"Halloween Tales" with Multiple Celebs

[TheLW]

Halloween Tales #1
With Sabrina Carpenter
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob, Handjob
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Halloween has always been one of my favorite times of year... the costumes, the creativity, and the over-the-top fun that comes with it. This October, I’m putting together a new series spotlighting some of my favorite celebrities and the unforgettable Halloween looks they’ve served up over the years.

The knock came heavy, almost impatient. When he opened the door, Sabrina stood there, one hand balancing a cardboard box against her hip, the other tugging her brown cap down just enough to shade her eyes. Her hair, long and blonde with warm honey tones, tumbled out in loose waves, brushing over the cropped brown shirt that clung tight to her chest. The shorts she wore were laughably small for a work uniform, hugging her curves, cinched with a black belt, and riding high above thigh-high suede boots.

“Delivery,” she said brightly, thrusting the box toward him. “Sign here.”

Her voice was professional enough, but her smirk gave her away. She glanced at him up and down as he took the package, eyes dragging slowly like she was already unwrapping something in her head.

He scribbled his name on the slip, then looked back at her. “That's it?”

“Not quite,” she said, stepping past the threshold before he could answer. The box landed with a dull thud on his hallway table, forgotten as she brushed by him. “I’m also here for... an inspection.”

He frowned slightly. “Inspection?”

She turned, leaning one gloved hand on his wall, the other tugging at her shorts like they were just a bit too snug. Her smile widened. “Yeah. Your package.” She let the words hang, her eyes deliberately dropping before she tilted her head back up to meet his. “It’s been flagged as... unusually large. Company policy says I’ve gotta verify that in person.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t remember signing up for that kind of service.”

“You don’t have to,” she shot back quickly, her tone dropping into something silkier. “It’s complimentary for customers who... measure up.”

She pushed off the wall and closed the gap between them, her boots clicking against the floor. When she stopped, barely a foot away, her perfume and the faint leather scent of her gloves wrapped around him. She tilted her chin, studying his face with mock seriousness.

“You don’t look nervous,” she murmured, “which tells me you’ve got nothing to hide. That’s good. I like a man who’s confident in his... shipments.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And if I fail the inspection?”

Sabrina’s grin widened, teeth catching her bottom lip for a moment before she let it go. “Then I guess I’ll just have to take a closer look. Thoroughly. Might take a while.”

She reached up, straightening his collar, fingertips grazing his neck. “So...” she whispered, leaning close enough that her breath tickled his ear, “are you gonna make me beg? Or are you gonna let me see what I came for?”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to tease her. “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in this shipment.”

Sabrina tilted her head, mock offense flashing across her face. “Oh, I think I can handle it. I’ve dealt with plenty of... complicated packages.” She tapped the box with a gloved finger, her grin widening. “Some of them even require a hands-on approach.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re too confident.”

“Confidence is part of the job,” she said, winking, “and luckily, I’m thorough.”

She stepped around the box, circling him slowly as if measuring up her next move. “You know,” she said, her voice dropping just slightly, “most people get nervous when I come by for inspections. But you... you’ve got that calm, steady vibe. That’s rare.”

Seconds later, Sabrina was down on her knees, my in her hand, as she spat on it, before pumping her hand in a back and forth motion, her wrist rolling with just the right pace. Her grip snug, the heel of her palm grinding at the base on every downward stroke. She looked up at me, her eyes a shade darker and ten times as mischievous. She drew her tongue around the head, slow and deliberate, flicking the frenum with a little tease, then replaced her hand with her lips until the heat of her mouth made me swallow hard.

“You look like you want to say something,” Sabrina said, pulling off with a pop, the smirk audible in her voice.

“But you don’t have to...” She wrapped her mouth around me again, taking me deeper.

She hummed, lewdly, as she took inch by inch of my dick, until her nose pressed against my skin. Her hand jerked in time with the movements of her mouth, the sensation incredible. She checked my reaction, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. Then she went back down, bobbing with a steady, practiced rhythm, each time angling her lips so the slide was both snug and wet.

Her free hand smoothed up my thigh, squeezing hard enough to leave a mark. I gripped the back of her head, just a little, and got a low, approving sound in return. She picked up the pace, pumping her fist at the base while her lips and tongue went to work higher up. The motions were synchrony: every time her hand twisted, her tongue flicked, and the combined sensations made it impossible to hold back a groan.

She smiled around me, the curve of her lips warped but unmistakable. At one point, she pulled off completely, saliva stringing from her lower lip to the tip. She jerked me hard, then slowly, her gloved thumb circling along the ridge, almost absentminded, as if she were daring me to brag about the “unusually large” package.

“Still think you’ll pass inspection?” she said, dragging her tongue from base to tip before swallowing me down again.

The confidence Sabrina had was insane. She never broke eye contact except to blink, and even that felt intentional, and strategic, like she already knew exactly how this would end.

I tried to bite back another moan but she must have heard the hitch in my breath, because she gave a sharp bob, fast, deep, sudden, like she’d just remembered a deadline, and I nearly buckled. My hand tightened in her hair and she rolled her eyes up in mock impatience, as if to say, “Amateur.”

Sabrina’s glove pressed against my thigh as she braced herself, took a deep inhale, and started working me with a new, vicious tempo. Where before she’d been playful, now she was relentless, the suction and the tongue and the gloved grip all orchestrated to ruin me, to drag out every twitch that she could.

“You do that for all your customers?” I asked.

“Just the exceptional ones,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re... fuck... really into this, aren’t you,” I said.

“Only when it’s a big package like this,” Sabrina answered back.

She went right back to work, this time with a teasing, lazy bob. She knew exactly how to pull me to the edge and then let me drift back. I watched her hair fall forward, the golden waves framing her face as she licked the underside of my cock like she was tasting something rare and expensive.

Her tongue did a slow, swirling lap around the head, then lingered in the slit, and I shuddered. “Fuck, Sabrina...” I managed, breathless.

I let her at it a while longer, lost in the rhythm and the warmth of her tongue. Sabrina’s confidence was intoxicating, and when I finally tugged her head back she was smiling up at me like she’d just aced an exam.

“Further inspection?” she prompted, but I didn’t give her a chance to get clever. I hauled her upright, spun her around, and mashed her up against the nearby table. Sabrina laughed, bracing one palm on the box and the other against the wall as I reached around her waist. “Careful,” she hissed over her shoulder, “that’s fragile merchandise.”

The UPS shorts were so small they looked sprayed on. Sabrina hooked her thumbs inside the waistband and, with a single practiced shimmy, peeled them down past her hips. It was somehow obscene and effortless at once, the shorts pooling at her boots while she grinned at me over her shoulder. I slid a hand over the curve of her ass, and she tensed just enough to flex beneath my touch, like she was waiting for a reaction. I gave it to her, one hard slap, not too rough, followed by a second, and a third hard slap.

Sabrina’s laughter spilled out, unfiltered and honest. “Didn’t peg you for an ass man,” she quipped, wiggling her hips.

I pressed up behind her, one hand bracing at her waist, the other running between her thighs. She was hot and slick and already open for me. “Just thorough,” I said, teasing her with slow, deliberate strokes. Her breath hitched, then steadied as she let her head fall forward, hair sweeping across her shoulders.

“Go on then,” Sabrina murmured. “Show me how you handle priority shipments.”

I pushed into her slowly, savoring the drawn-out gasp she gave. “No warning label?” I asked, nudging deeper. The joke barely landed because the feeling of her around me was so fucking good.

She arched her back and pushed harder against my hips. “Didn’t think you’d need one,” she shot back.

The rhythm built quickly. Sabrina rocked back with every thrust, meeting me stroke for stroke, her boot heels scraping against the floor for traction. She was so goddamn perfect, I lost my rhythm for a second and had to grab her hips with both hands, steady myself, and slam back into her harder.

“Jesus,” she gasped.

“Too much?” I asked, knowing full well it wasn’t.

She tossed her hair back, eyes wild, mouth curling into a devilish little grin. “You couldn’t break me if you tried.”

Challenge accepted. I drove into her harder, my hips snapping with every thrust, the smack of skin and her open, hungry moans echoing up the hallway. Her boots kept slipping on the hardwood, so she dug her toes in and pushed off, meeting me thrust for thrust, like she was daring me to go even faster.

I let my hand tangle in her hair, dragged her head back, and pressed my lips to her neck, biting down just enough to leave a mark. She shuddered, then twisted her body so she could look at me over her shoulder, eyes narrow and hot. I pounded her, fast and with a force I half-suspected would have winded anyone else, but she didn’t flinch. Sabrina’s hips slammed back into mine, her back arched until every muscle in her body was a perfect flex.

The table rattled under us, the box skittering toward the edge, close to toppling. She reached back blindly, palm colliding with my thigh, gripping tight, urging me deeper. It was a test, and I fucking rose to it.

I felt her vibrate around me, hot and wild, and she didn’t beg or plead, she just met every move with another challenge. I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to. My thighs slapped against the backs of hers, every thrust quickened as I slid in and out of Sabrinaès amazing sex hole.

Sabrina’s voice was still sharp, but threaded with an edge that was less about jokes and more about how fucking good it felt. She shifted her stance, wider now, bracing both hands on the table so it didn’t rattle out from under us.

“Damn, you’re thorough,” Sabrina said, twisting her torso so she could see my face. Her eyes were wild, pupils blown wide. “You should’ve asked for express delivery.”

“I thought this was the express,” I managed to answer back.

Sabrina laughed, but the sound cut off when I nailed her with another deep thrust. She let both arms go flat against the table, head down, back arched in a perfect C, her hips shoving back to swallow every inch of me. The slap of my skin against her ass echoed through the hall, quick and relentless. I felt her tighten up, the muscles in her thighs and around my cock clenching, then fluttering, little aftershocks with every stroke.

She wasn’t the type to ask for anything, but I could tell by the way she squirmed and the noises that started slipping out, softer, more desperate, that she was right at the edge. I buried a hand between her legs, fingers slick and slippery, pressed hard against her clit. Sabrina made a strangled sound, half growl, half gasp, and she came so much I thought she’d buck me off. Instead, she just clamped down harder, her pussy spasming around me, milking every inch. I felt the wetness gushing down my cock, her whole body trembling as she rode out the intense orgasam.

"Fuck," Sabrina gasped, "keep going, don't stop..."

I didn’t stop. If anything, the way she bucked and shook just spurred me to keep pounding her, each thrust now slick with her pussy juice, each thrust messier, greedier, the constant moaning sound, escaping her throat, egging me on. I clutched her hips so hard my fingers dug into her skin, rutting her from behind with a single-mindedness that made my brain go static. Sabrina found more leverage, her ass slamming into me with every drive of my rock hard cock inside of her.

I didn't, not for even a second, burying myself balls-deep in her until her body was pushed against the table. Sweat gathered at the nape of her neck, and I leaned in to lick a bead from her shoulder blade. Her pussy clamped down again and again, milking the length of my cock, and she came a second time.

I was close myself, dangerously close, and Sabrina felt it, her hips bucked like she wanted to wring the last ounce of resistance out of me. I gritted my teeth, held out as long as I could, then slammed into her so hard. My whole body tightened. I throbbed inside of her, and Sabrina moaned, deep and satisfied, angling herself to take every last drop of my baby batter, that filled her well fucked cunt up.

For a few seconds we just hung there, Sabrina’s body shivering, my own arms trembling with the aftershocks. Even after I softened, she kept her spot braced against the table, chin dropped to her chest, hair a curtain over her face. Eventually she straightened, flexing her hips with an exaggerated shudder, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

Eventually, she straightened, adjusting her cap with flair. “Inspection complete,” she said with a mischievous grin. “And I have to admit... you passed.”

I chuckled, still catching my breath from her teasing energy. “Glad to hear it.”

She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable. There’s always room for... follow-ups. You never know when I might pop by again. And trust me... I don’t leave things unfinished.”

With a playful toss of her hair, she slipped out the door, leaving me grinning at the doorway. The air still hummed with her energy. Some deliveries, I realized, weren’t about the box at all, they were about the spark. And with Sabrina, the sparks weren’t over yet.

The End

[TheLW]

Halloween Tales #2
With Selena Gomez
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Selena had planned for a quiet Halloween.

No parties. No late-night chaos. Just her, her couch, a huge bowl of candy by the front door, and maybe a few horror movies playing in the background. She wasn't in the mood for crowds, but she wasn’t about to pass up the chance to wear the perfect costume.

Her Scarlet Witch costume? Flawless.

Deep crimson corset, dramatic matching gloves, boots that hugged her legs just right, and the unmistakable crown-shaped headpiece that rested on her brow like it belonged there. Her hair was curled and flowing, her makeup bold and sharp. She didn’t dress up for anyone.

She dressed up because it felt good.

The doorbell rang.

Selena grabbed the candy bowl and opened the door with a practiced smile, then paused.

Standing there was a man, early to mid-thirties, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in casual jeans and a flannel shirt that fit a little too well. And holding his hand was a little girl wearing the most classic Halloween costume in the book, a bright pink princess dress with sparkly tulle, a plastic tiara tilting slightly on her head, and a wand clutched tightly in her other hand.

“Trick or treat!” she chirped.

Selena grinned. “Now that,” she said, kneeling slightly to offer candy, “is a proper Halloween princess. All hail.”

The little girl giggled as she accepted a chocolate bar. “Thank you, Miss Witch Lady!”

The man smirked. “Not just any witch. That’s Scarlet Witch, right?”

Selena raised a brow, impressed. “Someone knows their Marvel.”

He nodded. “Guilty. And for the record, you’re killing that costume.”

But just as the words left her mouth, the little girl let out a soft yelp, her sneaker slipped on the step, and she stumbled forward, scraping her knee against the stone walkway.

“Whoa, hey, hey...” the man scooped her up instantly. “You okay, sweetheart?”

The girl sniffled and looked down. A line of blood had appeared just below her knee.

Selena’s tone softened. “I’ve got a first aid kit inside. Let me help, come on, it’s no trouble.”

“You sure?” the man asked.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it,” she said, already holding the door open.

Inside, her home was warm and inviting, glowing softly with orange fairy lights and a few flickering jack-o'-lanterns on the window sill. A scary movie played in the background at low volume. The whole place had that peaceful, lived-in energy.

She led them to the kitchen and pulled out a small first aid kit. While the man gently set his niece on a stool, Selena knelt in front of her.

“Alright, Princess,” she said gently. “This might sting a little, but you’ll be back to ruling your candy kingdom in no time.”

The girl nodded bravely, flinching only slightly as Selena cleaned and dressed the wound. When she was done, she handed her a lollipop with a wink.

“Battle scars build character.”

The girl smiled and wandered toward the couch, entranced by the black-and-white movie on screen.

Selena stood, meeting the man's eyes.

“Thanks for that,” he said, sounding genuinely grateful. “I should’ve been watching her better.”

“She’s fine. Kids bounce,” Selena said. “And you got her here fast. That’s solid uncle work.”

He smiled again. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Selena.”

He blinked. “Like... the Selena?”

She shrugged. “Depends who's asking.”

He laughed. “Just a guy trying to keep his niece from taking out her knees and apparently way underdressed for the moment.”

Selena leaned against the counter, her cape draping softly behind her. “You’re not doing too bad. Flannel works.”

“You’re being generous,” he said, then glanced at his niece. “She talked me into glitter earlier. It’s still on my ear.”

Selena looked, smirked. “Yup. It’s there. She got you good.”

Matt sighed dramatically. “I’m never living it down.”

A pause settled between them, not awkward, just full of something unspoken. She glanced toward the door, then back to him.

“Well... if you’re heading back after this, and once the Princess is safely returned to her castle...” She hesitated for just a second. “You should stop by again.”

Matt looked at her. “Really?”

She nodded. “I mean, I’ll still be here. Still dressed like this. Still handing out candy. Could be worse ways to spend a little extra time.”

He smiled, this time, slower. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Selena watched them walk back down the path, the girl now skipping despite her bandaged knee.

She closed the door slowly and exhaled, a small grin tugging at her lips.

Quiet Halloween?

Not anymore.

About forty-five minutes had passed.

The porch light still glowed faintly, casting soft shadows across Selena’s living room. A few jack-o'-lanterns flickered near the window, and the opening credits of a horror movie played quietly from the TV. She sat on the couch in her Scarlet Witch costume, now minus the gloves, her legs curled under her and a slight flutter in her chest that hadn’t been there earlier.

The doorbell rang again.

She opened it to find Matt, still in that damn flannel, now without the glitter. His hair was a little tousled, and there was a new kind of nervousness in his smile. The kind that came with showing up alone.

“Told you I’d come back,” he said.

Selena smirked. “You’re lucky I left the lights on.”

He stepped in, and she closed the door behind him. “Want some wine?”

“Sure,” he said, glancing around. “Looks like you’ve still got a whole setup here.”

“I was waiting for the right co-star,” she said, heading into the kitchen.

She poured two glasses, nothing fancy, just something smooth and red. When she handed his over, their fingers brushed. She didn’t pull away right away. Neither did he.

They took their spots on the couch, close, but not too close. The horror movie had already started, something moody and slow-burning, more eerie atmospheric than jump scares. Perfect background noise.

Selena sipped her wine.

“So,” she said, keeping her voice light, “glad you got the niece home safely?”

“She was out cold before I even buckled her in,” Matt said with a chuckle. “Sugar crash hit like a truck.”

“Been there,” she replied, sipping again. “She’s sweet. You've got uncle points for sure.”

“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself,” he added, nudging her knee gently with his. “You really handled that cut like a pro.”

Selena raised an eyebrow. “I’ve dealt with worse. Ever seen a kid puke blue Jolly Rancher on a $3,000 rug? This was easy.”

Another glass of wine later, the space between them had shrunk considerably. The banter was flowing now, light teasing, shared glances, that familiar tension that builds when both people feel it but haven’t acknowledged it out loud.

Selena felt the warmth spreading, not just from the alcohol, but from the connection that she felt, every time Matt looked at her just a second too long.

She shifted slightly, facing him, her expression softer now. Her eyes dipped to his lips for the briefest second before meeting his again.

“Hey...” she said.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in a little.

And that’s when she kissed him.

Not shy. Not hesitant. Just a lean-in, lips meeting his in a smooth, unexpected motion. It wasn’t planned. It just... happened.

Matt froze for half a heartbeat, caught completely off guard, but his hand found her waist without thinking. When she started to pull back, a look of self-consciousness in her eyes, he stopped her with the lightest touch on her side.

“You caught me by surprise,” he said.

“Was that... okay?” she asked.

Matt’s fingers brushed her hip gently. “You kidding? I’ve been trying not to do that since you opened the damn door.”

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not done yet.”

Selena didn’t wait for a response this time.

She leaned in again, slower now, but with purpose. Her hand slid up his chest as their mouths met once more, lips parting almost instinctively. This kiss was different, deeper. More intentional.

Matt responded immediately, his hand resting on her hip as their kiss grew in intensity. Tongues met, cautiously at first, then more confidently, exploring the space between them like they’d both been holding back since the moment he knocked on her door.

She tasted wine on his breath, warm and earthy, and the subtle heat of it mixed with the rush of adrenaline humming under her skin. His other hand moved to her thigh. Selena shifted closer, her body pressing softly against his. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as their kiss deepened, lips moving together in sync with one another.

Every brush of their tongues sparked something that made her feel just a little more weightless. Just a little less in control. When they finally broke apart for breath, she lingered close, her forehead resting lightly against his.

“Okay... so definitely not just a post-trick-or-treat check-in.”

Selena gave a low laugh, her voice soft, sultry. “You’re a little slow on the uptake.”

“I’m catching up,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over her side. “Fast.”

Selena lingered in Matt’s arms, lips tingling, breath warm against his cheek. Their bodies were flush now, her leg pressed against his as his hand traced the shape of her hip.

“I’ve been thinking about this costume all night,” Matt murmured, voice low and rough at the edges.

“Oh?” she said, tilting her head slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Which part?”

“All of it,” he said, hand sliding up the curve of her waist. “But mostly how good you'd look out of it.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly.

Selena leaned back just enough to lock eyes with him, giving him a moment. No pressure. Just silent permission.

He moved slowly, almost reverently, his fingers sliding to the clasp behind her cape. With a gentle tug, it slipped from her shoulders and fell across the back of the couch. His hands found the edge of her corset next, thumbs brushing the exposed skin above her hips.

She shivered at the contact, her hands still resting on his chest. Her pulse was steady, but loud.

The zipper was discreet, hidden beneath the deep red fabric, and as he found it, his eyes stayed on hers.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Selena nodded once, deliberately. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t.”

With care, he pulled the zipper down, slowly. The sound of it cutting through the quiet room was somehow louder than the dialogue from the movie still playing in the background. The corset loosened around her frame, and she let him peel it off inch by inch, revealing the soft, flushed skin beneath.

His breath caught. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath it.

Matt let his hands rest on her waist, taking in the sight, like he didn’t want to rush it. Like he respected the hell out of it. Selena leaned in again, kissing him deeper this time, her bare chest pressed against his shirt, her fingers moving with purpose now, slipping buttons loose one by one.

The shirt came off. Then came his undershirt. And then her hands were on his skin, warm and firm and wanting more.

He kissed down her neck, slow and hungry, while her head tilted back against the couch cushion. Her hands found his belt, tugging at it with unspoken urgency. And he let her, letting the rhythm of the moment take over, no scripts, just instinct.

Selena shifted, her body pressing flush against Matt’s as she straddled his lap. Heat radiated between them, the small space of the couch amplified every sensation, the brush of his hands across her back, the way his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her in place.

She hovered, just for a breath. His hands slid instinctively to her thighs, thumbs firm at the soft outside edge, his eyes searching her face for another one of those nods she gave when she wanted something. Selena hooked her hand behind his neck and angled his mouth to hers, held it there as she teased her hips forward and down in a slow, maddening grind that aligned her slit to his cock.

She hadn’t done this, straddling a man like she owned him, pinning his hands with nothing but pressure and intent, in a long time. And Matt was big enough that her body had to accommodate him in gentle degrees, a negotiation of space and sensation that left her breathless.

With Matt’s cock now embedded in her sex hole, Selena started bouncing up and down, on his cock. She rocked her hips forward, slow, then faster, drawing herself up and back down, each movement a taunt. There was something electric in being like this, perched atop him, every inch of her exposed. He gripped Selena’s waist, fingers against her skin, but she set the pace and he followed.

Selena rolled her hips in a slow, testing circle and the sensation flickered through her like a lit match. Matt’s head tipped back, jaw flexing, but he held her gaze from under his lashes. The way he watched her, hungry, reverent, made her want to put on a show. Selena steadied herself, planting her palms on his shoulders, rising higher and slamming back down on his shaft.

He responded with a ragged, “Fuck,” barely audible above the TV, hands splaying further across her back, thumbs pressing below her ribs. Selena leaned down and kissed him, biting gently at his lip, then pulled back to lock eyes again. She tugged at his hair and nipped his jaw, tasting the salt on his skin. “You like this?” she murmured, though it was barely a question. She could see it written across his face, jaw tight, brow furrowed, mouth open just enough to let the sounds escape. He nodded, once, and she rewarded him by shifting her angle, clenching around him.

Selena shifted her knees, planted her feet firmer into the couch, and rode him in earnest now, the movement of her hips steady, intent, building an irresistible pressure with each thrust. He moved with her, rising to meet every grind, every downward slide, matching her rhythm but letting her drive. His hands explored her body, mapping the soft curve of her ass before one hand moved to cradle the back of her head, holding her close for a kiss she felt down to her toes.

“Ugh, so good,” Selena moaned out, as she rocked her hips.

It was fast and hot and wild, every sense tuned to the pitch of Matt’s body beneath hers, his gasps and half-words as she bounced and rocked and flexed, the heat of his skin under her palms. Selena’s sweat-slicked breasts pressed against his chest.

Matt’s hands slid from her ass to her thighs and back, greedy for leverage or anchoring or maybe just to prove to himself that yes, this was real. The feel of his hands, warm, callused, steady, reminded her how perfectly, unexpectedly, they fit. She rode him with a confidence she’d forgotten she possessed, the kind that required no audience, just the chemistry that hovered between two people who’d waited an hour (or maybe a lifetime) too long for this.

Selena’s thighs started to tremble, that sweet burn hot in her muscles. She braced herself on his shoulders and leaned into it, into him, his cock so deep it threatened to knock the air from her lungs. He matched her rhythm, each thrust up timed to meet her tempo, neither one quite ready to cede control. She felt sweat beading along her spine, a testament to exertion and anticipation, and her hair started to stick to her neck, wild and untamed and exactly right.

“Jesus, Selena,” Matt said, breaking the air between them with a ragged gasp.

He cupped her breast, thumb circling the nipple, and watched her, as he cupped and thumb circled, rolling the peak of her breast between his fingers until it ached. It surprised her, the way he zeroed in on what felt good, how focused he seemed on her. Not just the shape of her, or the show, but the way it made her moan, the way her body shuddered in tiny, involuntary spasms.

Selena felt the build coming, low and right where she needed it, and she closed her eyes, letting the raw passion take her. She grinded down harder. Matt’s hands steadied her ass, pushing her down as he thrust up, and she tensed, thighs trembling, a laugh tumbling out of her throat because she couldn’t fucking help it, she hadn't felt this good since... ever, maybe.

Her orgasm caught her off guard, hot and sharp, taking her with a shudder, her hips stuttering as she gasped out his name. Fuck, it was good.

“Matt...” she breathed, voice ragged, “I’m gonna...”

He surged up, mouth on her neck, and she exploded, hips jerking, the tight coil inside unwinding in a riot of sensation, pulse racing through her every nerve ending. The world blurred. Selena vaguely heard herself cry out, the sound tumbling out of her mouth. Her body locked and then shuddered, wild and desperate, and she dug her nails into his shoulders because there was nothing else to hold on to.

Matt held her steady through it, kissed her when she couldn't catch her breath, didn't let go until the tremors faded. Even then, he didn’t rush, just kept his arms around her, his cock still buried deep, his body shaking a little with restraint.

She pressed her face to his neck and exhaled, skin tingling, every muscle drained and deliciously loose. Selena lifted her head, hair sticking to her temple, and looked at Matt. He looked back, somewhere between dazed and worshipful, sweat glinting on his brow. Crimson lipstick smeared along his mouth and chin in streaks.

“You okay there?” she asked.

“I... yeah,” he managed, breath hitching. “I will be.”

The movie credits rolled quietly, but neither Selena nor Matt moved from the couch. They were still close, tangled in the quiet aftermath, but the energy between them had shifted, less urgency now, more tentative curiosity. Selena’s hair fanned across his chest, her fingers brushing against his arm almost by accident, and she caught herself smiling at how unexpectedly... right this felt.

Matt let out a soft laugh, nervous and low. “Wow. That... was something.”

Selena’s laugh came next, a little breathless, a little shy. “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting... any of this tonight.”

He turned his head slightly, looking down at her. “Me neither.”

They shared a quiet smile, a little awkward, a little tender, like two strangers discovering there might be something worth holding onto. Outside, the sounds of Halloween, the kids, the laughter, the crisp night air, reminded them that the world was still moving, but here, in this small, dimly lit living room, time felt suspended.

Selena tilted her head up, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “So... first impressions?”

Matt grinned, a little sheepishly. “Better than I could’ve imagined.”

Her laugh softened, a warmth lingering in the corners of her mouth. “Mine too.”

They settled into the quiet together, words unnecessary, hearts racing just enough to know this night had changed something neither of them expected. For a first meeting, it was undeniably... promising.

The End

[TheLW]

Halloween Tales #3
With Kelli Berglund and Paris Berelc
Written by TheLW
Codes: MFF, Interracial, Oral, Rough Sex
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

The music throbbed like a heartbeat inside the penthouse suite, a decadent Halloween party packed shoulder to shoulder with costumed chaos. Lights flickered. Glasses clinked. And in the middle of it all, they walked in.

Paris led, always. The red latex dress sculpted her figure like it had been vacuum-sealed to every curve. Her matching red gloves shimmered under the lights, fingers trailing slowly over her hips as she sauntered in like she owned the place. Her devil horns glinted. Her eyes were locked forward. Every step was a dare wrapped in stiletto-clicks. She radiated danger, not the kind you run from, but the kind you pray notices you.

Just behind her, tethered by loyalty and lust, was Kelli. Her black vinyl nurse costume left very little to the imagination, and the rest? It invited your imagination to go completely off the rails. Fishnets. Garter straps. Glossy black gloves that hugged her arms like secrets. Her platinum waves bounced with each step, and her eyes stayed fixed on Paris’s back like she’d follow her straight into hell... and beg to go deeper.

Paris scanned the room with a gaze, dismissive, hungry, deliberate. Until she stopped. Kelli noticed the stillness and turned her head. That’s when they saw him.

Malik Carter stood near the bar, casually sipping from a crystal tumbler like the entire room was moving around him. No costume, just clean, jet-black tailored slacks, a crimson dress shirt unbuttoned just low enough to tease a hard chest, and a dark velvet blazer thrown on like afterthought. His skin was rich, deep brown, smooth under the lights, and his posture, God, his posture, relaxed but undeniably alpha. Confident. Calculated. Dangerous.

Paris slowed her stride, lips curling into a smirk.

"That one," she said to Kelli, not breaking eye contact with him for a second.

Kelli followed her gaze, already biting her lower lip. “God, yes.”

When he caught sight of Paris, his gaze didn’t waver. No double-take. Just that calm, unreadable smirk as he set his glass down slowly and watched her approach.

The two approached like a matched pair of heat-seeking missiles, but it was Paris who reached him first. She let her fingers trail the rim of his glass before resting her palm on the bar next to his.

“I hope that drink’s not the most exciting thing you’ve touched all night,” she said, her tone dipped in silk and smirk.

Malik tilted his head, a smile playing across his lips. “Depends... have I touched you yet?”

Paris laughed, short, genuine, dangerous. “You wish.”

He chuckled, letting his eyes drift briefly to Kelli, who stood just behind her, eyes wide, lip caught between her teeth, body leaning forward ever so slightly, like she couldn’t help herself.

“She’s cute,” Malik said with a nod toward Kelli. “But you...” he looked back at Paris, “...you’re definitely trouble.”

Paris leaned in, just close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off her body. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” he said. “I like bad things.”

Kelli finally stepped in closer, voice like warm honey. “We’re not just bad,” she said, smile shy and wicked at the same time. “We’re... addictive.”

Malik didn’t look away. His eyes flicked between them, like a man trying to decide between lightning and wildfire, knowing damn well he wanted both.

He set his glass down, slow and smooth. “Then I guess I’m ready to ruin my life.”

Paris’s grin was pure fire. “Only for the night, baby. We’re generous like that.”

And with that, she turned on her heel. Kelli followed, brushing her fingers gently over Malik’s arm as she passed. Malik didn’t hesitate, he followed, drink forgotten, heart pounding.

The party didn’t even notice them leaving.

The hallway was quieter, barely. Muffled music thumped through the walls, distant laughter echoed from the main room, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with Paris leading the way, hips swaying with unhurried confidence, her red-gloved hand trailing along the wall like she was marking territory.

Behind her, Malik followed, his stride calm but eyes locked. Kelli walked beside him, one step closer now, like the silence gave her permission to inch nearer. She looked up at him and smiled, that perfect mix of nervous and eager.

Paris stopped in front of a half-cracked door and glanced back over her shoulder. One brow raised.

“Locked or not,” she said, “this one’s ours.”

She nudged it open with a flick of her fingers and stepped inside like she owned the whole damn suite. The room was dimly lit, the glow from the hallway casting long shadows over an unmade king-sized bed, forgotten champagne flutes on the nightstand, and clothes that didn’t belong to any of them strewn across a chair in the corner. Clearly abandoned.

“Perfect,” Paris said, as if the mess were a red carpet. “Just enough chaos.”

Kelli was already closing the door behind them, fingers brushing the lock into place with a click. She turned to Malik, eyes filled with anticipation.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice soft but playful. “We don’t usually share our toys.”

Malik stepped forward, hands sliding into his pockets like he had all the time in the world, but his eyes were burning. “I’m not a toy,” he said with a smirk.

Paris was in front of him before the words even cooled on his tongue. She reached up, tugging gently at his blazer, pulling it off his shoulders like unwrapping something expensive. “Good,” she said, tossing it aside. “We like the ones that fight back... a little.”

Kelli moved to his side, fingers brushing his shirt, teasing along a button without undoing it, yet. She looked at Paris for a cue, always waiting for permission, and Paris gave it with a subtle nod.

That’s all it took.

Kelli stepped in close, resting her hand on Malik’s chest, the vinyl of her glove squeaking faintly as she pressed against the fabric.

Paris leaned in close, just enough to meet his eyes. Kelli leaned into his side like temptation incarnate, her hands gliding down his chest.

“You’re calm,” Paris said, voice low, sultry. Her gloved hand traced a single line down his shirt, barely touching. “Most men would be stumbling over themselves by now.”

“I’m not most men,” Malik said, steady as ever, though his breath hitched just slightly when Kelli’s hand slid beneath his blazer, brushing his side with that teasing slowness only she could pull off.

Paris’s smile curled at the corners. “We’re counting on that.”

Kelli moved now with more boldness, encouraged by the nod she’d been given, her fingers undoing the first button on Malik’s shirt, slow and precise. Then the second. Each one a quiet little thrill. She rested her chin briefly on his shoulder, whispering near his ear, “He smells good...”

Paris stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching, her red-gloved hand moving to his collar, brushing against Kelli’s fingertips as she worked the buttons. Their hands overlapped, danced, teased around him, Malik standing still, letting it happen, letting them take him apart like he was a gift they were carefully unwrapping together.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His smirk said plenty.

Paris leaned in again, lips grazing the corner of his jaw, just a ghost of a touch. “Here’s how this works,” she said, voice like velvet draped over a blade. “You don’t get to lead. You don’t get to ask. You get to keep up... or fall behind.”

Kelli giggled softly against his neck, now unfastening the last button and sliding her hands up his bare chest. “We hope you can keep up,” she whispered.

Paris pulled back enough to take him in, shirt undone, blazer gone, tension clinging to his skin. She reached up, gloved fingers gripping his jaw with just enough pressure to let him know, she wasn’t playing.

“You ready for this?” she asked, not as a question, but as a warning.

Malik’s response was nothing more than a nod, his smirk still hanging there like a challenge.

Paris released his chin, turned to Kelli, and said with authority, “On the bed.”

Kelli obeyed instantly, slipping away with a sway in her step and a hunger in her eyes. She crawled onto the king-sized mattress like it was familiar, sinking into the plush sheets and looking back over her shoulder at the two still standing.

Paris stood at the edge of the bed, her gaze shifting from Malik to Kelli, who was already on her knees at the center of the mattress, looking up at them with wide, eager eyes.

“She listens to me,” Paris said, calm and unflinching. “Always.”

Malik’s brow lifted slightly, reading the look between the two women, how Kelli didn’t move until Paris gave the smallest nod. How the hunger in Kelli’s eyes wasn’t just for him... it was for obedience.

“She likes it when it hurts a little,” Paris continued, her tone like smoke. “Hair pulled. Being Choked. A good hard spanking. But only when I say so.”

Malik stepped closer, his voice low. “And you’re saying so?”

Paris smirked. “I am.”

Kelli bit her bottom lip, breath hitching as she looked at Malik, waiting. Wanting. Her whole body responded not just to him, but to her, to Paris’s command.

Paris circled around behind Kelli, fingers threading gently through the platinum waves of her hair.

“She’s mine,” she said, tugging just enough to make Kelli gasp. “But tonight... I’m letting you use her.”

With that Malik got on the bed behind Kelli, he adjusted his grip on Kelli’s hips. The latex of her micro-skirt squeaked beneath his fingers, yielding to skin so soft it didn’t seem real. One quick glance at Paris, she’d perched herself at the head of the bed, straddling a pillow, hands braced behind her, watching. Her tongue just grazed her upper lip.

He watched Kelli’s back arch, the ripple of tension as she pressed her hands into the messy sheets, ass tipping up for him. She was humming with anticipation, skin prickled, hair mussed where Paris had already yanked it. Malik pushed his slacks down just enough, freed himself, and guided the head of his cock to her. The heat, her heat, was maddening, slick and ready, and he eased just the tip inside, savoring the way her hips squirmed, legs trembling, until Paris said, “Hold,” and Kelli froze like a statue.

Malik didn’t stop. He pressed in and in, filling her until she whimpered, then let himself pull back, only to push deeper the next time. She was tight, clutching around him, every muscle in her thighs straining under the effort of waiting when she was told. It was the most intoxicating show of power Malik had ever seen.

Paris watched from her throne at the headboard, her legs crossed, latex shining in the low light. Malik’s eyes kept flicking back to her, hunting for approval, catching every hint of a grin or half-lidded dare. He picked up the rhythm she wanted, hard, then harder, until every thrust made Kelli’s breath catch, an aria of gasps muffled in the crook of her elbow.

Malik’s hand crept up Kelli’s spine, fingers splayed, until he reached the back of her neck. He gave a glance at Paris. She nodded once, slow, a ceremonial gesture.

He tightened his grip, just enough. Kelli’s body went soft between his hands, her whole weight sagging in surrender. That sent a pulse through Malik’s chest, something he didn’t want to name. He pulled her closer, angled her back, and fucked her like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. Maybe he had.

Paris slid forward, gloves creaking against the sheets, so that her face hovered inches from Kelli’s. “Good girl,” she purred.

Paris reached out, caught Kelli’s jaw in her latexed grip. The nurse made a soft, involuntary whimper, then Paris slapped her, flat-palmed and sharp. The echo snapped against the walls, leaving a red bloom on Kelli’s cheek. Before the sting even registered, Paris struck again, the other side, a perfect mirror. Kelli’s breath hitched. Even Malik, braced behind her, felt the shiver ripple down her spine. The third slap landed harder, a crack like a starter pistol, and Kelli’s eyes shone, glassy with hunger and shining with tears.

Paris’s voice was so low that only the two of them could hear, “Who do you belong to?”

Kelli’s answer was desperate, gasping out between sobs and moans. “You, Paris. Only you.”

Paris grinned, smooth and vicious. Her hands guided Kelli forward by the hair, dragging her until Kelli’s face hovered inches from the red latex dress. Malik’s grip slipped free, but he watched, transfixed, as Paris wound her legs apart, hiked the skirt up, nothing underneath but her own gleaming, slick skin.

“Show him how you beg,” Paris said, and shoved Kelli’s face between her thighs.

Kelli’s face crashed into Paris’s heat, and Paris arched, glorying in the immediate, hungry flick of her tongue. Kelli whimpered as she licked, open-mouthed, desperate, nose mashed deep in latex folds, hands clutching at Paris’s thighs for purchase. Malik, still hard and throbbing, pulled back to watch, his breath coming in shallow. He didn’t want to interrupt the view, the sight of Kelli kneeling, worshipping, was almost enough to bring him off right then.

Paris held Kelli in place, pressed tight, her other hand winding carefully into Kelli’s curls to keep her steady. She was already trembling from the rush, the sharp sting of earlier slaps still glowing in her palms. She loosened her hold just enough for Kelli to breathe, and the girl gasped, licking up along the slick seam, then again, frantic, as if she could never get enough. A quick glance up at Malik, and Paris saw his jaw clench, saw the desire stamped right there, raw and honest. It made her shudder.

“Don’t you dare come,” Paris hissed, voice pointed at Kelli but meant for both. "Not without my say-so."

Paris’s mouth parted, a soft gasp stretching into a stifled moan, and her thighs cradled Kelli’s face like a vise.

He wanted to hear it, to see it, but Paris’s eyes locked on his, her cruelty the only invitation he needed. She grinned at him with bared teeth, white and wicked.

“Harder,” she ordered.

Paris rolled her hips, slow, obscene, forcing Kelli’s tongue deeper until there was no air, just Paris, the spice of her sweat, the tang, her own moans echoing out. She gasped into Paris, Paris felt the quiver in Kelli’s breath, saw the tremor through her spine. Malik continued to set a rhythm, slow at first, then mean, driving in harder with each thrust. Each time Kelli tried to catch her breath, Malik knocked it out of her all over again, harder, deeper, the kind of fucking that left bruises on the inside

Kelli’s ass, glossy and round in the smeared black vinyl, bucked back blindly, grinding against him with a force that was half desperate, half mechanical. He grabbed both cheeks, spreading her open, watching the latex ride up and fold against her trembling skin. He pushed in deep. She shrieked into Paris’s thighs, muffled, and Malik nearly lost it right there.

Paris’s moans were different from Kelli’s, lower, almost a growl, insistent. She rode Kelli’s mouth hard, grinding with such abandon that the headboard banged quietly against the wall. Malik’s eyes locked to Paris’s: she glowed. Paris made a show of it, knowing he was watching.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Paris gasped, voice frayed and sharp as she angled her hips to force Kelli in deeper. “She’s not delicate, Malik. Make her fucking earn it.”

Malik did just that, leaning over, and wrapping a hand around Kelli’s throat, a moment later, he squeezed tighter, thumb pressed firmly into the hollow of Kelli’s throat. Malik loved the shockwaves that ran through Kelli, her body caught mid-tremor, mouth open and pressed to Paris’s love mound, but needing air, not getting it, not unless Paris or Malik decided she could. He rammed into her with a savage roll, using her neck as leverage, and Kelli’s whole body jerked, the cords of her arms flexing as she clung to Paris’s hips like a drowning girl.

Kelli wasn’t struggling, not really. She was giving herself over, that much was obvious in the way her legs began to shake, her knees digging for purchase on the sheets. Malik leaned forward, chest to her slick, trembling back, lips to her ear, just to taste the leap in her breath, if she could have breathed.

Malik wound his fist tight in Kelli’s hair and yanked her upright. She yelped and Paris laughed, delighted, her lipstick smeared and glistening. Kelli’s mascara streaked down her cheeks, eyes glassy, mouth parted and wet. He set the pace relentless, hips slamming into Kelli again and again. Her moans were helpless, high and ragged, nearly drowning out Paris’s lower, needful sounds above.

Malik watched Paris, needed to see the approval, the dark gleam in the demon-queen’s eyes. Paris was seething, lips curled, eyes not leaving his for a second. As Malik continued to fuck Kelli, good and hard, one hard thrust after the other, sliding in and out, Kelli shrieked like a banshee.

“I told you not to come,” Paris said. She almost laughed. She sounded winded.

Kelli’s eyes were streaming, nose running, voice all cracked open. “I didn’t, I promise.”

Paris turned to Malik, her voice daring him to contradict. “Did she?”

He shook his head no.

Paris felt her own arousal as a bright, searing line down her body, all nerve and nowhere to go except forward, on, more. She slapped Kelli again, this time across the mouth, and the latex left a perfect red streak. Kelli’s eyes shined up at her, wild and pleading, but there was no fear. Just want, pure and total lust.

“Open,” Paris commanded.

Kelli’s jaw dropped, tongue out, breath already wrecked. Seconds later, Paris ended up squirting into her bitch’s mouth.

“She keeps this up, she’s gonna make me come in two more minutes,” Malik muttered, guttural, almost embarrassed by the need in his own voice.

Paris’s eyes flicked up, sharp as daggers. “No,” she said, as she locked eyes with Malik, “pull out, I want your cock.”

Malik didn’t hesitate, not even a fraction of a beat. He pulled out of Kelli, her body trembling, mascara rorschach’d across her face, open mouth. He wanted to fuck both of them, but Paris was center of attention, around which all gravity bent, and in that moment her hunger uprooted every other orbit.

Paris had already slithered onto her back, legs spread, latex peeling up her thigh. She eyed Malik with a delightful smile, that perfect, mocking smirk as she crooked a finger and beckoned him forward.

He knelt between her thighs, and as he did, Paris pulled him down by the back of his neck, their mouths almost touching, her breath hot and sharp against his face. “You’re gonna work for it,” she whispered, then bit his jaw hard enough he’d wear the bruise tomorrow.

That was the cue. Malik slid his cock along the velvet line of her, teased her opening with just the tip. She didn’t wait for ceremony, she grabbed the base and lined him up herself, her own cunt so slick she could smell it, a rich, animal perfume. He pushed forward, slow but insistent, and she felt the stretch as he filled her, not gentle, not at all.

There was heat everywhere. Pressure fused into pleasure. She locked her heels behind his back, digging them in, and with one sharp yank pulled him forward. God, but he was thick. He fit her perfectly, hitting deep.

Paris let her head fall back, hair fanned over the pillow, the latex hugging her chest so each inhale threatened to burst the seams. She clamped down on him, milking each thrust, savoring the way his hands found her hips, squeezing so hard she’d have bruises for a week, a souvenir, a keepsake.

She pulled him in greedily, working her hands up his flanks and clawing into his back, nails scoring red marks that prickled against his skin. Each thrust sent a shock rippling through her, and with every impact, she wanted to bite, to hurt, to draw every ounce of his attention. Malik hammered into her with something like malice, and every time she flexed to throw him off, he found the counter-move, and doubled down.

Paris’s breath tangled on her tongue, came ragged out of her throat. She held his gaze, close, nose-to-nose. She bit his jaw again, lower, drew a grunt out of him, and then ground her pelvis up to meet the next thrust. He was all muscle, all bulk, all mass, crushing her neatly into the bed but never losing that exacting, surgical precision.

She locked eyes with him and, without breaking the stare, snapped her latex gloves hard enough the sound sliced over the wet slap of their bodies. Kelli, still kneeling at the foot of the bed, watched in perfect, ruined awe, eyes wild, face still speckled with Paris’s shine.

Malik wanted to slow down, fucking her like this, it was a low boil ready to spill over too fast, too hard, but Paris kept baiting him, kept clawing, kept locking her thighs around his waist so he couldn’t even try to escape the undertow.

She spat the order, “Harder. Don’t you dare finish before I do.” Her breath hitched on the last syllable, and she bared her neck to him, daring him to bite, to mark, to take. Malik drove his hands under her ass, lifted, worked deeper, the angle suddenly perfect, and Paris arched off the bed. She wanted to howl, barely remembered to keep her teeth clenched on the moan.

Malik met her gaze, eyes wild, sheen of sweat on his brow. He fucked her with machine precision but every third thrust was a rogue wave, unpredictable, battering apart her composure. She bit his forearm so hard it drew blood and he grinned, teeth bared, loving the extra pain.

“Don’t you dare finish yet.” Paris’s repeated again, her voice was a whipcrack.

Malik grinned, but it took effort. His muscles bunched and burning. She flexed around him, deeper than before, and dug her nails into the soft patch above his ass. Mean, relentless.

He bit out, “You want more?”

She snapped her fingers at Kelli. “Back up here. Get in the middle.”

Kelli scrambled up, a little disoriented, lips swollen, the slick pussy juice of Paris still clinging wet and sweet on her face. Paris hauled her into the mess of them, gathered Kelli’s body to her own in a tangle of limbs, and then clamped her thighs hard, pinning Kelli in place. She kissed Kelli, bruising, their faces mashed together, tongues fighting for space. Paris blocked Kelli’s air, sucked on her bottom lip, then bit down hard enough to make Kelli moan.

“Look at you,” Paris growled when they broke apart. “You’re a fucking disaster.”

Kelli smiled through the pain. “Yours.”

Malik braced himself, palms planted at the sides of Paris’s hips, and drove in again, harder. Paris clamped her thighs even tighter around Kelli’s hips, holding her like a captive, both of them caught in Malik’s relentless fucking. Now, when he ground in, it shoved Kelli’s body up into Paris’s breasts, rhythm made flesh. Paris’s heartbeat shuddered under her latex and she refused to close her eyes, not when the pleasure felt like it might detonate her skull.

She braced one red glove behind her for leverage. The other she curled into Malik’s bicep, teasing a grip, then raked her nails down his forearm like she wanted to draw another line of blood. The world was narrowed to slick heat, to the friction of latex and living skin, to the press of Kelli’s trembling body between her own and Malik’s. The point of collision, Malik slamming in, Paris squeezing on every exit, Kelli’s whimpers vibrating against Paris’s breasts with every move.

Paris leaned down, nipped sharply at Kelli’s ear, twisting with her teeth until she heard her bitch’s breath vanish in a gasp. Malik rammed in again, and Paris let out a guttural moan, surprised to hear the rawness of it, the lack of control. Her fingers slipped through Kelli’s sweat-slicked hair, tugged her head back a bit.

Paris felt her own spine begin to arch, legs trembling, every muscle locking down around Kelli and Malik at once. The roar behind her eyes muffled everything except Kelli’s ragged little gasps and the wet, animal slap of skin. Paris’s orgasm wasn’t gentle. It clawed up from somewhere old and furious, ripping through every nerve she owned.

She ground her hips up, forcing Malik in deeper, refused to let him slow his pace; if he’d tried, she’d have torn his jaw off with her teeth. So fucking good. Paris let herself scream this time, The world narrowed to a blinding pinpoint centered on the throb of Malik’s cock and the taste of Kelli’s desperate, open mouth.

Malik grunted above her, hoarse, ragged, and almost growled, and Paris wanted to savor that animal note, the way it caught and vibrated, a split-second from rage. She could feel him start to lose it, the tremor building in his hips.

He tried to hold back, bracing, but the next contraction in her body milked him for all he was worth. She felt the flood of his cum, as he buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching, pumping inside her, a copious amount of cum that flooded her inner walls. Paris clamped down harder, grinding her cunt around his thickness, refusing to let him withdraw, greedy for every last drop.

Malik shuddered above her, hands fisting in the bedsheets, breath hissing out through gritted teeth. He was deep, so deep she swore she could feel him in her fucking throat. She pulled Kelli tighter, pressing her bitch’s shivering body into the apex of her own, crushing her against the latex and sweat.

Malik just stayed there, forehead pressed to Paris’s, his jaw still gripped in her red-gloved hand. They fought for breath in tandem, faces so close their air was one desperate, gasping sound.

“I said don’t fucking finish yet,” Paris spat, but the words broke apart with her laughter.

After the storm of desire, the three of them lay tangled in the aftermath, sheets twisted, skin glistening, breaths slow but still uneven. Paris, ever the dominant, stretched across the bed, one hand tracing patterns along Kelli’s spine, the other brushing over Malik’s chest. Kelli rested her head against Paris’s shoulder, fingers threaded through her platinum hair, a smile curving over her lips.

Malik leaned back against the headboard, watching them with a smirk, feeling the heat of their bodies settle against his. The intensity of the night lingered in every touch, every glance, but there was a softness now, a private intimacy that existed only between the three of them.

Paris tilted her head, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “See?” she murmured to Kelli, voice low and teasing. “All mine... but shared just enough.”

Kelli giggled softly, eyes sparkling with lingering arousal. Malik chuckled, running a hand over the back of his neck, still catching his breath. “You two are... something else,” he said, voice thick with contentment and awe.

The End