Music to my ears [Rigor & Starry] (NSFW)

[Rigor Samsa]

Between a snakes and ladders labyrinth of producer booths, unscrambled Cush and Louisiana chicken special boxes a record label called BDE; dwelled. Music had always slipped through the cracks of cultural ruling; on either side of them gangs cracked cases and bumped fists; the unsavoury underbelly business. Genesis Griffin habitually scrolled through his Instagram and sussed out the message requests - careful to look at the previews so as to not fork over an undeserved piece of attention to those who desired it. Mama G always said success shined brightest when someone else wanted something from you. From further within the brightly lit studio the engineers argued loudly with each other, it sounded like Edeio and Speed but Genesis couldn't be sure: the beat overwhelmed both voices and subsumed then into the sonic assault until whatever meaning might have been encoded was washed out like erosion of the white sand at Heathcliffe Beach. Each wave of the ocean and each wave of the track carried away more and more sand until all that was left was a polished chrome nothing. "Lads, fucking make it right by the time I get back or I'll crack something, or someone over the console!" He shouted it, but doubted the words would have fared much better than the argument coming the other way. Even moderately success labels needed to stay productive and retain success, each trophy, each accolade became another metric which could be taken away from you. BDE; had began as a way to get away from a lot of the pressure, industry, personal or otherwise. He ran a hand through the air, and then laid it on the redbrick dividers letting the vibrations of the beat cool his Black heart. Anger and annoyance were familiar bedfellows for Genesis but he never liked to sleep with them, a one night stand which always showed an ugly face in the mirror. Genesis bashed his palm flat against the wall twice, and got a return thud in reward for his efforts: an acknowledgement of the message as the music turned down. Breezing out past the recruiters listening to underground tapes, Genesis fancied a moment in the bathroom mirror: dampened, suppressed music rumbling in the background; a solitary figure as he would examine his tattooed dark skin replete with razor-fine cheekbones and teeth glinting with white-gold. His rolly chain lolled out like a hot dog's tongue, the light playing out on a discoball at its heart. His long, thick fingers brushed over the links in the chain. But before the melancholy moment could realize itself he turned towards the light, the loud chaotic street and left the building without telling anyone where or who he was going to see. Perhaps the more responsible thing to do would have been to find a brother or sister to bust up the cloud of inertia which was hanging on. Instead Genesis felt like making a mistake, maybe finding a fine bitch or three. It'd been too long since he'd inked a new page of lore for his songs of big dick misery — and there was nothing like nostalgia to prompt a return to his roots.

 

[Starry]

The humid evening air kissed the glitter-slicked skin of Tiffany Starr as she strolled down L’Impasse - a stretch of sidewalk so iconic for rapper nightlife it practically dripped Henny and heartbreak. A casino buzzed with broken dreams to her left, the neon signage bouncing off her glossy, bronzed curves like paparazzi flashbulbs on Versace. Behind her, bars were already thumping, velvet ropes writhing with early crowds desperate for validation and views. And there she was. Tiffany. Motherfucking. Starr. Live and unfiltered for her 6.2 million devoted little followers, teetering in sky-high bubble-gum pink Lucite heels and a matching latex mini-dress that looked like it had been spray-painted onto her stacked, fuckable body. The dress - if it could even be called that - clung to her like a second skin, thin enough to show the curve of her pierced nipples and low enough to hint at the soft swell of her perfectly waxed mound. Her cleavage was practically criminal, overflowing with bronzer shimmer and teased for the camera like it owed her rent. Gold rings glinted on each dainty finger, oversized bracelets clinked on her wrists, and her ears hosted thick hoop earrings that caught every last drop of neon light. A chunky choker reading “𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲𝑹” in dripping diamond script wrapped her swanlike throat while a belly chain winked around her midriff like a secret slutty promise. Tiffany had her phone raised in one manicured hand, the other holding a sugary vape pen she barely used - mostly for aesthetic. Her glossed-up lips puckered as she faced the front cam, speaking in that signature pouty whine she was oh-so-famous for. “Hi my littttle bimbo babies~!” she cooed, voice sugar-dipped and sinfully smug. “Okay so like, I knooow you’ve all been blowing up my DMs about the viral Challenge Game, sooo here’s the sitch, m’kay?” She spun dramatically, the camera catching her big, bouncing blonde hair and the jiggle of her bubble butt as she twisted toward the glowing barfronts. “You see a dude? You ask him: is your cock bigger than this—” She thrust out her tanned, glitter-dusted forearm with a flourish, fingers sparkly and spread. “If it ain’t? Bitch owes you a drink. Or a lil favour… hehehe~ unless he’s packin’ heat… like, monster-heat.” Her blue eyes sparkled with faux-innocence as she leaned into the camera. “Like, what are the odds, right? Most of these boys talk big and carry limp lil gummy worms~[” she giggled nastily, snapping her gum. “Anywayyyy~ tonight I’m manifesting free cocktails and maybe a sloppy lil lapdance if I’m bored. You girls know I always win these challenges…” As she flounced past a group of suited-up club security - one of whom got a very intentional eyeful of her jiggling cleavage - Tiffany caught sight of a tall, tattooed figure stepping out of a side alley where the beat of a studio still faintly echoed. She slowed. Zoomed the camera in slightly with a lazy, slutty smirk tugging at her glossed-up pout. “Oh my gawwwwwd… babes, look who it is~” she drawled, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial coo, her phone angled sneakily so her followers could spy the tall, muscled man with the unmistakable chain and swagger. “King Gene. Mister 'I write sad songs about my big ol’ dick and how bitches can't handle it',” she purred with an exaggerated pout, eyes glittering with bratty mischief. “Bet you all twenty dollars he’s full of shit and I get a free drink outta this easy—like, c’mon, he probably exaggerates to sell records. That’s a thing, right?” She adjusted her top slightly, pressing her tits up even higher for the camera. “Wish me luck, whores~! Let’s see if Mister Size King wants to play the game~” She adjusted her dress slightly, pressing her tits up even higher for the camera, one hand theatrically fluffing her platinum waves while the other kept her livestream rolling - chat exploding with eggplant emojis and “QUEEN GO GET HIM” comments. She licked her lips slowly, like she was about to devour someone. Then, with all the performance of a high-end pornstar on a red carpet, Tiffany squealed. “Ohmygod—babeessss—he’s lookin’ this way! Like—shhhshhh, act casual~” she whispered like a bad actress pretending to sneak up on a wild animal in stilettos. Her voice dropped into a throaty pout as she waved one sparkly hand high in the air. “GENEEEEY~! Oh-em-gee, hiiiii~! I’m like, literally your biggest fan, babe,” she sang out in a syrupy squeal, trotting up toward him with her ass bouncing and her arm still holding her phone high so her followers had front-row seats to the potential humiliation about to unfold. “I’ve been, like, obsessed with your music since that one track where you talked about your ‘fat-ass misery stick’ or whateverrrr, ughhh you’re sooo funny~!” She giggled and made a dramatic heart with her fingers in front of her heaving tits, then practically shoved her glittering phone into his direction. “Okay soooo, I have to know if you wanna be a part of this suuuper viral challenge that’s like, totally blowing up TikTok RN,” she batted her lashes, the forearm already coming up as she bent her elbow just a little… just enough to frame her delicious cleavage and pointed acrylics. “It’s like, suuuper dumb and slutty~” she said with a wink to her viewers. “Basically… if your cock isn’t bigger than my forearm—like this one right here—” she thrust it out with all the smug flair of a beauty queen holding out a microphone, “—then you gotta buy me a drink. Or like, do me a lil favour~ teehee.” She flashed her phone at him, letting the stream catch both their faces for that juicy reaction shot, her blue eyes sparkling with bratty challenge. “But if it is… well… guess I’ll owe you somethin’ instead~”

 

[Rigor Samsa]

Gutherie Avenue was a delight to the senses, offering a veritable cornucopia of confections of many a delicacy: sweets, Korean, honey, Porto Rican, Mexicano, Jobille -and some of those delicacies were the people; the vox populi; flesh, blood and rabid red hearts. A fundamental proponent of rap was the creation, cultivation and aggrandisement of the individual mythos, everyone practiced to an extent even those who did not directly partake in the great game. Genesis lived and breathed it. He’d been born on the streets -literally- and although the music now came polished and mixed through silicone wires and carefully modulated by a Black Troubadour for excellence there was a gritty soul he courted from the streets and no matter the lofty heights he ascended to that would be the sound his music breathed. As soon as forefoot made contact with the pavement a weight lifted from his chest: an iron corset about his lungs was loosened like a pelican taking flight. But all too quickly his peace and truth were intruded upon by a vision of beauty. Or at least, an ultra-modern sexually liberated woman misogyny crowned Queen’s vision; she came floating towards him as though weightless - each step ripped upwards and caused a generous bosom to shudder and shake with seismic activity. God that’s distracting, a firework of glitter and sparkle alongside an avalanche of sex appeal. Instantly he knew she was gunning directly for him - the intensity of the gaze and the ripple of sensation as the ancient reptilian brain whispered directly into his wrinkled grey matter: ‘sire, avast. Sire, evasive action is recommended.’ Genesis paid no heed to those baser instincts which were bred into antediluvian man to avoid tigers, and more corporeal threats. An influencer with an audience, and a bone to pick was a beast you couldn’t simply run from without losing face, and followers. Genesis felt with an ugly twist of recognition: this was a setup he’d seen a couple of times in the reels and shorts of the gram — although it had always been from the POV of the woman springing the challenge on someone unaware. It was a moment of cognitive dissonance as the overlay of the comment section greeted him. Haha, idiot! Look at him! “Listen ‘honey’ it’s been a long day and I’m looking for some stress relief - if you’re volunteering to do some charity work das not my blood ya feel?” Against the grain of his words was an undercurrent of terse backed bends. “So if you owe me somethin’ it is gonna be graphic and loud ... maybe a lil messy too.” He spread his hands accentuating the broadness of his shoulders and the thinness of his waist: the athletes v-taper on full display. At both extreme ends of sexual dimorphism their phenotypic expressions clashed with all the grandeur of a royal banquet. Genesis was sure he recognised the woman after all, a queen who sat in her self-made court of product placement and public opinion. “Now don't run away screaming aite, you wanted to see this.” Playfully he slowly unzipped his Levi Strauss jeans which hung artfully low on his hips anyway, the unbuckling involving a leather belt whose clasp had been fashioned after a silver bull - some called it tacky, the more mild minded called it crass. Genesis thought it was appropriate foreshadowing, "but I think he will be happy to see you." With all the drama of a gameshow host Genesis slowly extracted his dark trouser snake with each inch seemingly less probable than the last. He played the scene up for the camera, playing the comments over in his head as her 40% female audience screamed in incredulity and the 60% simps were no doubt screaming in their paper thin poorly built houses. When he was finished unsheathing his length he beckoned her to come closer as though summoning a wild beast which might turn and run into the feral blue yonder at the slightest provocation. He could feel himself begging harder just making eye contact with her - the STARFUCKR as her necklace so proudly shouted. “Don't be shy now I need you to get in close here and do some measurements. He doesn't bite, but he does make the bitches scream.” Genesis pulled a packet of blue prince cigarettes from his now slack jeans and tapped one into his hand. His cock, even half mast and semi-dormant was intimidating and the longer the clock ticked the more aware of its surroundings and proximity to a woman whose essence screamed fuckability was pulled closer by the rules of the game.

 

[Starry]

The moment it came out, Tiffany’s world stopped. Her lips, plumped to perfection and still slick with candy pink gloss, parted with a soft, startled gasp. One heel wobbled slightly on the uneven pavement as she froze mid-strut, eyes blown wide beneath thick lashes as the sheer magnitude of what Genesis had just unleashed throbbed into view like a myth made flesh. “Um—uhh—babe…?” she blinked, her voice cracking into a breathless little squeak, her diamond phone still held high as thousands of her fans lost their fucking minds in the chat. “MOTHER OF DICK” “HER WHOLE SOUL JUST LEFT HER BODY LMFAO” “SHE IS RE-EVALUATING LIFE CHOICES IN REAL TIME” Tiffany’s spine stiffened. She tilted her phone slightly, biting her lip hard to hold together what little composure she still had. She tried to smirk—tried to roll her eyes like this wasn’t the biggest dick she’d ever seen - but her expression betrayed her, caught in that perfectly bratty glitch between shocked, curious, and visibly aroused. “Okay, like… What. The. Fuck,” she stammered, finally forcing out a breathy giggle. “Babe, this isn’t a dick, this is like… a lifestyle change. This is a commitment. This is like… a three-part Netflix docu-series with a trigger warning.” The words came faster now - nervous, spiralling, half-laughing as she continued to stare down at the thick, dark, unbelievably heavy cock swaying in front of her with audible gravity. “No, ‘cause like—this isn’t even fair? You didn’t say you were gonna pull out a fucking cast iron drainpipe! I thought this was gonna be like, a cute lil ha-ha moment where I flirt and you buy me a drink, not a religious awakening, ohmygod~” Still she stared as her legs started to bend at the knee's - squatting down ever so slightly. The bottom of her ass peaking from the tight dress. Her forearm came up beside it like she was lining up for a crime scene photo, glittering bracelets sliding down to her elbow as she displayed the size difference with all the drama of a woman about to fake her own death for attention. Her arm looked child-sized next to it. “…Oh, you definitely win,” she muttered under her breath, half to herself and half to her rapidly spiralling livestream. “Like, you win everything. You win the challenge, you win the lawsuit I’m gonna file when this thing breaks me, you win my fucking followers—hi besties~ hope y’all like cock-shaped trauma~!” The chat was feral: “SHE’S GAGGING JUST LOOKING AT IT” “I’M CRYING SHE’S IN SHAMBLES” “TIFFY THIS IS HOW VILLAINS GET MADE” Then - because of course she would - Tiffany touched it. With just one trembling, glitter-tipped hand, she reached out and let her fingers trail along the side of the beast. Her phone dipped lower to follow the moment, capturing the exact second her face went from bratty disbelief to something far softer… far filthier. “Oh my—fuck, it’s real,” she gasped, her palm pressing to the shaft. Her hand looked like it was trying to grip a damn thermos. “It’s so warm… it’s like, alive, holy shit.” She started stroking. Slowly. Subconsciously. Like she was under a spell she accidentally cast. Her phone was still up. Still streaming. Her other hand was now busy trying to work its way around the monster in front of her, fingers splayed wide as she gently rubbed along the top, every stroke making the tip twitch and her thighs clench. “Okay, like—be honest,” she said shakily, voice cracking with breathless laughter. “Did you like… grow this in a lab? Is this some Black Mirror body mod shit?? No one has a cock this big unless they were born on a secret dick farm or, like… blessed by some ancient fertility goddess in a past life…” Her laugh hiccupped into a soft moan. Her glossy lips twitched. Her breath quickened. “I swear to god if this thing twitches at me again I’m gonna pass out. I mean, look at my hand! I can’t even wrap around it! I’m like, actually getting wrist strain—this should count as fucking manual labour! I’m too pretty for this!” Then her voice softened. Just a little. A crack in the sugar. “So like… umm… do you wanna, maybe, cash in that lil favour now~?” she asked, peeking up at him from beneath thick lashes, her tone caught halfway between a tease and a plea, her fingers still gently stroking. “I mean, not that I think I can… like… take it, ohmygod... this thing’s not even a cock, it’s a home invasion.” Another stroke. Another twitch. Her eyes fluttered. “There’s no way this is gonna fit. Not even close. Like, I’m sorry but this would split me in half, and not even in a cute bimbo way—this is spinal tap level. Like, you don’t need a condom, you need a real estate agent.” She was still talking. Still stroking. Still pink-cheeked and breathless and visibly fighting the urge to drop her phone and get on her knees. Tiffany Starr - snowbunny bimbo queen, livestream goddess, and professional slutty brat - was in deep trouble. And every one of her viewers knew it. “LOOK AT HER FACE SHE’S NOT COMING BACK FROM THIS” “SOMEONE PLAY THE FUNERAL MUSIC” “TIFFY BABE YOU’RE ABOUT TO GET MARRIED” But Tiffany didn’t see it. She couldn’t. Because her hand was still wrapped around the biggest mistake she’d ever flirted with, and her mind was busy doing one thing only: Calculating how much lube it would take to survive.

 

[Rigor Samsa]

It was a guilty satisfaction but it ran deep into the male psyche: a fundamental raw rush which was sacrilegious in its thrill. There was the shock, the awe, the surprise and acceptance as the rules of the world were rewritten in real time. The average man's penis was a number of inches, not a number of feet - this was an immutable fact bred from a number of encounters. There was something magical in the rude awakening, as though he had robbed her of an innocence she'd long held. On the apps before he'd tried to communicate the dimensions of his cock before - every time ended up in ridicule: 'you can't be trying to overcompensate THAT hard can you?' ad nauseum. So Genesis gave up and became addicted to the surprised expressions, the bewilderment and the many questions. But above all else he got hooked on training their bodies to accommodate such an unruly guest. "You ain't trippin' bitch come and feel, seeing is believing but touch is proving and we both know this is gonna be touchin' places in you the sun ain't seen so come get familiar," Genesis' soft accent was at its best like this crooning filth into a mic with the gain cranked to cap - or an ear whose sensory neurones were prickling with those magical ripples of arousal that heightened the senses and sharpened the singular moment into a gemstone of memory. Curious, he pulled his phone in one hand to tune into the broadcast and interact with the chat himself. Their reactions so far did not disappoint. "THATS GOTTA BE A WORLD RECORD HOLDER" "DO YOU THINK HE JERKS IT WITH TWO HANDS OR USES TOYZ" "WE ABOUT TO WATCH A MURDER LIVE SOMEONE CALL THE AMBO" "Now now ya'll,' Genesis teased - addressing the audience as Tiff's fingers brushed over his skin like it was a museum tapestry - he let her admire the mythology of Porn made flesh without interruption, 'you'll be getting a live demonstration of how exactly I get off shortly and let this be a lesson to all my other monster-cock brothers out there. I know ya'll been suffering like me — but to everyone watchin' from home I want ya'll to know I love women and I respect 'em. But there's gonna be some mighty disrespectful things you see over the next hour." And then a question: a solicitation: an invitation which her body language had already asked but verbally in front of witnesses. "Bitch we gonna be makin' some music - that's my favour. Loud fucking music." With his spare hand Genesis cupped the tip of the absurd length: her slow, timid ministrations had stroked a small pearl of precum from the stone hard length which throbbed in response to her every touch, breath, heartbeat as though it was innately attuned to the very fibres of her being. "Imma train you, imma teach you babe, you can learn to take it — and you'll love it." Genesis took the precursor to his seed proper and ran it over her lower lip like slutty gloss — under the bright lights of Gutherie's neon and ageing lamp bulbs it was a pearlescent mark of ownership. "Lick it up, give it a taste - tell me watchu think I've got more just begging for some baby mama's guts to call home," Genesis slid his fingers under chin and tilted her face up to meet his hazel -almost golden- eyes. "Oh SHIT THERE'S NO CONDOM WHICH WOULD FIT" "REMIND ME! BABY SHOWER 7 MONTHS" "YOU CAN STILL GET OUT OF HERE TIFF THINK OF YOUR BRAND" With his grasp on her, Genesis slipped this thumb into her mouth - tentatively exploring and pushing her lips apart: running along the fleshy ridge like an explorer on a mountain range. The rough callouses met soft luscious flesh and stirred up a storm of bothered nerve endings and then still holding contact his hand advanced further into the moist orifice. The invaders came slowly, first a thumb and then his pointer finger - stretching and exploring the taint of his seed still on his fingers as they filled up her mouth. "You're doing so well, keep on opening up that mouth for me, you've got that snakejaw in you I can feel it - unhinged bitch just like your dances on TikTok." And then a third finger - the index, the longest and thickest joined the party and deliberately reached back to tease her gag reflex like it was a yoyo: weaponising the muscular contractions of her upper respiratory track with practised ease. "I ain't blessed but you 'bout to be with this dick." "CAN SHE BREATHE I CANT SEE" "THIS GOTTA BE AGAINST PLATFORM TOS SOMEONE GET THE MODS" "CAUGHT CAUGHT CAUGHT XDDDD" "Damn bitch I can almost feel your brain," Genesis laughed wiggling his fingers inside her mouth - tampering with the gag reflex until it soothed itself: a frightened beast which was being taught to be touched after years of isolation, "your brain is whispering to me. It says give me black cock, break me on black cock, give me delicious black cock cum - do you hear it?" And he slowly extracted his fingers, sloppy and covered in saliva - and made a show of slowly licking them clean as the thick stands of spittle snapped when the tyranny of distance between hand and mouth grew too great.

 

[Starry]

Tiffany didn’t even realize her hand had stopped moving until he spoke again - until that voice, so low and syrup-thick, wrapped around her like velvet dipped in sin. “Come and feel,” he said, and fuck her, she already had. He didn’t need to tell her. Her hand was trembling against the base of that monster cock, glitter-drenched and still weakly stroking like her fingers were caught in a spell she couldn’t break. Like her body refused to stop even when her pride was waving a white flag. And then he touched her. His thumb smeared that bead of precum - thick, hot, shining like a bimbo’s dream - right across her bottom lip. “Oh—my—godddd,” she whimpered, eyes fluttering as her jaw dropped open instinctively, lips gloss-wet and parted now with more than just surprise. Her whole body stiffened, one heel lifting slightly like she might teeter from the weight of what this moment meant. Her thighs clenched so tightly her hips twitched, her ass shifting back on instinct like she could somehow run—but she didn’t. She couldn’t. Because her chat was still watching. Because she liked it. Because this wasn’t just slutty anymore - this was history. “Ohmygod, you just—y-you really just…” she stammered, voice cracking in real-time as she wiped her tongue across her lip, tasting the thick, salty filth he’d marked her with. Her eyes rolled back just a little. Her lashes fluttered. Her hand that held the phone dipped and trembled - chat still screaming: “TIFFY NOOOOOOOOOO” “SHE’S GOT HIS CUM ON HER LIP” “BITCH DON’T DO IT—DON’T—” She licked it up. “Oh fuck me that’s... that’s so hot,” she whispered, mostly to herself, as though confessing into the livestream void. “Why does it taste like sin? Like... holy shit, babe, your dick has an aftertaste.” And then came the fingers. His fingers. Three of them. One by one slipping between her lips like they belonged there - like she wasn’t even a person anymore, just a bimbo mouth designed to hold his filth and keep smiling. The moment his thumb dragged across her tongue, Tiffany whimpered - whimpered - like a needy pet, her eyes fluttering again as her lips wrapped tightly around it, cheeks hollowing on instinct. “Mmmnffff—b-babe—” she tried to talk, still holding her phone up, still streaming her own descent with freshly-glossed ruin glinting on her tongue. But the second finger pushed in and her breath caught in her throat. Her lashes twitched. Her knees bent just slightly, hips rocking forward. Her one free hand squeezed his cock like it was her emotional support system. “Mmmf! Mmmfghh... o-o-okay okay fuhh—fuckkk~” she gagged gently as the third finger joined, thick and deep and absolutely violating her ability to think. Her phone bobbled in her hand. The livestream tilted crookedly, the shot now bouncing between her spit-drenched mouth and his inked-up cock. Her chat was losing their fucking minds: “I CAN’T WATCH THIS I’M IN PUBLIC” “GIRL YOU’RE LIVE YOU’RE LIVE YOU’RE LIVE” “SHE’S LICKING HIS FINGERS LIKE CANDY WTF” Her glossy lips stretched, pink and perfect, jaw sore and straining as his fingers tested her like a trainer testing a dumb animal’s limits. When he said she had a snake jaw, she moaned. Loud. Wet. Full of pure bimbo shame. Her eyes were wide and wet now - not from sadness, but from overstimulation, humiliation, and the overwhelming realization that her career was now being rewritten in real-time as a cockslut redemption arc. And then she said it. "Give me black cock... break me on black cock..." She twitched. Her whole body twitched like she’d been shocked through her clit. “M-Mnffh—” She couldn’t even deny it. Not when her pussy was throbbing, her jaw was full, and her stream had devolved into nothing but donations, screaming emojis, and marriage proposals. When he finally pulled those fingers from her mouth, Tiffany gasped - face flushed, cheeks sticky, spit trailing like silken strands between her lips and his knuckles. She didn’t even hesitate. She leaned forward out of pure instinct - hungry, ruined, and mesmerized. But he beat her to it. He licked them clean himself. One. By. One. Slow, deliberate drags of his tongue over his own spit-coated fingers, tasting the mix of precum and her desperation, sucking each one down like it wasn’t her mouth they’d just been buried in but her fucking soul. Tiffany could only watch - eyes wide, breath shaky, her lower lip trembling with need. “Babe—babe—stop,” she breathed, clutching his cock like it was the last thing tethering her to this dimension. “That’s, like… so fucking hot I can’t even deal right now. Are you trying to kill me on live? ‘Cause you’re literally gonna give me a heart attack, and like… I just got my lashes done.” The way her thighs pressed together said her lashes weren’t the only thing threatening to come off. She swallowed hard. And didn’t let go. Her grip tightened, eyes still glued to his tongue as he finished cleaning the filth from his fingers, like he was sucking the last remnants of her pride straight off them. Tiffany whimpered softly - helpless, horny, and visibly spiralling into something she was not going to be able to backpedal from. Then she looked up. Eyes gleaming. Lips parted in a desperate little brat-smile, her breath hitching as she finally croaked, “Take it, babe.” She shoved her phone up toward him with a single trembling hand, the other still glued to his monster cock like she’d die if she let go. “I need both hands for this,” she moaned, lips curling into a smirk even as her cheeks burned with heat. “Like, desperately.” Tiffany turned around and tugged the silk scrunchie from her wrist, her bracelets jingling as she looped her arms overhead to gather her platinum-blonde hair into that high ponytail of doom. Tight. Snatched. Signature. The bimbo battle bun. Her chat erupted in real-time: “NOT THE PONYTAIL OMGGGG” “SHE’S IN HER FINAL FORM” “YOU’RE NOT MAKING IT OUT GIRL JUST ACCEPT IT” Hair up. Face clear. Tits bouncing with every breath as she turned back and dropped to her knees, both hands now wrapped around that thick, glistening shaft like she was holding a holy relic. Her wrists looked tiny against it. Her mouth? Already hanging open, pink tongue flicking out with desperate little licks between each word. Tiffany whimpered - her face flushed, breath ragged, ponytail bouncing slightly as she tilted her head up and cooed, voice high, sugary, and soaked in lust: “Babe, pleaseee—lemme suck it, please? I need it in my mouth, like... right now, I’m literally shaking...” She kissed the tip, tongue swirling in tiny, worshipful circles as her wrists stroked together. “I’ll be such a good girl, I swearrr,” she moaned, her voice trembling like her thighs. “I know it’s too big, like, way too big, but I wanna try—just lemme tryyy~ I want it to ruin my lip filler, I want it to stretch my throat and make me gag on camera…” Another wet kiss. A teasing lick under the head. “I don’t even care if I cry~ I’ll thank you for the mascara running, daddy. Just please—lemme wrap my fuckin’ lips around this big ol’ troublemaker... I’ll take it like a good little bimbo bitch, promise~” She looked up, eyes sparkling like sapphires full of filth, voice melting into a bratty purr. “C’mon, babe~ make me famous for somethin’ besides my contour~”

 

[Rigor Samsa]

Genesis gracefully accepted the phone and the electronic spirits of the thousand strong livestream. He positioned the camera generously, giving the masses a POV viewing of the admittedly very rapid decadent descent of a famous bimbo running into her ilk's fatal weakness: a challenging cock. "Hi chat," Genesis purred to them. Chat responded as he predicted, outraged, incensed at the violation of the parasocial relationship. They were after all, her audience: "BE SO FR RN YOU SMUG FCKER" "DON'T CHECK HER DMS" "YOU'RE JUST HOLDING THE PHONE DON'T GET COCKY" He observed with eyes blown wide with arousal like some potent cocktail of drug had been pumped straight into the system bypassing the safety barriers of alpha waves and adaptive tolerance from the reward circuitry. "The average scrub can stay under for 30 seconds didja know babe? We're gonna make you famous for being a professional cock snorkeler." Each of her teasing kisses eroded away some measure of self-control; of the managed careful boundaries which were erected by society in the name of "polite", "civil" and "humane" treatment of another human being. If she was there on her knees, pussy drooling onto the street for all to see who was he not to indulge the forbidden pleasures. These were the seductive thoughts the testosterone planted along his spinal column and very carefully didn't let the impulses travel beyond the lower brain. The difference between a reflex and measured thought was simply distance and he chose to let the choice to mate her oesophagus and treat her stomach like a womb simply become an automatic reflex — and when in court if he were to be pressed on charges Genesis would simply hold his hands up and say 'it was out of my control, your honour.' "OH MY GOD LOOK AT ALL THAT PRECUM" "DOES THE CURTAIN MATCH THE DRAPES?" "HOPE SHE'S GOT SOME STRONG PLAN B IN THE LOUIS V" And indeed: each kiss, each pleading stroke brought forth a bubble of creamy precum as though Tiffany were placed in front of some magical never-ending fountain of fertility. Each droplet was astringent, bitter like fine tea from the Indian continent — the type of shit you'd start a political party to get access to; or a military regime to control & monopolise. "Open wide," Genesis said as he shifted his hips - engaging his glutes as his pelvis tilted and he angled himself to align with her oral offering. But he didn't plunge in right away: Genesis left her there on the ground for a moment; mouth open, gullet cleanly displayed for the camera whilst his belt snaked around her neck. "This is just a little safety harness," Genesis said, winking at both her and the camera, "it'll help all of us have a bit more fun — and make sure you can't run away." Sliding the spoke through the strap of the belt he leashed the back of her neck to his hips and then slowly guided the head of the Black cock train down into her mouth: using the belt right away to overcome any instinctual reflexes from her body to preserve itself — an essential piece of bondage in the breaking in of an untrained throat. He knew it might have been easier for her if he thrust in quickly - it would have been over with faster but Genesis wasn't about easy rides so with painful aching slowness which would have made the Ice Age glaciers envious his cock reached the back of her throat and slowly slid down which is where he paused - as though struck by a thought. "Alexa," he said to his phone which chirruped cheerfully to acknowledge his voice, "put on a timer for 90 seconds." And then he redoubled his focus on Tiffany: "your time starts now babe, good luck!" Reached forward with his one spare hand, he pinched off her last lifeline: her cute pretty dainty nose disappeared with ease between thumb and forefinger.

 

[Starry]

Her eyes went huge when he took her phone, but not from fear - oh no, Tiffany Starr loved a captive audience. Especially her own. The stream was still rolling, her viewers getting that perfect, pornographic front-row shot of her kneeling between his legs, hair in a ponytail, two tiny hands stroking the biggest cock in human history. “Say hi to my babies, babe~” she cooed up at him, voice sticky-sweet even as she bounced the fat tip off her lips in teasing little kisses for the camera. “Aren’t they gorg? They’re like… totally obsessed with me… and in, like, five minutes they’re gonna be obsessed with you too~” The chat was melting down. “WE ARE NOT OKAY RN” “SHE LOOKS SO SMALL NEXT TO IT WTF” “THIS IS LIKE WATCHING A WAR CRIME” She leaned forward, licking a bead of precum straight from the tip with a little moan, smearing her gloss on him like she was signing a contract in lipstick. God, he tasted filthy. Bitter. Addictive. She licked again just to make sure. And then she saw it - the belt. “Umm… okay, wait, what’s—oh my god…” she squealed, voice wobbling as the leather looped snug around the back of her neck. “Babe, what is this…? Ohmygod is this, like… a leash? I’ve never even—” She cut herself off with a nervous giggle, eyes darting to the camera. “You guys… he’s literally collaring me in the middle of the street, what the fuckkk~” Her thighs squeezed together. Hard. When he said “open wide,” Tiffany obeyed without thinking, lips parting, tongue out, mouth framed by a perfect ‘O’ of shimmering pink. She didn’t even realize how far she’d opened until she felt the blunt, hot pressure of his cockhead nestling against her tongue. Then he started pushing. Slow. So slow it made her toes curl in her heels, nails digging into the base of his shaft as the fat length slid over her tongue, past her teeth, down, down, down until her throat fluttered in protest. She whimpered - half muffled, half defiant - but the belt kept her perfectly in place, forcing her to take every lazy, deliberate inch. She looked up at him, eyes glassy, her chest rising faster now. “Babe—” she tried to say, but it came out as a choked hum around his girth. And then she heard him. “Alexa, put on a timer for 90 seconds.” Her brows shot up, eyes wide over stuffed cheeks. She tried to pull back - just a little - but the belt kept her exactly where he wanted her. “Ninety—?!” she tried to speak again, voice vibrating against his length. “Mmmphhh—ohmygod, nooo~” “Your time starts now, babe.” And then his fingers closed over her nose. Tiffany froze. The chat exploded: “OH MY FUCKING GOD” “TIFFY DON’T DIE” “THIS IS THE CONTENT WE PAID FOR” Her eyes watered instantly, her grip on his cock tightening as she tried to keep the motion slow, controlled - like she was still in charge. But the lack of air hit her faster than she expected, her thighs twitching, mascara starting to smudge. She blinked up at him, cheeks flushed, ponytail swaying as her throat convulsed around him, one hand moving to his hip - not to push him away, but to steady herself, because she was already dizzy. And somewhere between panic and arousal, she smiled around his cock for the camera. Because Tiffany Starr wasn’t about to let anyone see her tap out first.

 

[Rigor Samsa]

Communication was difficult with a mountain of black man-meat being crammed down your throat — who would have thought? But on the side of Genesis and the chat they could speak without worries. And Genesis would have sworn up and down the street he was a fantastic conversationalist: if only his brain cells weren't being consumed down the siren's vortex which was Tiffany's throat. There had been, ostensibly, a number of occasions now she had tried to say something but all which had been produced were very pleasant vibrations around his shaft. 90 seconds. "CAN ANYONE HEAR HER SHE SOUNDS DE*D" "ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN SIGN UP FOR THIS KINDA TREATMENT?" "THE PORNO COMPANIES ACCEPT YOUR AUDITION REEL TIFF" "God I love it when you try to talk yo shit," Genesis groaned, spreading his stance and centre of gravity slightly as their natures blended like paint on an artists palette: blurring and colours bending, "keeping on yapping, I love it." He felt her distantly jerk against the belt - it did its job - but the sensation was removed as though coming down the string of a tin can telephone, the fibrous rope disseminating the impulse through its body but also out into the environment — weakening the connection and dimming the strength of the signal. All that really mattered was the spasming, pulsating, trembling skincocksock of her throat. 83 seconds. "God you feel amazing," Genesis groaned out as his precum lubed the slick entrance up and he pushed in a little deeper but maintaining the agonizing slowness: he had a plan and intended to stick to it even if it killed him. Or her. "Here, a little bit of help for my best girl," Genesis swirled a bit of spit in his tongue before depositing it in a lazy pool of molasses like bakery glazing on the flesh of his cock before it slid further into her body. He knew it was completely superfluous from the sheer viscous feedback but suspected his favourite new meat puppet would enjoy the gift … and speaking of enjoyment. With a tug of the boots heel he kicked off his footwear and placed one socked foot against her thighs and paired up the pushing motion between his genitalia and his appendage as both bodily items delved closer and closer to her until his foot bunched up the nothingness of white fabric Tiffany wore and crassly brandied it like a conquering army marching down the main street of her pussy. "Wew, someone is wet, chat. So fucking wet and so good at taking this dick." He contrasted the actions to keep her guessing and needy. The nice: Genesis slipped the phone into the front pocket of his t-shirt where its weight brought it dangling forward giving the chatroom the long view down her body. His now spare hand gently, almost lovingly, caressed her face and tucked a few hairs which had fallen behind her ear — sliding them back behind her ear and taking the moment to whisper a few filthy nothings to her. "There's a spot in my bed anytime you want it, I've been looking for a well trained pet ya'll don't even know. It'd be a good life baby just think about it." The not-so-nice: his foot mashed her labia and clitorous underfoot, purposefully pushing her centre of gravity and making her rely more on her hand on his hip for stability and even the girth of his cock to cling on to as his toes roughly explored her tight collection of nerve endings. 72 seconds. [/color][/size]

 

[Starry]

If Tiffany had ever had a single moment of self-awareness in her life, it was now. Her makeup-perfect face was stretched around the biggest cock she’d ever seen, her throat bulging, belt snug around her neck, her nose pinched tight, her world narrowed to the taste of him, the heat of him, the burn in her lungs. Every instinct screamed pull back, but her ego wouldn’t let her. The chat was a blur of emojis and all-caps chaos in the corner of her vision: “CAN ANYONE HEAR HER SHE SOUNDS DED” “LMAOOOOO SHE’S DONE” “BRO SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE JUST GOT BAPTIZED” She tried to focus - on them, on him, on anything but the searing need for air - but every time she tried to talk back, all she could give was a strangled, wet hum that vibrated down his shaft. Like, oh my God, they’re all watching me choke… She dug her nails into his hip, ponytail swaying as she forced herself to keep rhythm with his slow, merciless push. She wanted to last. She needed to last. For her brand. For the bragging rights. For that sweet, smug livestream moment where she could pull off and laugh in his face. The belt kept her from moving an inch. His foot pressed her soaked panties up into her clit, sending sharp, dizzying shocks through her core that made her knees shake. She moaned into him, the sound bubbling with spit, her eyes fluttering. “TIFFY NOOO I BET MY PAYCHECK” “SHE’S STILL PRETTY EVEN DYING WTF” “IMAGINE BEING THE DELIVERY GUY WALKING BY RN” Her free hand slid from his shaft to grip his thigh for balance as her legs began to tremble harder. You can do this… you can—fuck— Forty seconds. Her vision blurred at the edges. Her jaw ached. Her lungs screamed. She slapped his thigh once. Then twice. Then three times in rapid-fire desperation. Her body lurched back against the belt, throat convulsing hard as she broke off with a violent, wet gasp, coughing and sucking in air so fast it made her dizzy. Spit clung in long, messy strings from her lips to his cock, dripping down onto her chest, her gloss smeared in a pink halo around her mouth. “Ohmy—oh my god, babe—” she choked between ragged breaths, coughing once more before laughing shakily, her eyes glassy and cheeks streaked with mascara. “I—I tried—fuck, I tried so hard—I thought I was gonna, like… pass out and wake up with your dick in my spirit body.” “ROUND TWO ROUND TWO ROUND TWO” “DID SHE JUST SAY SPIRIT BODY???” “TIFF YOU JUST GAVE UP YOUR THROAT HYMEN” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still panting, still kneeling between his legs with her hands resting against his thighs. She looked up at him, a mix of awe, frustration, and bimbo pride burning in her blue eyes. “You win,” she admitted, breathless, chest heaving. “But ohmygod, I need to try again… I can do better, I swear—just, like… maybe without the whole ‘no breathing’ thing? Pretty please?”

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