His face burned red, eyes wide and panicked. He knew I'd seen his secret, I could see the fear, the shame, washing over him. In that moment he looked smaller than ever, plus I knew how intimidating I could be, so I needed to soften the moment and let him know I was ok.

I held up a hand. Not unkind. Not angry.

"Relax," I said, low and even. "Just... be careful. If one of the other guys saw that? They'd eat you alive."

He didn't answer. Just stood there, jaw tight, humiliation rolling off him like heat.

"You don't owe me an explanation," I added. "Ain't my business. Just--locker rooms aren't always safe. That's all."

I turned and walked out, not trusting myself to stay a second longer.

"By the way, that's a cute color on you."

I ended it on a bit of levity, trying to break the seriousness of what I'd just seen. But I felt it. The weight of that glimpse. How his body, oiled and soft with skin like marble had looked. And how it had made me feel.

The echo of satin in my mind.

And the ghost of another night, half a lifetime ago.

The drive home was short -- a quiet cruise through the pine-shadowed outskirts where the city noise faded into stillness. I rolled the window down, letting the night air cool the sweat off my neck, trying to rinse out the strange pull I'd felt in that locker room.

Didn't work.

I pulled into the driveway -- just me and the house. Two stories, brick, solid. Bought it after Danielle passed. Took a year to admit she wasn't coming back, another to admit I didn't want to keep sleeping in the house where she died. This one I made my own. Built shelves for the books. Refinished the floors by hand. That garage? Smelled like sawdust and linseed oil year-round.

Inside, I didn't bother with lights, just set my bag down and headed straight for the cabinet. The whiskey was Elijah Craig 18 -- a gift from Cal and his husband. I'd been nursing the bottle like it was holy. Tonight, it felt like communion.

I poured two fingers into a heavy glass, no ice. Sat back into the worn leather chair by the window. One of those big old club chairs that hugged your frame and sighed when you dropped into it. Just like me -- built for quiet power and better days behind it.

The record was already on the player -- a song even older than me. I'd left it queued before practice. Carla Thomas's B-A-B-Y. The first warm notes filled the room like smoke, easy and aching, just how I liked it. The song reminded me of a time long ago, in a bar thousands of miles away.

I sipped the bourbon. Let it settle low in my chest.

I thought about the guys in the swim team. Roman with his mouth. Jamal showing off again. My boys, in a way. I'd shaped them, challenged them, tried to steer them right.

But then I thought about Noah.

Not the panties. Not yet. Just his face -- pale and red with shame. That wide-eyed look, like a deer frozen on a rifle scope. Looking so innocent and vulnerable.

Poor kid.

I shook my head and chuckled, real quiet.

Life didn't get easier for the quiet ones, the strange ones. It chewed 'em up. And Noah -- he had something in him, something stubborn. He didn't fit, and he knew it, but he kept showing up. Taking the jokes. Swimming harder than anyone else. That kind of grit didn't win medals, but it meant something. I respected that.

But then...

I exhaled through my nose. Rubbed a hand over my jaw.

Then came the image. Burned behind my eyes like a flashbulb.

Noah, his back to me, unaware. That vulnerability...

The smooth curve of his spine, the oil rubbed into his thighs, catching the light in thin silver trails.

The way his muscles tensed, just enough to show their shape, not bulk.

And those panties.

Soft pink. Lace trimming the waistband. The way he pulled them up, slow, snug. Satin hugging the curve of his ass like it belonged there. His body like porcelain, curves wanting to be touched...

I closed my eyes.

Something in me stirred. Old. Quiet. Dangerous. Not just lust. Not just memory. The beast I thought I'd tamed years earlier let out a quiet growl from within. A growl of want, of primal lust. I felt its needs burn deep within, a need to dominate, to take what it wanted. A true predator.

Damn. This was wrong. I'd not felt those urges in years, decades even. I'd not looked at Noah, or any student, like that before. Why did those panties affect me so fast and so deep? I needed to snap out of it.

I tossed back the last of the whiskey. Let it burn. Didn't flinch.

The music played on, and for a long while, I just sat there. Let the guilt creep in at the edges, tried to tell myself it was just surprise. Just concern for the kid. Just--

Just what?

I'd known a body like that once.

Felt the satin. Tasted the skin. Let the animal loose on it to feast on the flesh.

Bangkok.

I hadn't thought of her in years.

But tonight, she came back like a ghost.

Chapter 2: Bangkok nights

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I was twenty-two. Tall, mean, and full of piss and vinegar. I'd done a few years in already, just enough to think I was bulletproof without seeing any real action. That was to come a few years later, and when it did, it would change me utterly from this asshole.

My CO said I had "command presence," which was Marine-speak for big, scary, loud, and good at making people fall in line with a look. That, plus my build -- tall carved like I was sculpted to guard Caesar -- got me a plum posting as security detail at the U. S. Embassy in Bangkok as an MSG (Marine Security Guard).

The Embassy compound in Bangkok was huge, one of the largest, a holdover from the Vietnam years, sprawling and heavily guarded, a fortress dressed up as a place of diplomacy in the centre of the teeming city. I wore a suit more than cammies back then. Earwig in, eyes always scanning.

But off-duty? Different man. We hit the bars like dogs off a chain.

Soi Cowboy. Nana Plaza. Patpong. The lights were red, the beer was cold, and the girls never ever said no. And if they did, we didn't hear it. I wince thinking about some of it now. The way we swaggered in like gods of war, too big and too American for anyone to check.

I was the worst of them. Cocky. Loud. Always the first to toss baht at a dancer or mouth off in slurred Thai. I was still underneath a stupid high school jock, out of control and feeling like I ruled the world, but now I was even bigger and had been trained to kill. No poor bastard was going to mess with me, or tell me no. How the fuck I got out of that town alive and still in the corps was a miracle.

And boy did I fuck. There was never any foreplay, no messing. Just raw, animal sex. I'd get a girl, spread her legs and take what I needed. It'd be over in no time and soon I'd look for the next fuck. Like I said, a wild dog that just needed to procreate. Any pleasure either of us received was minimal, I just had the urge, and I could do it with any girl I liked and forget about them the next day.

One night we were already three bars deep, sweating cheap bourbon and Tiger beer in the back of a tuk tuk. We were laughing at nothing, cruising toward Soi Pratuchai -- what the locals called Silom 's sister street, but we just called it fag alley. That's how we talked back then. We'd heard about the ladyboy bars -- katoey joints packed with drag queens and trans girls. Exotic. Dirty. Something to gawk at.

I don't even remember who suggested it. Might've been me.

We piled into one of the bars, too loud, too drunk, too dangerous and looking for trouble.

The place was like a jewel box cracked open -- neon pink lights, mirrored walls, thumping bass and perfume thick as incense. Girls -- katoey -- moved around like painted ghosts in silk and sequins, tall and thin and too beautiful to look straight at.

We were assholes.

We hooted. We jeered. One guy tried to lift a dancer's skirt. Another dared me to slap one on the ass. I might've done it. Might've laughed about it after. Most of the staff tried to avoid us, scared and small in the corners of their own bar.

And then she smiled at me.

She was standing near the stage -- not dancing, not hustling -- just watching. Tall, almost my height in heels, skin the color of milky tea and impossibly cool. Her dress was simple, a silk slip in deep violet, clinging in all the right places. Her face...

Christ.

Full lips, heart-shaped jaw, wide brown eyes that flickered gold under the lights. High cheekbones. Long lashes. A beauty that wasn't just painted on -- it lived in her. Feminine, yes -- more than some of the real girls I'd known -- but with something else too. A sharpness around the edges. A knowingness.

I knew what she was despite her beauty and feminine pose, but somehow that made her more attractive to me in that moment. More feminine oddly, more vulnerable, despite her seeming indifference to our behaviour. I couldn't explain it to myself then, still can't now all those years later. But I could feel the beast inside of me stir.

She smiled like she knew every awful thing about me--and didn't care. She saw that beast inside and dared it to come closer. Her eyes locked with mine, unflinching, like a matador staring down a furious bull.

And God, she was beautiful.

I looked away too fast. My throat was tight. My chest? I don't know. Like someone knocked the wind out of me, but gently.

The guys kept shouting. One of them made some crack about "she-cocks" and fake tits. I barked a laugh, louder than I needed to, but my eyes slid back toward her.

She was still looking. Still smiling. And something in me turned over.

Some heavies had been called to 'encourage us' to move on. When we left, I didn't say a word. Just climbed back into the tuk tuk with the rest of them, louder than ever, but quieter inside.

I couldn't stop thinking about her.

That smile. That body. That look in her eyes like she saw something in me I didn't know was there.

Two nights later, I went back alone. Didn't tell the guys. Just slipped into the alley, heart thumping and eyes wide like I was heading into a firefight without a sidearm.

The bar was quieter that night. The same lights. The same perfume.

And she was there. Waiting.

She was by the bar, leaning with one elbow on the counter, sipping something bright through a thin black straw. She wore a short, cheongsam-style dress -- high collar, short sleeves, the hem barely brushing the tops of her thighs.

The dress clung to her like water -- no, like a second skin -- slick and shimmering in the low amber light. Scarlet satin, rich and fluid, kissed every curve of her body, the fabric catching with every breath she took. Gold-thread dragons coiled along her hips and up her side, their delicate scales dancing with each subtle shift of her weight.

A single slit carved up the length of her thigh revealing the whisper of sheer black stockings stretched taut over smooth, pale skin. The garter straps peeked from beneath the hem, black silk ribbons drawing the eye to the place where restraint met desire. Her heels -- sharp, stiletto-thin -- elevated her gait into something hypnotic. Predatory. Each step a slow, deliberate seduction.

I couldn't stop looking at her legs -- impossibly long. Thin calves rising up into a curved and slightly muscular thigh clad in that sheer black nylon that seemed to glimmer like oil in mixed lighting of the bar.

The place was quieter that night. No drunken Marines to shout over. Just the slow pulse of bass and the glitter of lights rippling across the mirrors as horny tourists flitted about amongst the girls.

She turned, as if she'd felt me watching. And smiled.

Not a showgirl smile. Not a sales pitch. It was warm and knowing, like she'd been expecting me.

I walked over, slow. My palms were sweating. My throat was dry. I could feel a hunger, a desire taking over all of my conscious thought. Normally I had the confidence to go up to any woman, take what I wanted, but she wasn't any woman. She was different.

Up close, she was even more impossible.

Big brown eyes, deep and wet and shaped like almonds. A little shimmer at the lids. Gloss on her lips, not too much. Her cheeks were soft, but her jaw was strong -- that blend of features that didn't make sense but somehow worked perfectly. And her skin, that gorgeous light-brown flush, smooth as poured cream.

"I remember you," she said, voice soft and warm with a teasing lilt. Filipino accent, maybe. Or Thai. Her English was perfect.

I didn't answer right away. Just let my eyes trace the curve of her neck down to the hollow at her collarbone, where the first frog clasp of the dress barely held.

Her chest rose gently as she breathed -- full, but not exaggerated. Natural. Perfect. As she uncrossed her legs to descend down from her bar stool I got a quick glimpse of her bare legs at the top of her stockings and the small bulge between her thighs, outlined under the tight satin of her panties.

Pink satin, just like I saw today.

I should've looked away then, should of looked away today. But I didn't.

"You were loud last time," she said, tilting her head, amused. "But you're quiet now."

"I was drunk," I muttered.

She laughed -- light and low. "I could tell."

I caught myself looking at her legs again. They were something else. She didn't walk so much as glide, the hem of her dress swaying like a metronome, keeping time with my rising heartbeat. My eyes drawn to how the garters clung to her inner thighs, the way the slit in her dress offered flashes of stocking and skin.

She took a slow sip from her drink, then held my gaze.

"You want to go somewhere... quieter?"

I nodded, glad she'd got straight to it. Didn't even pretend to hesitate. My hunger now at boiling point.

She took my hand. Not a tug -- an invitation. Her fingers were soft, delicate, and cool against mine.

We slipped out a side door into the heat of a Bangkok night. The alley was thick with the smell of rain on concrete, exhaust fumes and lemongrass.

She led me down winding streets, heels clicking on the cracked pavement. Her hips swayed like silk in water, the dress shining in the streetlamps, clinging to her like it belonged only to her.

On anyone else, it would've looked cheap. Trashy, even. But on her? It was art. She was art.

She didn't speak as we walked. Didn't have to. She owned the silence between us -- graceful, poised, completely in control. I was the one trailing behind, dumb and hard and lost.

We ended up in a little flat above a noodle shop -- her place, I guessed, more likely it was one the girls shared. One narrow room, neat and dim and perfumed with jasmine and something spicy I couldn't name.

She locked the door behind us, then turned to face me.

"Take off your shoes," she said softly. Not a question.

I obeyed, even though inside of me I could feel the molten pulse of my desire to fuck her right then and there.

But for the first time since I lost my virginity to a hooker on a Detroit backstreet when I was seventeen, I felt like I wasn't the one in charge.

She stepped closer and shut the distance between us, her heels clicking softly on the floorboards. There was no rush to her movements, no uncertainty. Just a quiet confidence that made my throat go dry.

Up close, she smelled like night flowers and skin -- sweet and human and just a little dangerous.

"Sit," she said, touching my chest with the lightest pressure of her fingers.

I sank down onto the edge of the narrow bed without a word. My heart pounded in my chest like I was twenty floors up with no parachute.

She stood over me, tilting her head slightly, studying me like she was deciding what part of the meal to taste first. Then she turned, slow and deliberate, letting me drink in the full view of her body -- the way the dress clung to her backside, the sheen of the satin highlighting every curve, every motion like water gliding over polished stone.

She reached up, unhooked the top clasp of her cheongsam with a soft snap. Then another. Then another. The fabric loosened at her chest, showing the delicate line of her sternum, the soft rise of her small breasts, held firm under a whisper of lace.

When the dress slid down her hips, I saw them.

The panties were pale pink satin, almost silver in the low light, snug against the slight swell at her crotch. That delicious soft bulge. Just like Noah's.

The fabric shimmered with the same impossible elegance she carried in every step. A little lace trimmed the edges, feminine, teasing. They looked soft as breath and twice as dangerous.

My own breath caught. As she moved I could start to see the shape of her cock pressed tight in the shiny material, a small damp patch at the tip. A penis was something I'd never thought twice about, certainly never lusting after. The thought had felt alien to me, something weird and other, to be mocked or worse. But in that moment all I could think about was seeing it, feeling the skin. Tasting it.

She stepped out of the dress completely, leaving nothing but her bra, those pink satin panties, the black thigh-high stockings held firm by garter straps, and those impossible black heels that made her calves look like they'd been carved from marble.

She stood tall, legs apart just slightly, hands resting on her hips. Letting me drink her in.

Then she unclipped her bra and let it fall to the floor, her tiny breasts, no more than bee-stings, but so soft and kissable. I was never really a boob guy, the 'girls' in the club with their false breasts just felt wrong. But these small titties, with a perfect delicious nipples protruding from them, just seemed so fresh and eager for me to suckle on.

"You okay, big guy?" she asked, a playful little smile curling her lips.

I could barely nod.

She walked to me slowly -- hips swaying, stockings whispering, the satin between her thighs catching the light like a secret.

Then she straddled me.

Her heel brushed the inside of my thigh, cold and sharp, while her stockings slid against my jeans. As her body fell onto mine I felt the faint pressure of her bulge grind against my groin, soft and teasing. She leaned in, one hand on my shoulder, the other gently tracing the edge of my jaw.

"I saw how you looked at me," she whispered. "You don't have to pretend."

I didn't. I couldn't. My mouth found hers.

She kissed like she moved -- soft at first, then with a growing intensity, her lips parting mine, tongue tasting me slow and deep. She pressed her body against mine, and I let go of the last flickers of doubt. I was hers now, in her room, in her arms, in her world.

She slid her hands up under my shirt, lifting it over my head. Her palms roamed my chest, my shoulders -- not with reverence, but with ownership. Then she leaned back, took my hands in hers, and placed them on her hips.

"Touch me," she said.

So I did.

I ran my hands over the silk of her panties, across the curve of her ass where the satin stretched tight against her round peach of an ass.

I kissed her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her chest. Her skin was warm and soft. She smelled like things I'd never be able to name -- jasmine, sugar, sin.

Then I moved my had slowly to the front before, gently, I rubbed my palm across the soft satin and felt her. Felt her bulge...

I could feel the shape of her, her tight balls then the stiffness, the heat of her penis. Finally my hand moved to the tip and the damp patch of her pre-cum. She cooed for a moment as my finger lingered there, teasing her most sensitive part with my fingertips.

When she pulled away and stood up, I felt cold for a moment. Then she tugged at the waistband at the top of her panties, teasing me before slipping them off in a slow with a practiced grace, never breaking eye contact as she did so.

She slipped the panties down past her ass and hips before they dropped down her legs. Finally there it was. Her small, beautiful cock.

I'd never thought a penis was anything attractive to look at, but somehow this one looked elegant somehow, pretty even. It was small, much, much smaller than mine, soft and pink. There were no angry veins or a red bulbous head, the skin was smooth. No this was gentle, feminine even, like her.

"Lie back baby," she said.

My back hit the bed.

She climbed over me, the sheer nylon of her thighs brushing against my bare stomach, then lower. Her hair cascaded forward, long and dark, tickling my chest as she kissed up my torso. Every touch was deliberate. Every motion slow. I could feel her hardness pressing against mine, and instead of recoiling, I groaned -- surprised at how right it felt. How beautiful she was. How desperately I wanted her.

I reached up, fingers in her hair, and she looked up at me -- eyes bright, pupils wide, lips just barely parted.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered.

She smiled, and for the first time, she looked shy.

"I know," she said.

And then she kissed me again -- deeper this time, guiding my hands, undressing me like she'd done this a hundred times. But there was nothing practiced about the way she touched me. She knew exactly how to make me lose myself.

She slipped off my trousers and then my boxers. My own cock now free and harder than ever. Her eyes widened as she took me in, assessed my size, her face inches away from my erect penis. She gently wrapped her small hand as best she could around the girth of my cock, feeling it. Feeling me. Her blood red long nails contrasting starkly against my dark skin.

"Wow mister. I know we are supposed to say this, but honestly this... this is quite something soldier boy. What a monster. Not sure I can take all of this, but I'll give it a good try."

She licked her lips, and for a moment I thought she was going to taste me. I wanted her to taste me so badly. To slip my head deep into those luscious red lips.

But instead she released her grip. Standing on the bed she walked up before kneeling on my chest. This left her crotch right in front of my face. Her penis was just inches from my mouth as I inhaled her scent once again, my heart thumping and my nerves on ends.

She smiled at me with a look of pure lust. I was consumed by the heady mix of her perfume and something else. She was daring me to do the unthinkable.

My large hands gripped her tight buttocks and I pulled her forward, making her yelp as I did so. I opened my mouth and took her cock in past my lips.

"Oh fuck!! Ohhh!! Mmmm... Hmm... Oh... Oh god.... Hmmm, you're full of surprises, Marine. Chôrp mâak loie..!"

She gasped, her voice breathy and low, eyes fluttering half-closed.

"Most men don't... they don't take their time with me like this. Ohhh... oh that feels so good."

It felt odd to have a cock in my mouth, to do what I was now doing. But I was more turned on than ever, feasting like an animal as I suckled on her small cock, gobbling her all the way down before teasing it with my tongue and making her coo and writhe with pleasure while I gripper her ass hard.

She slipped out of my lips, laying her body flat on top of mine. I could feel her cock press against my own, her heat and wetness, as we kissed hard and full of passion. I held her tight with my large arms, feeling how fragile and small she felt on me. I could see the same fire in her eyes as I felt in mine.

She slipped her body down my torso before resting between my legs. Taking my cock in her hand again she locked eyes with me before taking a long slow lick from my balls all the way up to the top of my helmet, dribbling saliva down my shaft making my cock glisten in the half light of the seedy room. She looked like she was worshiping me. I felt the rush of power over her at that moment, looking at my large black cock against her small, pale and delicate face.

I moaned with pleasure, then without waiting too long, she slipped my head into her mouth, her lips stretched wide to take me in, her eyes still on me, widening as she devoured me.

"Damn, girl..." I groaned, my voice rough in my throat as her mouth worked its magic. "You're gonna ruin me. Oh fuck!!!"

She took far more of my cock than I thought she could. I'm pretty well endowed, and no girl had ever got past half way. But she was an expert, no, a fucking artist when it came to sucking a cock. Gobbling up as much of my meat as she could, and by the look on her face and the noises she was making, enjoying every inch of my shaft.

Her build up was slow, teasing at first, then her tongue started to get to work, then she began slurping as her head bobbed up and down. Slowly she built up, getting faster and going deeper, all at a controlled pace that was sending me wild. Her saliva dribbled down as she did so, her cheeks caving in as she sucked on my shaft, her lips wrapped tight around my skin, bulging as they bubbled over my head.

The rest was a whirlwind of passion as something came over me. An almost unconscious need to have her, to be inside her, to fill her full of my cum. I was like a wild animal. Bending her over, slapping her ass before fucking her raw and hard.

She submitted to my passions with a look a mix of fear and lust. I could see she enjoyed me taking charge, being made to do what ever my whim was. Enjoying being submissive to a real man, being my slut. This only sent me more wild.

My hand slapping her ass or gripping her throat, or pulling her by her hair only made her more turned on, more eager to take whatever I gave. Daring me to use her.

The rush of it--of letting go, of unleashing that raw, feral thing inside me--was like a drug. Pure euphoria. No fear, no shame, no thoughts of tomorrow. Just instinct and heat and hunger. I wasn't a man in that moment. I was something else entirely. A wild animal finally unchained, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire into her, lost in the sheer reckless thrill of release.

And she welcomed it--welcomed me like that. Wild, unthinking, untamed. She didn't flinch or falter; she leaned into the storm, urging it on with every breathy moan and wicked smile. She wanted the beast. Drew it out of me. Matched every ragged thrust with pleasure, every growl with her own. She didn't just take my wildness--she thrived in it. Fed on it. Wanted me to be rougher, encouraging me to smack her ass harder, fuck her harder, hold her by her throat as I took what I wanted from her as she submitted to me.

The rest of that night unraveled into a blur of heat and motion, like a fever dream I couldn't hold onto, no matter how hard I tried. Time lost all meaning. The world shrank to the slick slide of skin, the crash of bodies, the sharp, heady scent of sweat and sex as we fucked over and over.

I remember flashes--her legs wrapped around my waist, her nails raking down my back, the sound of the bed hitting the wall in rhythm with our bodies--but they come like shards, not a sequence. There was no control left, no thought, just pure instinct. Frenzied. Animal. As if something had taken me over and refused to let go until we'd both been spent a dozen times over. I wasn't myself that night. Or maybe I was more myself than I'd ever dared to be.

I just remembered the end, her on her knees, soaked in sweat, her makeup a mess and hair all over the place, and yet still looking so pretty. She was pleading me with her eyes as she swallowed my cock, her lips wrapped around my shaft as she bobbed up and down even more furiously than before, gagging on me hard, almost to the point of puking, as she slurped and salivated, driving me to a final all-consuming orgasm and encouraging me to coat her face with my the last drops of my seed.

And when I finally came apart in her hands, her mouth, her soft satin-clad body -- I didn't feel shame. I felt free. Floating into a bliss and calmness I'd not known in my short life to that point, one I'd chase for the rest of it.

But the glow didn't last.

After a while she stirred from my arms and slipped into the shower, humming something soft and sweet in Thai, and I was lying there staring at the ceiling, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons now. My body still hummed from what we'd done--God, what we'd done--but my mind was already racing to get away from it. Guilt and shame washing over me and turning my sweat cold.

When she stepped out, steam curling around her, she looked radiant and natural. Towel wrapped high on her chest, damp hair slicked back, skin dewy from the heat. She smiled when she saw me--but then her expression shifted. She saw it, plain as day.

The guilt, the panic. The way I couldn't look at her straight.

I sat up too fast, mumbling something about having to go. Couldn't even meet her eyes as I fumbled out some cash I didn't even bother to count. She didn't stop me. Just nodded, like she'd seen this scene play out before. Maybe a hundred times.

I left without saying goodbye.

The Bangkok heat hit me like a slap when I stepped out into the alley. The neon buzzed above, motorbikes whined past, and everything stank of sweat, spice, and gasoline. I walked fast, like I could outrun it.

For the next few days, I pretended it hadn't happened. Buried myself in drills, barked at junior Marines a little too hard, hit the gym until my arms were jelly. Drank. Fucked a bar girl I didn't even like just to prove something--to myself more than anyone. It didn't help.

But I'd close my eyes and she'd be there--those soft lips, the way she moved, the way she took control. That gorgeous little cock. The soft curves of her ass and the way her body shaped up her hips to those tasty erect nipples. And that look in her eyes when I fell apart in her hands coating her face with my cum.

At night I'd dream of seeing her again, putting aside my fears and hang ups, show her who's boss. Feel her again. Let that wild animal loose. But I didn't. I couldn't.

I moved on, as did my life. Some hard knocks put those foolish years behind me, and I became a man for real.

She would drift into my dreams and I'd feel something, something I'd never felt with anyone else. But I'd wake up full of shame and regret. I'd done something I'd been taught was wrong. I'd also lost discipline, lost my control. That was something I worked harder than ever to correct and ensure never happened again.

But when I saw Noah in those pink satin panties, same as she'd worn a lifetime ago in that bar, I had that same feeling again for the first time in years. A need. A yearning. To feel that soft body, to dominate him, make him mine.

I could feel that wild animal stirring in the depths of my soul, desperate and hungry to be unleashed on his young body.

Chapter 3: Temptation on the table

------------------------------------------------

The next day, I hit the water before dawn. It was still dark out, sky the color of steel wool, and the pool lights cast long wavering lines along the tiled floor. I swam hard, faster than usual--lap after lap, pushing my body until my shoulders ached and the cold bit through my skin. Punishing myself, maybe. Or trying to drown something.

When I climbed out, I stood dripping at the edge, chest heaving, and stared into the distance like a man trying to remember something he promised to forget.

Noah.

The name flashed across my brain like a spark as my mind imagined his slender frame. Those large brown eyes looking at me with a mix of fear and, and something else.

No. I shook it off, pulled the towel rough across my face.

It wasn't gonna happen again.

I spent the day like I always did--tight routine, clean whistle, firm voice. I was back in charge. Marine mode. Coach mode. Not that kid from years ago. He was buried beneath well over two decades of discipline, pain, loss... and wisdom. I wasn't some animal chasing lust down foreign alleys anymore. I was a grown man. A father. An authority figure. In control of myself.

And Noah? He was just a student under my charge. A damn good one in terms of heart, even if he'd never win medals. He looked up to me, turned up every day, never complained, took his licks when the others teased him, and kept swimming. I respected that. Hell, I admired it. But admiration wasn't what had gripped me yesterday, when I saw him in those pink--

Stop.

Practice went smoothly. I kept things sharp, moved fast, barked times and splits. Didn't let myself look at him too long. He was just one swimmer in the lane. That was it.

But near the end, during a freestyle sprint set, I saw him falter. It was small--barely a hitch in his kick--but then his face twisted, and he sank fast. No drama. Just gone.

I was in the water before I even thought about it.

I hit the lane with a clean dive, fast and low, arms slicing through the current. In a few strokes I reached him--he was clutching at his thigh, trying to tread water but clearly in pain. I wrapped my arm around his chest, kicked hard, and pulled him toward the wall.

"You with me?" I asked as I helped him onto the deck.

"Yeah," he winced, sitting upright, one hand still gripping his leg. "Crap... it just cramped or... something popped, I don't know."

The others gathered, concerned, but I waved them off. "I got him. Go hit the showers."

Noah looked pale, biting down on whatever he was feeling. "Sorry, Coach. I--"

"Don't be stupid. Injuries happen." I grabbed a towel and handed it to him. "Dry off. Let's take a look."

The pool had cleared out. Chlorine hung heavy in the air, echoing in the now-quiet hall. I walked him to the trainer's room--really just a converted office with a massage table, shelves of wraps, creams, and ice packs.

Noah had managed to dry himself off, slip out of his swimmers and put on a t-shirt, but the pain was still there. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and I helped him into my office where I had a treatment table.

He sat stiffly on the edge of the table. His thigh twitching every so often.

I knelt in front of him, trying to assess it clinically. "Where exactly?"

He hitched up the towel and pointed, fingers splayed across the high inside part of his soft thigh. "Here. Feels like it's knotted. It cramped earlier in the week, too."

I nodded. A gracilis or adductor strain, maybe. Not serious--but without treatment it could sideline him. Massage and passive stretching would help.

And that was the problem.

My hands. On him. There.

I stood up and moved to the cabinet, buying time, pretending to look for oil. In truth, I was trying to calm my pulse, force the blood from where it was already starting to rush. My throat felt dry. I hadn't had a drink today, but I suddenly wanted one.

"You sure you're comfortable with this?" I asked, voice low.

He looked up, earnest, trusting. "Yeah. I mean... you're the coach. You know what you're doing. I trust you."

That made it worse.

I closed my eyes for a second. Inhaled deep.

Then I turned back and walked toward him, bottle in hand.

"Alright," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "Let's see what we're working with."

I dried my hands on the towel and tried to ignore the way my pulse was hammering.

The rest of the kids had gone. The pool deck was quiet now, just the soft slosh of water settling and the distant hum of the building's ventilation. I sat on the bench beside Noah, both of us still a little damp, the air cool on our skin.

He'd pulled a muscle, high in the inner thigh. A tricky spot. I'd seen it a hundred times--usually happened when swimmers over-extended during a flip turn or pushed too hard off the wall without a proper warm-up.

"Let me take another look," I said, voice calm, steady. Coach voice.

He nodded, and swung his leg up on the bench, pulling up the towel fall to mid-thigh. I crouched beside him, knees popping slightly as I went down.

My hands moved automatically at first--trained, practiced. Thumb pressing gently into the soft flesh of his thigh, searching for the muscle, fingers spreading to feel for swelling or tension. He winced slightly when I got close to the groin, but he didn't stop me.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Just... ticklish, I guess."

I gave a short laugh, trying to hide my own nerves.

But something in my chest was tightening. I kept my eyes on the leg, tried not to notice how soft and smooth his skin felt under my fingers. It wasn't like most of the boys I coached--hard bodies, built for power. Noah was lean, delicate even. Toned, sure, but with none of the hardness that usually came with strength. His thighs had a gentle give under my touch, and the way the curve of his hip dipped down into his towel--it looked more like a girls body than I wanted to admit.

I shifted, pretending to get a better angle, but really just trying to ground myself. I could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell the faint chlorine and something sweeter underneath. His breathing had changed. Slower. Shallower.

Don't look, I told myself.

But I did. Just a glance. The towel rose a little higher, past the soft fleshy curve of his inner thigh, higher, up to his crotch. And there it was again--just a hint of lace and pink satin peeking from beneath the towel. The same panties I'd seen him in that day. Pale, delicate, hugging the swell of him in a way that made my mouth go dry.

I froze.

It would have been better not to wear anything, better than this. In fact it must have taken some effort to slip them on given the pain he was feeling, and I was pretty sure he wasn't faking it. Why had he done this? Did he not know he was playing with fire?

My hands lingered longer than they should've. I was telling myself I was checking for tension, but I wasn't. I was just... feeling him. The muscle was taut beneath my palm, but smooth. Silken. His thigh trembled, and a soft sound escaped his throat--a breath, a hum, not quite a moan.

"Ok, let's get you on the table."

Noah swung his legs back around and rolled flat onto his tummy. His arms pressed close to his sides and the towel covering his behind. It hitched it up a mite, just to the top of those creamy white thighs, just so it covered that ultimate temptation.

I poured the oil into my palm and let it warm there a moment before letting it drizzle onto his bare skin. I watched as it slid down in slow rivulets, catching the low light, making his thigh shimmer like poured cream. He was impossibly smooth--like silk stretched over muscle. Most swimmers shaved to cut drag in the water, but with Noah, it didn't seem like there'd been much to shave in the first place. So soft and smooth. So inviting.

As the oil spread, his pale skin caught the glow of the treatment room's dim lighting, turning it golden, almost ethereal. The heat in the room, always heavy thanks to the nearby boiler, now felt suffocating--made worse by the sight of his body lying there, so still, so delicate. So deliberately feminine.

I pressed my hands firmly down his leg, fingers sinking into the supple flesh of his inner thigh. The skin gave way beneath my touch, warm and pliant, rising slightly under the pressure of each slow stroke. Noah let out a soft gasp as my hands glided smoothly upward.

His skin was radiant beneath the sheen of oil--warm, luminous, impossibly smooth. The contrast struck me: his pale, delicate pale pink tone set against the roughness of my calloused hands, skin like dark leather worn from years of work. His legs were lean and soft to the touch, inviting in a way that caught me off guard, making it harder to focus on anything but the shape of him beneath my hands.

As I moved my hands up and down his leg the towel slipped forward slightly, towards the small of his back. His panties were now fully visible, the lacy trim around the top of his thighs, the pink satin taut against the swell of his buttocks. I took a deep breath as I continued to massage his legs, but my hands got ever nearer to the top of his thigh.

Noah let out quiet, breathy sounds as my hands worked over him--not from pain, not anymore. These were soft, involuntary noises of pleasure, the kind that stirred something deep in me.

I became aware of my own breathing--shallow, uneven. Heat coiled low in my chest, my pulse thudding with a steady insistence. The room felt smaller, tighter, as the weight of temptation pressed in around me, growing harder to ignore with every passing second.

As my hand moved up his thigh I continued, my fingers slipping under the band of his panties. I lingered there for a moment too long. Noah moaned softly, the sound slightly muffled by the table.

I started to work my hands at the top of his thighs, my hands moving ever closer and closer to the cleft of his buttocks. They were perfectly pert, cocooned in the tight satin of his panties. Every now and then my fingers would again slip under the leg of them, touching the soft swell of his ass, making Noah shiver beneath me.

Then I felt something. Noah's hand, pressed to his side, had moved slightly. It was the softest touch, a caress disguised as an accidental touch as his fingers brushed my now stiff cock, pressed hard into my shorts.

I could feel my heart rate increase, nerves on edge, my breath held as I let fingertips gently touch me. My own hands rubbing further and further up his soft inviting cheek and under his panties.

Noah let out a soft moan. His voice was so much softer than the other students, light and gentle next to their deep, gruff tones. Now it seemed almost ethereal.

We carried on for a moment like this. Both holding our breaths as we risked touching each other. Never stepping over the edge, but both knowing what we were doing. Time seeming to stand still.

Noah moved slightly under my touch, his behind raising slightly each time my hand smoothed up his thigh onto his ass, his legs parting a touch, his body urging me on. I could see the bulge of his balls pressed to the satin of the panties. I felt a strong urge to pull on the waistband, rip them off him, climb onto the table and fuck him hard there and then.

All of a sudden I stepped back fast, like I'd been burned.

"That's enough."

Noah blinked up at me, wide-eyed. His cheeks were flushed, pink rising high along his neck. There was a mixture of fear, embarrassment and something else. Disappointment?

"Ummm, you'll need to ice it at home," I said, already stepping back. "No training tomorrow. Maybe Friday either. Give it some rest"

We both needed some space, some thinking time. A rest would give us that. That and a very cold shower.

Noah nodded quickly, wrapping the towel tighter around himself. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

His voice was small. Like I'd caught him doing something wrong. His eyes didn't meat mine and his lip seemed to tremble.

He looked so vulnerable, so small and delicate next to my age-worn body and strength. And that was part of the problem.

He slipped into the changing room without another word, the door swinging closed behind him.

I stayed where I was, staring at the spot where he'd been sitting. My hands were still tingling.

Jesus Christ, Mack.

I sat down hard on the bench, elbows on my knees, head hanging low. The room was quiet but my thoughts were loud. Too loud.

I'd kept it professional, pulled back when it was going too far. I told myself that. But the lie felt thin and see-through. I hadn't touched him like a coach. Not really. It had gone too far from the moment I saw the panties.

He was just a kid. Barely over eighteen. And I was damn near fifty.

Worse than that--he trusted me. I was supposed to protect him. Guide him.

Not... want him.

I looked down at my hands. What the hell was I doing?

And why couldn't I stop thinking about how he'd looked in those panties?

Or how familiar it felt.

Bangkok whispered through the back of my mind like a ghost. Satin. Heels. That cocky little smile. The animalistic sex. Unresolved business that had haunted me for years.

A need. An urge.

I shut my eyes.

God help me.

Chapter 4: Noah comes over

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Saturday. Late afternoon. The sun was low, spilling warm amber across the concrete floor of the garage. I had the radio on low--some old Atlantic soul CD that had seen better days--and I was hunched over the stripped-down frame of my old Triumph. Just me, oil, and the honest work of my hands. Exactly how I liked it.

With no appointments that evening I was enjoying a large glass of bourbon while I worked. All I intended to do that evening was settle down and make a dent in the bottle while I read a good book. You know, old man stuff.

Then the phone buzzed in the pocket of my overalls.

I wiped my hands on a rag and checked the screen.

Noah.

My stomach clenched before I could even think. I stared at the name a little too long before answering.

"Hey, Coach," came his voice, soft and uncertain.

"Hey, Noah. Everything alright?"

There was a pause, just long enough to set my nerves on edge.

"Um... I was wondering if I could come over. To talk. Just talk."

I hesitated. The smart thing would be to say no. Put some space between us and definitely not invite him into my home. I'd already crossed too many lines in my head--lines I couldn't afford to blur in real life.

But I found myself saying, "Yeah. Sure. You okay?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "I just... I'd feel better talking in person."

Another pause.

"Thanks, Coach."

I hung up, sat there a moment in the quiet hum of the garage, then stood and went inside to clean up. I told myself I needed to set this straight. Lay down some boundaries. But I also scrubbed under my nails and changed into a fresh t-shirt.

I put my bourbon to one side. I could take my liquor, but it was best to have as clear a head as possible. My judgment was clouded enough without any more alcohol.

By the time the doorbell rang, the sun had dipped low, casting orange streaks through the kitchen blinds. I opened the door, and there he was--backlit, holding a little rucksack, dressed in jean shorts and a plain white T-shirt slightly damp with sweat. His skin glowed, glistening from the heat of the day. He looked... normal. Innocent. Fresh. Too young.

Too much like temptation.

"Hey," he said, biting his lip nervously.

"Come in," I said, stepping aside.

He toed off his shoes politely and followed me into the kitchen. I offered him a drink--coke, water, beer if he wanted. He took a coke, fingers curling around the can like he needed the chill to keep himself steady.

We sat at the table in silence for a minute, the air thick between us.

"Hey, I saw that gorgeous old Triumph outside. You're good with bikes?" he said, finally.

I grunted. "Been fixing them longer than you've been alive. Always been into any kind of motor. My dad worked on the line for Ford back in the day."

He smiled, soft and genuine. It eased the tightness in my chest a little.

But the quiet crept back in making things awkward again.

Noah fidgeted with the can, then looked up at me, eyes wide and fragile.

"Listen coach, I wanted you to know something. I think a lot of you Coach. You're the only person who's ever treated me right, treated me with respect. I'm not really close with my folks, don't have any older brothers or uncles I can talk to about things..."

I said nothing, letting him get it all out.

"What I'm trying to say is you're the only authority figure I feel I can trust. You have a strength about you, like how whatever you say is done. The way you command us all in the pool with just a glance. And I could do with someone I could talk to. Someone with the authority to guide me. Someone strong and wise, and you're the only person I feel that with. You are the only one I feel safe with."

"It's ok Noah," I leaned forward, my voice calm, "you can talk to me." I was trying to be impassive. To forget about the other day in the treatment room. Try and be his goddam coach, to be a father figure that this kid wanted, and do what I was supposed to do. But all I could think about was how his skin felt when I touched his thigh, how those panties looked on him, tight across his ass.

Noah finally broke the silence.

"I, um... I wanted to tell you something. It's kind of a big deal. Well for me. And I feel like I need to know if what's happening is crazy or ok."

I nodded slowly, cautious. "Alright."

"It's something I've not told anyone. It's a secret, and I don't know how to say it without it sounding... weird."

"You're not gonna shock me, kid. Just spit it out."

He took a breath.

"I'm different. It's something I've been doing since I was a kid and now I'm grown up, I cant' stop. I like dressing up," he said. "Like, in girl's clothes. Lingerie. Skirts. Sometimes makeup, when I'm alone. I like being feminine."

He rushed the last few words, as if trying to outrun them. His eyes were wide, not looking at me, face flushed, as he reviled long buried secrets.

I blinked. The room felt suddenly too quiet, too small.

Noah looked up, now he watched me carefully, braced for disgust or rejection.

I didn't say anything right away.

Of course I'd seen it coming. Or felt it, at least. Not just that moment in the locker room or the panties, it was also the softness in his voice sometimes, the way he carried himself when he didn't think anyone was watching. I just didn't want to admit what it meant--to him, or to me.

"I don't... really understand all that," I said finally. "But I'm not judging you, Noah."

"You're not?"

I shook my head. "I've been around Noah, had a full life and seen a lot of this world and the kinds of people in it. Learned a lot. You like what you like. Doesn't make you any less of a person."

I could see the pressure ease off Noah somewhat as he breathed out. A weight lifted from his back. But I could also tell there was more.

"Do you think you like men? Or is it just dressing like that?" I wasn't sure why I was pushing him on this, but the words tumbled out.

Noah paused for a moment as he thought of an answer.

"I didn't think so, but recently I've been having thoughts that way. Fantasies. There was one boy, but nothing much happened, we fooled around a bit. But I tend to not like people my own age. I lean towards, well, men. I like being, I don't know, told what to do by someone strong, someone with authority. There's one man in particular I've been having thoughts about..."

I ignored that last line, though I dared believe it was meant for me.

"My youngest is gay. Married now with a daughter. But he's different from you. Very different. Look, what I'm trying to say is I'm ok with it. I don't want you suffering, you can come to me if you need advice or just a shoulder. Of if the other guys give you any grief."

"Thank you, coach. That means a lot, particularly from you."

He smiled, a little more--relieved, almost.

But something was tightening inside me. A long, dark coil of memory unspooling from somewhere I'd buried deep.

The heat. The smoke. The heels clicking across tiled floors. Satin clinging to her soft hips. A cocky, knowing smile as she pushed me back against the wall and took me apart, piece by piece.

She'd looked at me the same way Noah was looking now--wide-eyed but bolder than she should've been. Unafraid of the man in front of her.

And those panties. Pink satin stretched taut on a tight pair of cheeks. A small but defined bulge at the front. The same temptation all those years later.

"It's a little bit more than being gay, or trans even. That's where I'm more than a little concerned coach. Concerned there's something wrong with me. I..."

There was something more, something that more shameful, to him, in his sexual make up. My mind had left to a conclusion. Something that made the heat between us even worse.

"Are you trying to tell me you're submissive Noah? Is that what you feel real shame about?"

Noah nodded, tears welling in his eyes slightly as more relief seemed to release from him.

"I've had thoughts, and been looking at a lot of, I feel so weird saying the actual word, 'sissy' porn. It's almost like an addiction, a need. One I'm afraid is going to get me into trouble. One that's just so wrong."

My hands curled into fists under the table as my breath stopped. Outside I was the image of stillness, but inside a wild beast growled with hunger, it's prey lying right before it.

"You okay?" Noah asked.

"Yeah," I lied.

But my throat was dry, and I could feel my pulse in places I didn't want to feel it. I stood too fast, took his empty can and dropped it in the bin. My hands shook just slightly.

"You staying for dinner?" I asked, back still to him. "I've got it all prepared, won't take long. Easily enough for two." I needed something to do, take the focus off our conversation.

He hesitated.

"I wasn't planning to."

"Well, you can. If you want."

Another silence, thick and loaded. Then a smile played across Noah's face lighting it up, his eyes sparkling at my invitation.

"Okay, that'd be great coach" I could see his shoulders relax, relieved I'd not kicked him out or worse. That I'd asked him to stay. That I'd heard his secret and hadn't rejected him.

"When we are in my house you can call me Mack. Coach is for the pool."

"Huh, that's going to feel weird to say to you." We both let out a chuckle, the tension in the room lifting slightly.

I turned on the pan I had prepared on the stove while I sorted out the cutlery. Noah was beaming now, his brown eyes wide and following my every move as I sorted out the dinner.

"Listen coach, I'm a bit sweaty from running earlier. Would you mind if I go freshen up? I've got some fresh clothes in my rucksack"

"Sure. Down the hall and up the stairs."

Noah stood. I studied him, for a second the tension in Noah seemed to return. Like there was a nervous energy about him, just when I thought we'd got past that. But he scurried away, grabbing his rucksack and headed off to the bathroom.

I turned and stared out of the kitchen window. 'Do you know what you are doing here Mack?' I whispered quietly to myself.

Whatever this was, I needed to get ahead of it. Fast. Before the past got too loud. Before I stopped pretending this was about him needing guidance and started admitting it was about how he made me feel. Before that beast of long ago returned.

I snapped out of it and carried on sorting out dinner.

The hiss of the shower cut off down the hall, and I stirred the pan again, though dinner had been done for five minutes. My fingers were damp with nervous sweat, not steam. I told myself I was just being a good host--nothing more. I'd offered Noah a place to talk, to feel safe. That's what a coach does. What a man does.

But my hands were tight on the edge of the counter. I could feel something brewing. Not just lust--it wasn't that simple. It was memory. It was Bangkok. It was satin and stockings and a smile that turned me inside out.

It had been a while, Noah had been in there longer than I expected and dinner was almost ready. Then I heard the echo of soft footsteps. But they weren't normal steps of bare feet. There was a definite click. It was a sound I was familiar with, a sound that she had made in those shoes with heels like knives back in Bangkok. A hard click of a heel on hard wooden floor. It was like she was walking out of my dreams and into my home.

I turned, my palms sweaty and my eyes wide.

As Noah entered the room my mouth went dry immediately, my breathing stopped momentarily.

He was unrecognisable. He was something else. He was a she.

The noise from his heels drew my first glance down to her legs, taut calves encased in black nylon. Her long, glorious legs, stretched by the black shiny high heels, looked like they would go on forever until they reached the hem of her mini skirt which rode up slightly as she sashayed towards me, proud and composed, exposing a glimpse of lace at the top of her stocking. Her delicate lace bra was clearly visible under her sheer black blouse, the gauzy material adding mystery to the size and shape of her breasts.

I was stunned. She was elegant, so feminine, so alluring. Like her, like Bangkok, but different. Softer, fresher, than she was somehow. Prettier. More vulnerable as she looked at me with the wide brown eyes. Almost desperate.

"Is this okay?" she asked, voice a little shaky but trying for brave. Softer than normal.

I stared at her, speechless, heat rising from somewhere deep in my chest. My heart thudded like it had that night, decades ago, in a bar on the wrong side of Bangkok. The same ache, the same awe. But now--God--it was here in my kitchen. Real. Present.

I stepped forward before I even knew I was moving.

"Noah..." I said, and my voice was already gone.

He looked up at me--no, she did. That's what I saw now.

Eyes wide, shimmering with hope and fear, framed by smokey eye shadow and lashes too perfect to be accidental. Lips ruby red glistening and slightly parted.

Hair falling just so. That soft flush in her rosey cheeks dotted with those cute freckles. That careful, deliberate femininity, like a prayer whispered into fabric and breath.

And then I did it--I reached for her. Gently at first. My hands slid to her waist, over the soft material of her sheer blouse, and she didn't flinch. She leaned in.

And I kissed her.

Chapter 5: No More Holding Back

------------------------------------------------

Her mouth trembled against mine, unsure at first--but only for a second. Then it deepened, slow and full, like she'd been waiting to breathe.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathing hard, my hands still resting on her hips like they belonged there.

She looked up at me, lips parted, and whispered,

"My name is Aubrey... when I'm like this."

I just stared at her, heart hammering, something breaking open in my chest.

"Yeah," I said, stroking her hair. "Yeah. That fits."

We kissed again. Hard. Fast. Full. Full of everything I'd been pushing down--the want, the guilt, the tenderness, the years. My hand cupped her cheek. Her fingers clutched the fabric of my shirt like she was afraid I might disappear.

The kiss deepened, in hunger. In that moment I wanted her so much. So badly.

My hands slipped down past her waist, down under her skirt to her ass, my large palms gripping each cheek hard, feeling the satin of her panties finally, as I pulled Aubrey towards me, our tongues exploring each other as we continued to kiss.

Aubrey pulled away, catching her breath. Her eyes wide as she looked at me, almost pleading.

"Mack, I want to be yours. I want to give you all the pleasure I can. Will you take me? I want you to use me. To be your sissy slut. To break me."

It was the perfect storm. Like the devil himself had conjured up a temptation so perfect, so personal I had no answer, no way of fighting back. Something inside of me clicked. The chain on the animal I'd been in my twenties, the one that had been there for years, kept in check, had been unleashed.

All I felt was the hunger.

I picked Aubrey up like she was nothing, her skirt hitched up as she wrapped her nylon clad legs around my waist tight. I gripped her hair and pulled her towards me, kissing her once again, hard and full of passion.

This time I was going to go all the way. Get what I need. Teach this young thing how a man can fuck. Dominate her

"I'm going to fuck you, Aubrey. Fuck you hard. Are you going to be my sissy bitch?"

I could see the mix of fear, shock and thrill in her face at my words. Finally, she nodded.

"I want that. I want you to own me. To fuck me hard. To spank me. To use me. Please sir. Please use me daddy."

I should have recoiled at that word, but instead I seemed to lose all conscious thought. Like I was under the influence of a powerful narcotic.

I carried her up the stairs to my bedroom before I tossed her on the bed roughly. Standing before her I ripped off my shirt and threw it to one side, flexing my arms, towering over her. Allowing my old menace back in how I stood. The one that could intimidate anyone I wanted it to.

Aubrey was shaking as she looked up at me, at my full menace. She snapped out of it, then slipped down off the bed to her knees before me, into my shadow, her eyes pleading once more as her head titled up to me. Looking small and vulnerable once again. Fear, shame and lust.

But the caring coach was gone. The one that would have gone softly, taken things easy. In his place was raw, animal Mack. The one that had been locked away in a cage for years of responsibility. Now he was loose again.

I slipped off my pants revealing the large bulge in my jockey's clear for her to see. I smiled as I saw her eyes widen and jaw drop, realising just what she was taking on. Gawping at the size and girth of my erect cock.

She leaned forward, her palms pressed against my legs, feeling the muscles and power in them. Then she leaned her chin forward, her nose nuzzling against my penis, inhaling it's musk, feeling its heat and power, before planting a gentle, almost reverential kiss on it.

"Show me what a good girl you are Aubrey. Please your daddy. This is what you wanted so badly."

She looked up at me again, eyes full of fear, before taking a deep breath. Then she looped her fingers into the waistband and eased my jockeys over my now very large and very erect cock.

As my shorts dropped to my ankles Aubrey sat there, frozen for a moment as she took me in. I was a big guy, so I knew it was a lot. I had no idea if she'd ever tasted a real cock, ever had one inside of her. But I could be pretty sure even if she had, she'd never seen anything quite like my monster.

A part of me, a wicked part, hoped this would be her first. That I was the one who was going to break her. I wanted her to feel that delicious pain, to see it in her eyes, hear it in her cries as I took her virginity. After me, no man would ever stretch her like I was going to. The thought of that made my cock twitch with anticipation as a cruel smile played across my face. My hunger was insatiable now.

Aubrey continued to stare, her face close, but not touching me, still stunned her fantasy was being made a reality, that she was really here, face to face with my dick inches from her lips. But the animal inside couldn't wait any longer. I slapped her face before grabbing her hair and pulled her roughly onto my cock. The bitch needed to know who was in charge. She wanted this, she was going to fucking get it.

Harshly snapped out of her trance she got to work, her tongue licking at my balls, kissing and sucking, her fingertips holding my shaft gently as she started to make her way around my crotch before ascending up my thick cock. Desperate to please.

She raised a hand and bent my shaft towards her mouth. Extending her tongue, she tasted me for the first time, rolling it around my head, lapping me up like I was the most delicious candy. Eventually she slipped my penis into her ruby lips, my bulbous helmet stretching them wide into a clowns smile as she struggled to accommodate me.

I looked at her sternly. I could see the fear in her eyes, fear of displeasing me, eager, wanting to be a good girl for her daddy. Of what I might do to her if she made a misstep. Of what I might do to her anyway.

Slowly she slipped more of my penis into her mouth, her lips rolling over the edge of my helmet as she took me into her warm opening. Before going in too far she slowly pulled back, before sliding forward once more. Coating the end of my large black cock with a sheen of her saliva.

But this wasn't enough. I knew she was trying to ease her way into it, but this was about what I wanted. And I wanted more, I wanted her to take as much of me as she could, deep into her throat.

I grabbed her by the hair again and pulled her head back off of my cock. Gasping she looked up at me, wondering if she'd done something wrong. I slapped her hard across the cheek, making her yelp. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Take me bitch. Suck my big black cock deep as you can or I'll slap you again. Know your fucking place."

I pulled her roughly forward as I thrust my cock deep into her mouth. Much deeper than before. I heard her gag, her arms waving to one side as she struggled to stretch her mouth wide enough to take me, wanting to push me away, but not daring to do so.

I pushed in, thrusting my hips, making her gag even more violently, wrenching, her body bent over as if she was going to throw up, her throat making a 'glack' sound with each thrust. I held her there, listening to her splutter and choke on me. Watching the tears roll down that pretty face that I was abusing, the string of saliva drop down from her chin.

Finally, I let her up for some air, before pulling her down swiftly, face fucking that pretty little bitch. Showing her just what she was dealing with. Making a mess of her make up.

Faster and faster, I pulled her head up and down on my cock. I could feel her drool splattering down my thighs as I watched her body writhe below me. God, it felt good to be that animal again, to give in to that wicked, uncontrolled dominant side of myself. To feel my cock pleasured by this small sissy bitch below me. Master and slave.

As I looked down at her I could see her mini skirt had hitched up past her behind and was now no more than a belt around her waist. And there they were. Those panties that had started all of this. Pink satin with lacy edging encasing a tight perfect young peach of an ass. Just like she'd worn before. Just like the girl in Bangkok.

I pulled her off, Aubrey gasped for air as if she'd just swum a whole length underwater. Her makeup now ruined and smeared from my face fucking, breathing deep breaths, a look of terror and lust on her face.

"On your feet bitch."

I'd not talked like this, felt like this, for years. It felt good. Like a recovered addict getting their first hit after a lifetime being sober.

Aubrey staggered up, her stomach still plunging in and out as her lungs gasped more air, air that my face fucking had starved her of.

"Strip slut. I'm going to fuck you now. Fuck you hard and breed you."

Aubrey's eyes widened again. That mix of pure lust and fear stronger than ever now. She wanted me inside her, she'd initiated all of this. Tempted the wild bull. Now she was going to get I could see the doubt, doubt that in reality she could take it. Not her fucking choice anymore.

She wiped away a string of drool that was dripping from her lips, now slightly swollen before saying a nervous "Yes daddy."

Slowly she unbuttoned the sheer blouse. Too slow. I leaned over and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere. before grabbing her bra and snapping it off of her, tearing her clothes off her body with ease.

Nervously and quickly she shimmied off her skirt. She was hurrying now, frightened of me. I could see just how much that thrilled her.

She was about to remove the satin panties when I stopped her.

"Leave them on slut. You have lube? You're going to need a lot of it to take me." I stroked my cock as if to emphasise the point.

Aubrey nodded. "I put some on the table in her in case. And I've got a plug in to warm me up."

I stared at her, watching her quake just as anyone did when I chose to look at them this way. Pure pent up aggression as I loomed over her. Then I slapped her across the cheek again, making he fall onto the bed. Tears now rolling down her face.

"You dirty little whore, the fucking gall of it. Coming to my house and expecting that you will get a good fucking. Do you realise what a slut you are? Well, now you will fucking get it. It's going to hurt like hell, but you aren't going to complain. Are you?"

"No daddy" she managed to whimper out between sobs.

She whimpered some more as she crawled onto the bed on all fours. Her behind poking up, the cheeks shining in the glimmer of the pink satin pulled tight across her ass.

She craned her head around her shoulder, pouting like a spoiled child. "Do you want me like this daddy?"

I didn't answer, I pulled up onto the bed behind her and pulled her panties to one side. I could see the black shape of the plug inside of her. I teased it at first, making her gasp as I gently tugged on it, before letting it slip back in her hungry hole.

I didn't care for her feelings now, I was in a dangerous place. But I could see her pathetically small cock was hard, a drip of cum leaking through the panties and down towards the bed in a long drip.

I roughly pulled out the plug making her groan with shock. No more fucking around. I just needed to fuck, and her puckered hole was calling to me like a siren.

I started to rub my cock into the cleft of her soft cheeks, feeling her smooth pale skin against my penis. Letting her get an idea of my size too.

"Daddy, aren't you going to... to use the lube?"

I smacked her hard on the ass for daring to speak to me. I could hear her gasp as she prepared herself, widening her legs, arching her back more. Concentrating on taking me inside of her.

I pushed in.

"Oh god! Oh fuck!" Aubrey wailed as my cock spread her cheeks and squeezed into her tight sphincter. I could see her fingers gripping the bed sheets tight. In a mirror the right I could see she was biting her lip, her face red and eyes tightly closed.

"You wanted this slut," I barked. "You wanted to be fucked by a real man. Fucked hard. Don't you dare fucking complain now."

"I won't daddy," she said through gritted teeth, her breath now in soft, short pants, "I want to be your good girl. Unnnggg!!"

I could hear her biting down her screams and cries as my cock moved in ever deeper, a particularly loud one when my head made it past her ring. Her body started to shake and I could hear her sobbing between gasps.

She was so tight, it felt so good, looking at my dark hands pressed on the curve of her young pale hips as I pushed in, millimetre by millimetre. Each tiny increment taking a toll.

Finally, I was all the way in. Her ass gripping me tightly. For a moment I stopped, let her get her breath back, compose herself.

"How does it feel to have a real cock inside you slut?"

"Unnnhhh... Big daddy. So very big. Am I a... a good girl for taking you daddy?"

"Yes you are, but don't get so full of yourself slut, we've only just started. Is this your first cock?"

Aubrey didn't speak at first, she just nodded her head. "I so wanted you to be my first. I wanted a real man to break me."

"Well, you have one, and now this man is going to make you his bitch and breed you."

"Yes daddy. I want that."

I slowly pulled back my cock, making Aubrey gasp again, before pushing in hard, my hips slapping against her ass, forcing a loud groan out of her. My fingers dug into her soft flesh as I started to build a rhythm.

Soon with each thrust we began to merge, our sounds, our bodies. The words were gone, this was just animal fucking as we moved back and forwards, the bed shaking as I made her mine.

"Oh fuck! Oh, that feels so good. Oh, thank you daddy, thank you for making me your girl!"

I didn't want to make it last any longer than I needed it to. My pace upping quickly, our bodies sweating now, her skin glowing in the half light of my bedroom while grunting loudly like a wild boar, I bred her.

Aubrey started to groan, a sound that seemed to build. Her body tensed and I could feel her pushing back on my cock, willing to take all of me. I realised her own orgasm was building as fast and as intensely as my own as she started to shiver and shake.

Our movement became faster still. Sweat rolling down my forehead, down my back. The whole room seemed to shake. All my thoughts and feelings were focused on my pleasure now as I felt the orgasm roll up my body. Every nerve, every sense focussed on that feeling. I was lost in a wave of feeling, a different headspace, as I started to feel the surge rise up from below.

I thrusted in hard one more time and unleashed myself deep inside of her as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me like a mighty sea and I came hard inside of Aubrey.

My mind was lost.

We collapsed flat on the bed, her beneath me, my cock still jerking inside of her, filling her with every drop. Then I felt her shake almost uncontrollably as she cried out in pleasure, her own orgasm hitting her just after mine as she felt my warm seed deep inside of her.

She started to shiver and cry. I wrapped my arms around her and felt her hand stroking my powerful arm.

------

We lay pooled on the bed for a while. I finally started to feel the beast start to ebb away. Some shame did creep back, guilt at what I had done to her, how cruel I'd been, guilt that I was supposed to be her protector. But the pleasure was still so strong that the feelings were still undefined in my mind. And her body felt so warm next to mine.

Slowly she slipped off of me, my cock sliding out of her cheeks leaving a trail of cum dribbling down out of her sore hole. She turned and faced me.

Her face was still flushed red. Tears streaking down her face, her make up totally ruined. But prettier than ever, with her wide brown eyes locked onto mine, and pert lips aching to be kissed.

I looked at her body, her soft pale curves, so young and fresh. The light brown freckles around her breast. Her pert pink nipples. The gentle shape of her hips, those long legs stretching out. She was still clad in stockings; the clasps had come loose on a couple of her suspenders. Her heels and fallen off the bed, her bare feet wrapped in nylon looking so small and delicate.

She was the opposite of me. Pale to my dark skin. Slight and slender next to my bulk. Young and fresh next to my grizzled old body. In that moment she was the most beautiful thing I'd seen. And she was mine. Safe now in my arms.

Finally, she spoke. "Daddy... that was... that was just wonderful. It was more than I had ever fantasised about. You broke me today, made me a woman. Made my dreams come true. Made me yours."

I leaned over and kissed her, gently this time. My arm stroking up and down her shoulder as I held her.

She pulled away. "I'm sorry, I think I made a big mess on your bed. I've never cum like that before. I'd read about it, but didn't think it was possible. But it just felt so amazing."

I said nothing, kissing her gently on the lips again, before moving down, kissing her chest, her breasts, my teeth teasing a nipple, then down to her tummy before finally getting to her soaking wet panties. The pink satin now a darker shade from her load.

"Huh, I bet that was a big sissy fantasy, to cum in your pink panties while getting fucked huh?"

Aubrey said nothing, giggling gently as she acknowledged it was true. There was a look of pride and contentment on her face. I'd made both our fantasises come true today.

Gently I pulled the panties down over her hips, looking at the sticky mess on her bare skin below.

I could hear her breath hitch as her small limp cock was finally revealed to me. It was smaller than my thumb, but so delicate, so soft and pink. She was perfectly smooth down there as well.

I moved forward and placed a kiss the tip, tasting her cum as I did so. Then, slowly and softly I licked her penis. The cum tasted a mix of sweet and sour, salty with a light musky flavour, as I gently caressed her penis with my tongue.

"Oh god, oh that feels so good. I didn't think..."

Before she said the next word I took her in my mouth, gently wrapping my lips around her, feeling her softness in my mouth as I suckled on her cock.

I felt her hand stroke my head, caressing me as her penis started to stiffen.

"Oh god daddy! I love this so much. I think I love you. Can we do this all the time? Can I be your girl? Your slut to use how you want. All I want to do is please you? Can we sir?"

I should have said no, there was no good end to this. But in that moment, I didn't care. I just wanted to enjoy her over and over again.