Whitegirls Like You Ch. 09

Whitegirls Like You

Chapter 9 - Enhanced for Black

The low hum of the private jet's engines provided a steady backdrop as Millie adjusted the throw blanket on her lap and glanced across the cabin. She was nestled in a plush cream leather seat, legs curled up beneath her, trying to stay calm before the whirlwind of what awaited her in L. A.--the surgery, the possible press buzz if word got out early, the temporary stepping away from everything.

Millie used to think of her chest as the understated part of her physical appeal. She wasn't shy about them, exactly, but her boobs were always just... there. A solid C-cup. Nothing dramatic, nothing capable of jiggling at boys. Just enough to fill out her bra and give a little bounce when she ran or twirled, but never enough to draw eyes just by existing. And for a long time, Millie had been okay with that. Until Markus wasn't.

Ever since she'd first had her epiphany, Millie had started imagining what it would be like. Not just because Markus wanted it and she craved his attention--though that was a big part--but because deep down, she'd always wondered what it might be like. To feel the fullness under her clothes, to have them bounce with every step she took.

Even so, Millie had cried a little the night she booked the consultation. Not out of fear, not exactly. It was more like mourning. These breasts had been a part of her for so long, ever since they'd started swelling and her mom had taken her bra shopping for the first time. Millie remembered the way she would cup them in the mirror every once in awhile, trying to sense if they'd grown more. Making the choice to change them felt like saying goodbye to an old friend.

The sound of laughter drew Millie out of her thoughts and back to the present.

Across from her, Markus was laughing softly at something her mother had said. Trisha, seated beside him, sipped a mimosa with surprising ease, her posture relaxed, legs crossed confidently, blonde curls perfectly set. The two of them looked... oddly comfortable.

Millie tilted her head, subtly observing. This was the first real conversation they'd had. Until now, Markus had only been the figure who occasionally dropped Millie off late at night or picked her up in the morning, staying in the car while Millie ran inside with flushed cheeks and tousled hair or eagerly dove into his arms after spending the night apart.

She was surprised at how quickly they had hit it off. Trisha was even leaning in toward Markus as if catching up with an old friend.

"I have to say," Trisha was saying with a teasing smile, "you're a lot more charming than I expected. I thought you'd be all growls and chain jewelry."

Markus laughed, relaxed in his seat, his voice smooth. "I get that a lot. First impressions tend to come with headlines."

"Mm, headlines," Trisha mused. "I've learned not to trust them lately. People change. Sometimes overnight." She raised her glass just a bit. "Especially when the company is right."

Millie blinked. Was her mom... flirting?

Markus raised an eyebrow and offered a slow, respectful nod. "Well, it's nice being around people who get that. No masks."

Millie gave a small, polite cough, trying to break the current. "Mom, did you bring the post-op care schedule, or was I supposed to handle all that?"

Trisha waved her off with a manicured hand, eyes still on Markus. "Darling, I emailed it to Dr. Renaldi's assistant. We're covered." She turned back. "You know, you remind me of someone I used to know back when I was Millie's age. Confident. Unapologetic. The boy that got away, you might say."

Millie tried not to cringe. Ever since Reggie entered the picture, Trisha had increasingly embraced her new perspective on Black men with fervor. And apparently, an enthusiasm for grabbing their attention.

Thankfully, the descent into L. A. had begun, giving Millie something to focus on besides her mother's surprising ease around her boyfriend and music partner.

When the jet touched down at Van Nuys, the cabin lights brightened slightly and the crew began to prepare the doors. Millie felt her nerves return--about the surgery, the next chapter of her re-branding, everything.

Markus stood first, grabbing his jacket from the overhead bin. "I've got some things to take care of in town. Studio meetings, a couple side projects." He glanced at Millie. "But I'll be back in Nashville in a couple weeks. Gotta check in on my girl and see the upgrade in person."

Millie stood, brushing imaginary lint from her sweatshirt. "You better. If I'm stuck in bed with nothing but vitamins and gauze, I expect some in-person motivation."

He smirked. "You'll get it."

Then he stepped forward and kissed her.

Not a peck. Not something for show.

But deep. Warm. Reassuring.

Millie caught Trisha watching a bit too long before politely turning to glance out the window.

When they finally broke apart, Millie placed her hand on Markus's chest, steadying herself. "Don't neglect me," she whispered, half-playful, half-serious.

Markus leaned in again, his forehead brushing hers. "Not a chance."

And with that, he stepped down the stairs into the L. A. sun, leaving Millie watching him from the door of the jet, her heart fluttering and her mind bracing for the next big change.

"That one's a keeper, my girl," Trisha said as they grabbed their things. "But then so are you. I just hope he appreciates what you're doing for him."

"Oh, I know he will," Millie sighed, exiting the private jet.

The office smelled like roses and antiseptic. Clean. Feminine. Almost too pristine to feel real.

Millie sat perched on the edge of the cream leather chair in a pale pink cropped sweater, her bra straps peeking out, nervous energy bubbling just beneath the glossy surface. Her hair was freshly curled, lips glossed, eyes a little too wide. Trisha had taken her for a blowout to help calm her down, but Millie couldn't help but feel goosebumps forming as she waited for the inevitable to happen.

Across from her sat Dr. Renaldi, crisp white coat over a fitted suit, tablet in hand. Beside Millie, Trisha fiddled with the strap of her leather tote, brow furrowed. Millie knew her mother was going through feelings of her own, but she couldn't let that stop her from keeping her promise to Markus.

"So," Renaldi began, voice calm, clinical, practiced. "You're looking to go bigger. My nurse discussed a few sizing options with you over the phone already, but I want to make sure you're fully comfortable before we finalize anything."

"I mean, like... yeah," Millie said, crossing her legs, leaning forward a little too eagerly. "Totally. I wanna go bigger-a lot bigger. Not just, like, noticeable. I want turn-your-head-level bigger."

Renaldi glanced at Trisha, who exhaled softly, then back to Millie. Had she said something silly again?

"Just to reiterate, a three-cup increase--from your current C to an F--is the absolute surgical limit in one session," Renaldi explained. "That's a substantial jump. It changes posture, proportions, and often the way you carry yourself. The weight will be significant, and may lead to back pain at times."

Millie tilted her head. "What would, like... Markus want me to get?"

Trisha cut in, voice sharp. "Millie. This is your body."

"I know, I know," Millie said, shrugging slightly. "But he just... like, sees me so clearly? He knows what will work, for the brand, for my image, for... me."

"It's true that my previous patients under referral from Markus have made similar choices," Renaldi tapped the tablet, flipping through visual mockups. "But you're certain you'd prefer the largest increase?"

"Absolutely," Millie said without hesitation, eyes sparkling. "He always tells me how amazing I'd look with huge tits. Like, capital-H Huge."

Trisha quietly stood, pulling Millie up and walking her toward the mirror on the side wall. "Millie. Look at yourself. Really look."

Millie looked slowly at herself in the mirror, her arms folded over her modest, natural chest. She stared for a long moment. They weren't enough anymore, and not just for Markus. They weren't enough for her--the version of Millie she had become now.

Trisha's voice softened. "That body you see there--that's the body that got you discovered, that made you a star. That body already works. You don't need to turn into someone else's vision to stay relevant."

"But what if it's not just someone else's? What if it's mine too?" Millie asked, almost a whisper. "What if I want to be what he sees in me?"

Silence settled. Renaldi glanced at both women, professional but patient.

"Millie," he said, "I need to hear it from you, not from Markus. You shouldn't be doing this for the brand, or to appeal to a new demographic. You should only be doing this if it's what you really want."

Millie touched the glass gently, her reflection staring back at her. She saw the girl she used to be. Unassuming. Kind-eyed. Artistic. Earnest.

But that was the problem. How would anyone see her as more than a girl-next-door pop star when she looked like that? It was time to move on.

"Do you want to go all the way to an F-cup? Is that the Millie you see yourself as now?" Renaldi prodded again. "That's a permanent, extreme enhancement. It will change everything about how the world will see you--and how you see yourself."

Then she pictured herself after the surgery--full, exaggerated breasts, eye-catching profile. A walking billboard for desire. A hyperfeminine silhouette that no one could ignore--no one could mistake for her former self.

She closed her eyes.

Trust him.

Markus knows what you can be.

He's never been wrong about you.

"Yes." Millie whispered.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Renaldi asked.

Millie opened her eyes. She smiled. "Yes. That's exactly what I want it."

Trisha pressed her lips into a line but said nothing.

Renaldi nodded once. "Then I'll prep the schedule for the F-cup expansion. You'll need a full support team post-op. We'll do a final 3D scan now."

Afterward, as they gathered their things to leave, Millie leaned over and whispered to Trisha, "I really do want this, you know. I mean it. It's gonna be so worth it."

"I certainly hope so," Trisha whispered back. "I just hope I don't lose my little girl in the process."

Millie blinked. "Mom, I haven't been your 'little girl' in years."

"Well, you know what I mean," Trisha said, looking flustered. "It's going to be hard as a mom to see you with bigger tits than me."

They both shared a giggle over that.

The waiting room was silent except for the gentle hum of a diffuser and the click of stilettos on marble.

Millie shifted in her seat, fidgeting with the rhinestone strap of her tiny handbag. Trisha sat beside her, arms crossed, visibly uneasy. The consult was done, now they just waited for scheduling to get them the time of the surgery.

Millie had done it, done what Markus would want. The F-cup decision had been made. Everything about her body was about to change. She was incredibly nervous--but also glowing.

Then the office door swung open and all of Millie's confidence collapsed like a house of cards.

In walked Simone Cawle, entering like someone who didn't wait in lines or say things twice.

Oversized sunglasses perched on her head, high-end, tailored coat draped over her shoulders. Crisp white blouse. Hair slicked into a short platinum bob. No smile. Minimal makeup beyond a sharp gloss and the kind of lashes that looked like they'd cut you. And behind the eyes--pure, unfiltered judgment. It had been over a year since Millie had last seen the woman who had raised her to stardom.

Simone's lips were visibly fuller, and her cheeks slightly lifted--subtle but sculpted. Millie knew the woman got work done on herself somewhat regularly, but had never considered that she might also see Dr. Renaldi. It was the worst coincidence she could imagine.

Millie's knee jerked, wanting to run and hide somewhere, but Simone had clocked her immediately.

Stopped walking.

Stared.

Raised a single brow.

"... Well," she said flatly. "If it isn't Millie Lucas."

Millie blinked, instantly starstruck just like she'd been that first night on Next Top Idol. "Simone! Oh my God--hi!"

Simone didn't move. Just scanned her up and down like she was reviewing a contestant who'd walked onstage singing the wrong key and wearing the wrong heels.

"Millie," she said. "I almost didn't recognize you. You've... made some wardrobe changes. You look like the kind of woman who walks into a party and immediately knocks over the ice sculpture."

Trisha flinched. Millie's eyes went wide, her brain short-circuiting from awe and fear. "Um... thank you?"

"That wasn't a compliment."

She walked past them, dropped her leather file on the counter, and finally turned to face Millie fully.

"Let me guess," Simone said, tone bone-dry. "You being here has something to do with this new partnership I've been hearing about?"

"Maybe," Millie evaded, trying to steer the conversation. "And I assume you're here to get the usual treatment before next season starts filming?"

"Guilty," Simone grinned coldly. "Came in for a little refresh. Just a tweak. Maintenance, you know."

Her gaze dropped to Millie's figure, then to the folder in her hand. "Let me guess... you're going to fill out the girls a bit more?"

Millie nodded, almost blushing. "You can tell?"

"When you know cosmetic surgery like I do, it's not hard," Simone droned. "Besides, what else could a second-rate act like Mr. Kwaest want but to turn you into a blow-up doll."

Millie felt a fire ignite inside her at those words, an indignation that took the place of her timidness. "Nothing about Markus is second-rate."

"Oh? Really?" Simone didn't flinch. "Are you telling me I've misjudged him? That he's some musical prodigy?"

"Have you listened to his music?" Millie simmered.

"Only once, when he showed up for an open call in Atlanta," Simone continued. "It was nothing to write home about."

"Well, you should try again. He's not like, just one-note," Millie sat up tall, chest puffed up proudly. "There's a lot more there under the surface, a lot more to give that you don't see just at a glance."

Millie wasn't sure if she was just talking about Markus or herself as well. Simone had helped craft her image―the image that had since faded―but when Millie needed to re-brand, Simone was unavailable. Busy with the next generation, I'm afraid, the text had read. Best of luck, dear, I'm sure you'll figure it out.

"Perhaps I just don't know him like you do," Simone said crisply. "I prefer not to waste time on things marketed through cleavage and bravado."

"That's just part of the act," Millie's smile froze, unsure if that was entirely true, but pressing on anyway. "He has to walk the line between what people expect of him and who he really is. Behind all that, he's an intelligent, gentle soul."

"I'm sure he is. According to him."

Simone stepped closer, her voice lowering--not mocking now, but focused.

"Millie. I signed you because you could walk into a silent room and break people's hearts with two chords and a voice that meant something. You had restraint. You had taste. He has none of that."

Millie looked down at her acrylic nails. "Maybe, but he does have engagement metrics off the charts."

Simone exhaled. "And how fulfilling are those? When this new album releases, will people love you, or the outline of you someone else has inflated and programmed?"

Millie's gaze flicked up. "What? You think like, I'm brainwashed?"

"No," Simone said, softer. "I think you're tired. And trying to outrun doubt with glitter and, ahem, volume."

Millie blushed as Simone gestured toward her small chest.

"Tell me, dear," Simone looked Millie in the eye. "What size are you getting?"

Millie swallowed. A lie would be pointless now. "F-cup."

"Of course it's an F-cup," Simone said, sighing. "Because why stop at common sense when you can go straight to cartoon?"

Trisha started to rise. "Okay, that's enough--"

But Millie raised a hand gently. "It's okay."

Simone narrowed her eyes.

"Actually," Millie continued, voice softer but clearer, "it's what I wanted."

Simone rolled her eyes. "Naturally. And if Markus asked you to wear clown shoes and bark like a Pomeranian, I assume you'd want that too."

Millie paused, then said quietly: "Maybe. If I thought it would sell."

For the first time, Simone's expression twitched--almost something like interest. Or pity.

Millie looked away. "I don't want to be fragile anymore."

Simone tilted her head. "And this is your version of strength? Letting some man sculpt you into his fantasy?"

Silence.

Then:

"I say all this not to hurt you, but because you're the only girl I've ever scouted who could write, sing, and feel the way you do. It's something truly special. And now, you're letting some half-baked rap star use you as an accessory," Simone sighed, placing a manicured hand gently on Millie's shoulder. "You know how I hate to watch good talent go to waste."

Millie's voice cracked. "He believes in me."

Simone looked at her evenly. "Do you?"

Millie smiled again--but this time, it looked like armor. "I believe in the girl he sees in me. She's strong. She's desirable. She doesn't cry when people don't clap. She makes the world a better place for everyone."

Simone studied her for a beat.

Then, miraculously, smiled.

It wasn't warm. But it was real.

"Well, when you're done starring in someone else's movie, call me," she said dryly, slipping back over to the nurse's station. "You're still talented. But don't get too used to applause that's only skin deep. Because when it fades, you'll need to remember the sound of your own voice."

Simone turned to handle the nurse informing her that Dr. Renaldi was ready for her appointment. She seemed about to leave the waiting room without another word, then paused.

"Millie, one more thing."

Millie looked up.

"Perhaps I'll give Mr. Kwaest a listen again," she said, picking up her folder as the nurse waved her back, "In the meantime, I hope your next hit is as big as your new chest will be."

She turned toward the hallway.

"And for the record," she added, without turning back, "I give you six months before the lips go too."

The first thing Millie noticed was the weight.

It wasn't pain, exactly--more like pressure. A tight, deliberate pull across her chest, like two full, heavy secrets strapped to her ribcage. She blinked slowly in the soft recovery room light, her mouth dry, lips numb, head cloudy with medication.

She tried to lift her hand. Even that felt heavier now.

"Millie," a soft voice said.

Trisha.

Millie turned her head slightly, eyes meeting her mother's. Trisha sat beside her, one hand on the bed rail, the other gently smoothing Millie's hair.

"You did it," Trisha said, half whisper, half sigh.

Millie's voice came out groggy. "How... do I look?"

Trisha hesitated.

Then: "Like someone I don't know yet. But... I'm excited to get to know her."

Millie blinked again, then slowly sat up. Her chest ached, her back already adjusting to the intensity of the new pull forward on it. She couldn't see much--her torso was swaddled in post-op bandages, a structured compression bra holding everything high and immobile. But even under the layers, she could feel how large she was now. How unavoidably present. From now on, when a man looked at her, it would be tits first, eyes second.

She licked her lips, smiled faintly. "I love that they feel so... big."

"They are big," Trisha said, trying not to laugh through her emotion. "The diagrams didn't do an F-cup justice. When you stand up to use the bathroom for the first time, I swear you might just tip over. Barbie's got nothing on you."

Millie giggled softly, wincing a little. "As weird as it sounds, I think that's, like... amazing."

"You won't recognize yourself yet," Trisha said gently. "I know you won't. Just take it in slow."

Millie didn't respond. Because she knew it was true.

Even so, when that first time came, and she was allowed to stand in front of the mirror--with a nurse nearby, holding her arm--she stared at the reflection and barely breathed.

Her breasts were... unreal. Larger than she'd pictured, even knowing what she'd asked for. Round, taut, impossibly high for their size, the kind of curves that made her body feel like it had been finely engineered. Her waist, by contrast, looked smaller now. Her silhouette had become hyperbolic--cinched, stacked, sculpted.

She turned slightly. She didn't see the girl she used to be. Not even a trace.

But what she saw?

She liked.

Later, propped up in bed, she sipped from a pink straw as Trisha sat nearby.

"Well, you're certainly not the girl I raised anymore," Trisha said suddenly.

Millie blinked. "That, like... sounds kinda sad?"

"It's not, not really," Trisha said, after a pause. "It's just true. I raised a thoughtful, driven, curious girl who wanted to write songs and play her heart out on stage."

Millie looked down at her new chest, still bandaged, still massive.

Trisha continued, "And now... here you are. The new brand you wanted. A bombshell. A... vision, I guess. I have to grieve it a little, you know? Letting go of that girl. I'm still your mom."

Millie didn't respond, just listened, lips glossy and slightly parted.

"But," Trisha added, "you made this choice. And it's a brave one, even if I don't understand it fully. You look... incredible, Millie."

Millie's eyes shimmered.

"You like, really think so, mom?"

"Oh honey," Trisha laughed, shaking her head. "You're going to stop traffic everywhere you go. No one will see anything but you."

Millie's smile widened. "That's, like... kinda the whole point."

That first night, alone with the hum of the recovery room and a faint scent of roses from the surgical soap, Millie lay still, eyes open, heart light.

She thought of Markus.

She thought of the look on his face when he saw her again.

And most of all, she thought of her reflection--the final goodbye to that old version of herself, the one who asked 'Am I enough?' and the one who worried 'What if I lose myself?'

She wasn't lost.

She was found.

Bold. Glossed. Embodied.

The morning of the operation, Millie had stared at her reflection for a long time. Naked. Vulnerable. She touched the soft slope of her breasts, trying to memorize the way they fit in her hands, the gentle curve she'd always thought was 'just okay.'

But she was past that.

She was now so much closer to who he said she would be.

And in a few more weeks, when the swelling faded and the bandages came off?

She'd let the whole world see her rebirth.

The early morning light poured gently through the tall windows of the Lucas Mansion, casting golden hues across the polished wooden floors and the soft linens draped around Millie's bedroom, where she was resting. Millie was nestled on a chaise lounge by the window, a light blanket over her legs, a tablet in her lap, and her phone set face-down beside her.

The past several weeks had been a blur―both painful and necessary.

The first week of recovery was brutal. Swelling. Stitches. Millie couldn't sleep on her stomach. She couldn't even see them properly at first. But the whole flight back to Nashville, Markus was glowing. Every glance he gave her was hungry, reverent.

The surgery in L. A. had taken a toll on her work for the album, forcing her to spend time away from the White Hot Pop office and out of the limelight. The process wasn't just cosmetic; it had been part of a broader transformation she and her team had agreed on―a shift in how the world now saw her, and maybe how she saw herself, too. Tytus had already been releasing materials to tease the change until Millie was ready to show it off. The girl-next-door look was gone, erased by the ample weight she had added to her chest. She hadn't talked about it much. Even after she had been home for awhile, the recovery continued to be slow and, at times, emotional. But it had also given her time to reflect.

When the bandages had finally come off entirely a week ago, Millie had stared at the mirror and still didn't quite recognize herself. With the restrictions removed, she looked even more full, round, and impossibly large. Her boobs jutted from her chest like they didn't belong. Her first thought was: Will this ever feel like the real me?

But something had shifted as she spent time in town, just getting used to walking around again. Her clothes clung differently. Strangers stared at her―white men to her disgust, even though it was inevitable. But Black men were a delight, their hunger for her a match for her own, and she found herself smiling and winking at them every time she caught their eye. Meanwhile, most women would glance, then look away, while some openly stared with envy. But for Millie, the result was that the attention soon had her start walking straighter. Prouder. She started enjoying the weight. The new sway she had developed. But what drove her body acceptance most especially, was the way Markus couldn't keep his hands--or eyes--off of her, driving her mad with lust as they waited for her to finish healing.

She still missed the old 'her' sometimes. The simplicity of her. But she didn't regret this. Not even a little.

Because now, when she caught her reflection in the mirror this morning, Millie saw the woman who had made a choice. For love and lust, yes. But also for herself.

And Millie loved the way the new 'her' looked back through the mirror. She felt comfortable in her new skin.

Her hand wandered up to her new breasts, feeling the tender skin, the unfamiliar fullness. It was a strange sensation, one that made her tingle with mixed feelings. The bruises from the surgery had mostly faded to a faint yellow, the scars barely noticeable under her fingers. The doctor had done an amazing job keeping everything minimally invasive. As she touched them, Millie felt her blood rush to her cheeks. Her heart quickened as she pictured Markus' smug smile when she had given control of her body and image up to him.

It was a deal she'd made without much hesitation, trading her innocent image for the chance to be filled by him whenever he desired. The thrill of it was intoxicating. Every time she felt the weight of her new breasts, it was a reminder of his power over her, and she found herself craving that feeling of submission more and more. Her nipples tightened as she thought of his dark fingers on her alabaster skin, his voice in her ear whispering sweet, dirty things that made her wet with need.

But it was more than just the physical aspects of their relationship that excited Millie. There was something about the way Markus looked at her, owned her with his eyes, that sent pleasant tingles coursing through her brain. The way he'd nodded in approval when she'd first shown him the results of her surgery, his hand lightly caressing the bandaged, swollen flesh with a gentle, possessive touch. Her breasts had still hurt so much then that she had to fight back tears just to endure that much attention. They'd both agreed to postpone more of their lovemaking until she had recovered fully.

Now though, the swelling was gone enough that Millie could appreciate the change to her silhouette, imagining what it will look like the first time she takes a stage again. It had been terrifying, giving up control like that. But as she gazed down at her altered body, she felt a warmth spread through her. It was worth it. Every ounce of pain, every moment of doubt, had been worth it for the feeling of his thick, Black cock sliding into her, claiming her in a way that no one else could.

Millie's hand grew bolder, pulling her tank top off to expose her chest, her fingertips brushing over her swollen areolae, teasing the sensitive tips. There was only a little pain now, followed by mostly pleasure. A soft moan escaped her lips as she softly pinched her nipples, rolling them between her fingers. The sensation was heightened now, a direct line to her core, making her ache for Markus' touch. She had never been so attuned to her own body, so desperate for the validation of another's gaze. But with Markus, it was different. He didn't just want her; he was sculpting her into his perfect little toy, his white bimbo slut. Millie giggled at the thought. She was all too eager to play that part for him.

Standing up, she crossed the room to the full-length mirror that took up one wall. She dropped the blanket to the floor, stepping out of her panties and shorts to fully reveal her naked form. She studied herself in the mirror.

Gorgeous.

Slutty.

Her breasts were a spectacle, a stark contrast to her otherwise slender frame. They jiggled slightly with each step she took, drawing her eyes like magnets. She looked like one of the bimbo dolls in her favorite porn videos now. She cupped her tits, feeling the weight, and watched as the flesh swelled in her palms. It was like a strange kind of power, one that both repulsed and aroused her. The reflection staring back continued to remind her that she was no longer the sweet, wholesome girl her fans had once adored. No, she was a full-chested woman now, her boobs easily filling her F-cup bra, marking her as a sexual being crafted for the pleasure of Black men like Markus.

"You're a goddess," he had whispered the night the bandages had come off, when Millie had treated him to an initial look at her bare tits. Millie's lips had trembled as he touched the new 'her' for the first time. She wasn't quite fully healed then, but her lust for him had dulled the slight pain she felt as he groped her melons, his dark hands caressing every new inch of them. It was so much better than before, immediately sending her pussy into overdrive, the heat from her loins almost painful in its burning need for Markus' Black cock. Oh how she had wished he could take her then--rough--mauling her titties as he fucked her hard. Luckily, Markus was too prudent to break his new toy before it was ready. Millie begrudgingly appreciated that.

But now, a week later, the doctor had given his approval. She was healed, and Millie was certified to fuck to her heart's content.

Her hand trailed down her body, over her flat stomach, to the neat strip of hair that now adorned her mound. Another of Markus' requests. He liked his women bare, or close to it, ready for inspection. Her pussy was already slick, anticipating the feel of his cock. The thought made her knees wobble. The last time she'd rode him was weeks ago, when he'd fucked her in the back of his limo before she flew to L. A. for surgery. It had been a rough ride, her then-smaller tits bouncing with each thrust as he'd claimed her in front of his chauffeur. She'd screamed his name, begging for more, not caring who heard her. She'd never felt so fulfilled, so used, so utterly owned. And now, with her new body, she knew it would only get better.

She needed Markus to see her like this, healed and ready for rougher treatment. To see what she'd become for him. Her hand slid down further, her fingertips grazing her clit. She began to rub, her eyes never leaving her reflection. Her breath grew ragged, her hips bucking against her hand. It was a silent declaration, a promise to herself and to him. She was ready for the next phase of their twisted partnership. She was ready to be his, body and soul.

Her thoughts grew hazy, a mix of doubt and excitement as they drifted to her fans. The ones who had adored her for her sweet, innocent persona. What would they think now? Would they still love her? Would they see her the same way? Or would they only see what Markus had made her into, knowing she was no longer pure? The idea of their shock, their lustful whispers, their newfound desire to see her in compromising positions, only served to excite her further. She'd be a walking scandal, a fallen angel with her new, voluptuous figure, and it was all because of Markus. He'd corrupted her, turned her into this needy, wanton thing. And she reveled in it.

She had known what he was. She'd been warned against it, most recently by Simone Cawle herself. Yet she had chosen this path all the same. The path of a Black cock slut.

With a final, gasping moan, she came, her body trembling with the force of it. Her hand fell to her side, her chest heaving with exertion. She watched as the orgasm subsided, her breasts jiggling with each aftershock. It was a heady feeling, knowing she'd be the center of attention once more, but this time in a way that would make her fans' jaws drop. The thought of their disgust and excitement was a thrilling aphrodisiac.

But the high was short-lived. The emptiness inside her grew, a void only filled by the thick, Black girth of Markus's cock. Millie was way too horny from having gone so long without it. She craved the feeling of him deep within her, stretching her to her limits. The ache had only grown stronger every day, a need that she couldn't ignore.

She'd had enough time to pause. Enough time to heal.

Now, all sheneeded was to get fucked hard by BBC again.

On that note, Millie realized it would soon be time to head back to White Hot Pop for another round in the booth. It was time to dress up for Markus. Millie slipped on a tight, low-cut white dress that accentuated her new curves, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin, with a hemline so short it grazed the bottom of her buttcheeks. Her makeup was heavy, her eyes smoky and inviting, her lips a bold shade of red that matched the stilettos she'd chosen. Her blonde hair fell in waves around her shoulders, a stark contrast to her new, darker image. Perfect. Millie grabbed her phone and left the bedroom.

She smiled faintly now as she heard voices downstairs. Her mother's bright, affectionate laughter carried through the house, followed by Reggie's deep, steady tone. They were in the kitchen―again. It had become their shared ritual: breakfast, cooking experiments, and Markus' music humming from the speaker.

Millie had been pleasantly surprised by what had happened back home while she was in L. A.

Reggie had moved in. A Black man was living at the Lucas Mansion.

At first, it had felt strange―her mother sharing their space with anyone, let alone a Black man. But Reggie brought a calm energy with him, a steadiness that balanced Trisha's high-strung tendencies. He didn't push, didn't intrude. He simply was, and somehow that was exactly what they all needed.

Even Millie.

After he'd moved into her mother's room, they'd talked briefly about that night when Millie had caught them fucking, Reggie not being one to shy away from the awkwardness. His voice had been low and understanding as they'd spoken in the hallway about Millie's attraction for Black men. Trisha was still unaware that Millie had been watching though, as neither her nor Reggie had the heart to embarrass her like that.

Instead she and Reggie formed a strange dynamic, one that grew into a sort of mildly perverted bond between them. They'd share knowing glances, occasional smirks, and sometimes even a whispered detail about their separate sexual escapades. It was as if they were members of a secret club, one that Trisha had no idea existed. They never crossed lines, but the tension was always there, a palpable electricity that charged the air between them.

As she descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, her mother, Trisha, looked up from her baking project, surprise flashing across her face. "Wow, Millie," she said, taking in her daughter's transformation. "You look... incredible."

"Thanks, Mom," she said, her voice breathy. "It's all part of the new look."

Trisha nodded, a hint of curiosity in her eyes, but she didn't press.

Millie hadn't shown her mother the more scandalous outfits yet, figuring this was already pushing the limits of her mother's tolerance. In truth, Millie probably wouldn't have gotten away with a look like this before Reggie had come into their lives. Now though, Trisha seemed less high-strung, less caught-up in decorum, and Millie attributed it all to the Black man sharing a bed with her.

Reggie was standing in the doorway to the garden, holding a mug of herbal tea. He turn to look at Millie as she entered, giving her a warm smile, his gaze lingering on her chest a fraction too long. Millie felt a thrill run through her, his attraction to her undeniable, despite his unwavering loyalty to Trisha. She gave him a knowing smile, a silent promise to have one of their little "chats" later.

Millie found herself enjoying those exchanges with Reggie. It was a guilty pleasure, a secret thrill that only added to the excitement of her life with Markus. And when she thought of the two men together, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of something more, a yearning for the kind of control and dominance they both exuded.

With the lack of attention she was getting from Markus while she healed up, Millie had naturally flirted with Reggie at home a bit, just to test the waters of their new living situation of course, but she quickly realized that Reggie had a clear line he wouldn't cross. He was committed to Trisha, and that was that.

"I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy, Millie," he'd said one day as she'd leaned over a bit too much while they were having breakfast together, her new breasts accidentally-on-purpose threatening to spill out of her low-cut shirt. "I respect your mom too much to even think about crossing that line, though I do appreciate the flattery. Men my age don't usually get that kind of attention from girls like you."

Still, the way he looked at Millie, his eyes lingering on her new assets before flicking away with a knowing smile, told her that he wasn't entirely unaffected by her. So as much as the rejection stung, it was also a strange kind of thrill to cocktease a Black man like Reggie, so obviously attracted to her, yet so utterly devoted to her mother. It made her feel both desirable and powerful in her new sexualized persona, but in a safe way.

After all, Millie was with Markus. As much as her notions of morality and sex had been shifting of late, and despite her new love of cockteasing, she still didn't think of herself as a slut generally. Just a slut for Markus. She knew that she was his, and the idea of being with anyone else was almost blasphemous. Markus had claimed her in a way that no one else ever had, or ever would. The thought of cheating on him was unbearable.

So instead of acting on any desires she might have towards Reggie, Millie channeled her sexual energy into becoming even more devoted to Markus. Her training as a BBC slut was about to enter a new phase once their first album released, one where she would fully embrace her role publicly. She wanted to become the kind of woman who could take his massive cock in every way imaginable. This meant pushing herself to new limits, to become the ultimate receptacle for his desires.

Using the recovery period to prepare herself, Millie researched online. She studied different techniques for deep-throating, anal stretching, and watching videos that catered to the specific kind of kinks she'd gotten herself into. It was a thrilling, terrifying journey into the depths of her own sexuality, but she was determined to become the best partner Markus could ever want.

"Finally up?" Reggie asked, pouring her an extra cup of tea. "Thought we wore you out last night with all that carrot cake drama."

Millie chuckled softly, setting her phone down on the kitchen counter. "I'm still recovering, but not fragile anymore." She accepted the tea gratefully. "Besides, I think Mom's 'baking phase' itself is more exhausting than the surgery was."

Reggie laughed, sitting down across from her. "She's really gotten into it. You'd think she's trying to fatten me up."

"I'm doing no such thing," Trisha quipped. "What's wrong with wanting to make sure my man is well-fed?"

They shared a laugh. A short while later, Trisha excused herself to clean-up after her latest experiment had been thrown in the oven, leaving Reggie and Millie to themselves.

"She likes playing 'queen of the castle,'" Millie said, sipping. "But... I've never seen her this relaxed. It's kind of nice."

There was a pause―one of those comfortable silences that Millie was still getting used to. Reggie wasn't like anyone she had grown up around. He didn't need to fill space with noise or validation. He simply showed up, and let that speak for itself.

"I mean it," she added. "Thanks for being here. For her... for me."

Reggie met her eyes with quiet sincerity. "It's easy when it feels like family."

Millie blinked, feeling a lump rise in her throat she hadn't expected. No showbiz gloss, no stage lighting, no press spin―just that one word.

Family.

She looked down at her tea, then back at him. "You're kind of great, you know that?"

Reggie grinned. "I try."

They sat for a while longer, the low hum of laughter and music from the kitchen wrapping around the quiet bond forming between them. Then Millie's phone buzzed on the counter, snapping her out of her trance. She walked over and checked her notifications.

It was a message from Markus, his name written across the screen. She opened it up, her heart racing. "Missing me, slut?" it read, with an attachment of his cock, thick and veiny, ready for her. "Limo's coming by to pick you up for more recording. Ready to smash the last of this album out of the park?"

Millie's cheeks grew hot, her hand hovering over the screen. "You bet," she typed out, biting her lip as she sent the message. She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning over the words she had just sent. "But only if you take time to smash me too. I think I'm ready. Want to give it a try?"

The wait for his response was agonizing. Her heart hammered in her chest, her anticipation growing with each second. Finally, her phone buzzed again. "Oh, baby," he replied, "You've been a good little slut, haven't you? Recovered enough to take this big Black dick?"

Her pussy clenched at the thought. She had been craving it for weeks, her body desperate to be filled again. "Yeeessss," she whispered to herself, sending the message, "I'm more than ready. I've been dreaming about it."

The reply was instant. "Good. The limo's waiting. Don't keep me waiting too long."

Millie's pulse raced as she read the message. She had been waiting for this moment, preparing herself for weeks.

Reggie could sense the shift in Millie's energy and guessed at the cause. "Don't let Markus work you too hard. I know how you love to please him, but you need to ease back in slowly, okay?"

Millie winked at him. "Don't worry, we'll save the heavy stuff for after the album's done. Gotta go!"

Millie slipped out the front door as quickly as her stiletto heels would permit her.

In the bright daylight within the limo, Millie knelt before Markus, her new F-cup breasts straining against the fabric of her low-cut dress. She was once again on her knees, gratefully enjoying the feel of his chocolate mushroom against her lipstick-coated lips while they passed through the streets of Nashville. It was a good thing that the limo windows were tinted to hide them from street viewers, or else hundreds of people would have witnessed Millie's daily ritual of fellating Markus' big Black cock.

"Open wide, baby girl," he instructed, his voice a smoky drawl that sent shockwaves through her pussy. She eagerly obeyed, her mouth watering at the sight of his thick, Black cock standing tall before her. She had steadily improved through their daily practice sessions, her throat now a well-trained instrument for his pleasure.

"I love to look at those new tits, baby," Markus said, admiring her new assets. "They're perfect for a good titty fuck before we hit the studio, don't you think?" Millie blushed, feeling a rush of excitement at his words. She'd been too small to try that particular trick on him before.

Markus took his cock in hand and raised it up like a flag pole, signaling Millie to press her exposed cleavage down on it, nestling his shaft between her ample breasts, the head poking out at the top. She leaned in, her eyes never leaving his as she began to squeeze them together, stroking him with her tender, jiggling mounds. Markus groaned, reaching out to grip her hair, tightening down as he guided her mouth to suckle on his tip in time with Millie's bouncing tits. She felt his cock throb, a sign that he was growing more and more aroused by the sight of her transformed body.

The limo hit a bump in the road, causing her to stumble, but Markus' firm hand kept her in place. "Careful, slut. Don't lose your focus."

She giggled, her cheeks flushing.

Her giggle quickly turned into a moan as his cock slipped deeper into her mouth, releasing a fresh batch of precum onto her tongue. She savored the flavor, then used her tongue gymnastics to hit all the sweet spots on the underside of Markus' shaft, eager to prove she was still focused on the task at hand and desperate for his cum. Millie's new breasts jiggled with every bump, making her feel even more like the airheaded sex toy she was working hard to become. Exactly what Markus wanted to re-mold her into.

"That's it, baby. Fuck those tits like you mean it. Make me believe you're enjoying every second of this as much as I am," Markus murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.

Her eyes were glazed over with a mix of pleasure and longing as she took his cock in her mouth as far as physically possible, careful to keep her teeth from scraping along his sensitive skin as she deep-throated him. She could feel his cock swelling, filling her throat to the limit, somehow getting even bigger as he grew closer to climax. It was the best feeling ever. She wanted to make him cum so badly, to feel his hot seed fill her belly again and again.

But Markus had other plans this time. He pulled out abruptly, her mouth popping open with a wet sound. Millie looked up at him, her eyes wide and questioning.

"Today, slut," he said, his voice thick with lust, "you're going to get a different kind of treat."

With a grin, he stroked himself above Millie until he was on the brink, and then without warning, he shot his load. It splattered across her face, pooling on her eyes and coating her cheeks. Millie squealed, the sudden burst of salty fluid surprising her, but she didn't flinch. This was part of her training now. To be used by him in any way he saw fit.

Millie pursed her lips as the sticky mess covered her eyelashes and dripped down her nose. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but she could feel the warm cum getting into her eyes, making them burn. She didn't dare wipe it away. That would be breaking the rules. Cum was one of the best gifts Markus liked to give her. She couldn't waste it. Instead, she waited, her mouth watering for the moment he'd allow her to clean up the mess with her tongue.

"Keep your mouth open," Markus said, his voice a low growl. "You know what comes next."

Millie nodded, her mouth a perfect 'O' of obedience as another rope of cum shot out, hitting her right between the eyes. It was a strange sensation, the thick fluid matting her hair to her face. She could feel it trickling down onto her chin, dripping onto her breasts, but she remained still, eager for his next move.

"Look at you," Markus murmured, his dark eyes raking over her. "You're a beautiful mess, babygirl."

He reached down and wiped a glob of cum from her cheek with his thumb. He brought it to her mouth and painted her lips with it, forcing her to keep her mouth open as he did so. She shivered, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt his finger trace the edge of her mouth, the heady taste of him on her tongue.

The limo pulled to a stop outside White Hot Pop, signaling Millie that it was time to go. Markus zipped up his pants, looking down at her with a smug smile.

"Looks like we're here," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "You keep that cum on you until you get to a bathroom, and hope no one else sees you like this on the way. It's your mess to clean up."

Millie's heart skipped a beat. She didn't want to go out looking like this. She knew Markus liked pushing her boundaries, but this was too much.

"But... what if someone sees me?" she squeaked, her voice meek as she thought about all the people who might catch a glimpse of the evidence of her recent facial.

Markus chuckled darkly. "That's the idea, isn't it, slut? It's time to up the kink," He leaned in closer, whispering in her ear. "You're mine now. Every drop of this cum on you is a declaration of that. Let everyone know that you belong to me, that you crave Black dick so badly you'll wear my cum like a crown."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. She desperately wanted to submit to him, but this was a new level of public humiliation. Millie felt a strange mix of fear and excitement building within her. Images of her cum-splattered face on the covers of every tabloid and front pages of every porn site danced through her head.

"But Markus, this could ruin me, ruin us," she whispered, "I can't go into the studio like this. What if I lose my contract?"

"That sounds like a you problem, baby," He leaned back, stroking her cheek with a sticky finger. "You do want this dick up your pussy again, don't you?"

Millie nodded eagerly, smiling at the hopeful offer.

"Then you can do this. And before you do, I want you to go into that bathroom and finger yourself until you cum. You can use my seed as your lube, though I bet you're wet enough you won't need to. Understood?"

Her eyes widened in shock, but she nodded. It was a test, she realized. One she had to pass. She had given him control of her body, of her future. Now he expected her to obey when he gave an order. Millie felt an intoxicating thrill rush through her at the thought of being so openly marked by him for everyone to see.

As she stepped out of the limo, Millie kept her head down, hoping no one would recognize her, and feeling grateful for how the white dress concealed a fair amount of the cum on her. As she walked inside the building, feeling lucky that the receptionist was busy on a call. Millie darted for the closest hallway with a bathroom, the sticky, hot seed a constant reminder of Markus' hold over her. She was a pop star, for fuck's sake! She wasn't supposed to look like she'd just come from a porn set.

But she'd learned how much Markus liked playing these kinky games, and that's all that mattered. She walked quickly, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Millie felt lucky that no one seemed to be in any of the hallways as she passed by. They were all too busy with their own lives to pay attention to a pop star with cum all over her face.

The offices she passed had their doors mostly shut, the occasional murmur of conversation seeping out through the cracks. She walked swiftly, her heart racing with every step she took closer to the bathroom. The stickiness on her skin made her hyperaware of her surroundings, each little noise seemingly amplified by the silence that surrounded her.

After what felt like forever, she spotted the door to the bathroom at last. It was a unisex, single-occupant style bathroom intended for visitors instead of staff, which would afford Millie exactly the kind of privacy she needed right now. Just a few more offices to pass by and she'd make it. But as she glanced through the open door of the accounts payable office, Millie caught Susan looking her way.

"Hey Millie!" Susan's voice called out. Millie's heart jumped. She'd hoped to sneak by without being noticed. She turned her head just enough to hide the majority of the spunk painting her face, but she still caught Susan's eye, her cheeks already burning with embarrassment. The young Black woman was her new bestie, someone who had been guiding her through the new, darker world Millie had embraced. She'd become a lifeline, a confidant, someone with whom she could share all the details of her sexual awakening with Markus. The morning after Markus had first taken Millie, the two women had spent over an hour hashing out the details. Susan had been nothing if not encouraging then. Even so, Millie couldn't imagine that Susan would understand or approve of what she was doing now.

"I'm sorry, Susan!" Millie called over her shoulder, waving quickly without slowing her pace. "I'm in a rush. We'll talk later, I promise!"

She watched with horror as Susan's eyes widened at the sight of her. She must have noticed the cum glazed on Millie's face, or the make-up smears on her cheek. But instead of looking shocked or disgusted, Susan's expression seemed... hungry. Like she was seeing a delicious dessert she hadn't been allowed to have.

Millie wanted to die. It was all too much. She was running now, her heels rapidly clacking against the floor like a racehorse at a derby.

She heard Susan call out behind her, but she didn't dare look back. "Hey! Are we still-"

"Sorry! Love you! Text me!" Millie hollered back.

She dashed for the bathroom door, locking it behind her. Leaning against the cool porcelain sink, her breathing heavy with exertion and arousal, Millie looked into the mirror, seeing what Susan had seen: a hot mess of a white pop star. She couldn't help but laugh.

Her makeup was smeared and hidden behind a drying layer of semen, her eyes red and puffy from the cum that had gotten into them, her hair sticking to her face in wet clumps, like she'd just come out of a bukkake video. Instead of disgust, Millie felt a twisted sense of pride. This was what Markus wanted from her, and she had given it to him.

The sight of herself, so thoroughly claimed and used, only made her hornier. Millie set her purse down and hiked up her skirt, revealing her utterly soaked panties. She knew she had to cum quickly now so she could get to that studio with Markus and finish recording their new hits. And then, after that, Markus would finally fill her up again, just like he'd promised.

Millie's hand slid down her stomach to her wet pussy, her fingers slipping through her folds easily. She began to rub her clit in tight circles, her breaths coming in gasps. Millie's cunt was oozing with arousal, and though she knew that she didn't need to use Markus' seed to masturbate, she wanted to do it anyway. Anything, just to have his cum inside her again.

Millie heard her phone vibrate in her purse, but she ignored it. This was far more important.

With a trembling hand, she reached up to scoop up the first globs of spunk. Carefully, she wiped her eyes, removing the majority of the white nectar to coat her fingers instead. She brought the hand back down to her pussy, using it as lube as she began to rub herself again in slow, torturous circles.

The sensation as the cum turned into a white froth was intoxicating, like his essence was seeping into her, claiming her as his property. Millie soon felt the need for penetration grow unbearable, progressing her masturbation session on to fingering herself with his cum.

Over and over again, Millie scooped up every bit of Markus' gift that hadn't fully dried and applied it to her grateful cunt. It wasn't long before she was imagining Markus' big Black cock depositing it there, using increasingly more of her fingers to shove the spunk inside her until she at last had most of her hand buried in her snatch.

The sound of her hand squelching inside her fuckhole echoed in the quiet bathroom, and she couldn't help but moan loudly, hoping the sound wouldn't carry out into the hallway. She heard her phone buzz at least seven times while she kept on pleasuring herself. Probably Susan, Millie dazily thought.

It was so wrong to do this here at work, ignoring her friend while she jilled off, but it also felt so, so right. The knowledge that Markus knew exactly what Millie was doing right now turned her on even more.

Her orgasm built quickly, her hips bucking against her hand. She could feel his cum mixing with her pussy juices, coating her fingers as she fucked herself faster and faster. She really was a slut, Millie finally admitted to herself.

A white slut for Black cock, and she loved it.

It didn't take long before she felt her body tightening around her hand. She bit her lip to keep from screaming out Markus' name, her eyes squeezed shut. Millie spread her legs wider, crouching down as her hand moved faster and faster. She held onto the porcelain sink for support, panting as her pussy begged for release.

As she grew close to the edge, Millie decided to look at herself in the mirror one more time. She looked like a whore. And Millie instantly decided it was the best look she'd ever worn. And then it hit her, the orgasm washing over her like a wave of pure ecstasy. She bucked her hips, her hand a blur between her legs as she rode the wave. Her pussy clenched and spasmed, her toes curling in pleasure.

When it was over, she collapsed onto the floor, her body spent and her mind reeling. She looked at the mess she'd made, the drying cum on her face and her hand. And she knew she'd do it all over again in a heartbeat for Markus.

Millie's phone buzzed again, and she finally decided to check it.

Hey, skank, don't keep ignoring me like this.

It was Susan, just like Millie had thought. Ever since Millie had started confiding in Susan about her slut training with Markus, Susan had grown more snide in her remarks, more domineering in their conversations.

"So, you rode that nigga's dick like a champ, huh?" Susan had said when Millie told her about her first time with Markus. Susan's voice was low and sultry, her eyes gleaming as she rehashed the story. "Damn girl, you becoming quite the hoe. You let him pop that white cherry with his big ol' Black dick like the eager cockslut you are."

At first, Millie had been taken aback by Susan's bluntness. But she had learned quickly that Susan didn't mince words when it came to sex, especially when it involved a whitegirl like Millie getting her fill of Black meat. And the more Susan talked like that, the more Millie realized she liked it. It made her feel like she was part of something edgy, something taboo, something that whitegirls like her were lucky to be a part of.

When Susan called her a 'hoe' or a 'skank', Millie didn't hear it as an insult anymore. She heard the affection in Susan's tone, the way Susan's eyes lit up with excitement when she talked about the latest exploits of her white friend getting railed by one of the biggest Black cocks in the industry. It was almost as if Susan was living vicariously through her, and the thought of Susan getting off on her stories only made Millie wetter.

The words had stoked the fire in Millie's belly, made her crave more. And now, finally, she wasn't afraid to admit that Susan was right. She was becoming a hoe, a total slut for Black cock, and Susan was like her fairy godmother of filth, pushing her along, whispering words of encouragement that now felt more like commands.

The buzzing of her phone snapped her out of her thoughts. It was Susan again.

Bitch, what's keeping you? This ain't how a friend should act.

The text hit Millie like a slap across the face. She knew Susan was just playing around, but the sting of the words felt too real. She quickly responded with a text of her own.

Sorry, had to handle something.

Millie sent the text to Susan with trembling fingers, her cheeks still flushed from the intensity of her climax. She took a deep breath and scrolled back through their conversation. Susan's texts were a mix of playful teasing and genuine concern, which only made Millie feel worse for ignoring her.

Hey girl, why the hurry?

You choke down too much Black cum this morning?

Anyway, just wanted to check that we're still on for shopping later?

... Millie, are you there?

Damn, you giving me the cold shoulder now or what?

Millie had forgotten about the shopping, but she wouldn't dare back out of it now after ignoring Susan like this.

Yes, still on for shopping. Can't wait.

She hoped it was enough to appease her friend, but she couldn't ignore the sudden need to prove herself. She really wanted to keep this friendship with Susan going strong, and the perfect way to do that was some quality shopping time with her bestie.

Just then, Millie noticed there had also been a text from Markus.

When you're all done, send me a picture, babygirl.

Millie felt her face heat up, but she obeyed without question. Using her free hand, she angled the camera just right, showing off her sticky fingers and her smiling, messy, cum-glazed face. She sent the picture.

The reply was almost instant.

Good girl. Now, get up here.

Millie took a deep breath and pulled herself up from the floor. She had to get to the studio. Markus was waiting for her, and she didn't want to keep her Black King waiting. She turned on the faucet and began to wash the last of the cum from her body, watching as the white water swirled down the drain with it.