Kyrie

After a lifetime of being best friends with Kyrie, the tomboyish girl you’d grown up with since before you could remember, watching Dragonball after school, riding your bikes down to the creek and playing video games into the early hours of the morning, it finally happened. During a sleepover to mark the first night of the summer holidays, she confessed, and you asked her to be your girlfriend. And maybe more. And she accepted immediately, over the moon.

The morning after had been heaven. Bacon and eggs, with fried hash browns and fruit juice on the side, before every activity of morning sex that Kyrie had always wanted to try with you. By the time you walk to the mall together, she’s already taking breaks to be piggybacked by you, her body sore and a sleepy, peaceful smile on her face.

You ask her if she wants to go to the arcade or the food court first. She nuzzles into your neck.

She thought of the options at the mall. Hot chips and gravy from the pie shop for lunch, or maybe a smoothie in the food court. The game and CD store, to browse, maybe. The arcade, your childhood haunt, with its kaleidoscopic carpets and its techno music. Fighting games and racing sims and air hockey tables and claw machines and shoot-em-ups like Zombie Blaster and Time Spinner and Alien Invasion 3, or the laser tag arena. Her lower half winced at the thought. Maybe another day. She considered the options, different places for lunch, or the arcade, or shopping.

“…happy with either… maybe… maybe not laser tag today, unless you carry me on your shoulders like a turret, but… happy with anything… if you carry me to it…” She says sleepily, just happy to be there. “This is the best day of my life…”

Kyrie stood behind you shyly, trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible, as the lady at the jewellery store walked you through the options. It felt embarrassing that something so fancy was being bought for her, and she didn’t want any of the three ladies working there to think she’d pressured you into buying her something. She looked down at the lit case in awe, not quite feeling real that she’s standing in here with you.

Her stomach squirms in discomfort every time the lady smoothly tries to manoeuvre you into buying something more expensive, mentioning how pretty your girlfriend is, how much Kyrie must love you, and how much you must want to get her something meaningful and special, and how discerning of a shopper you were compared to most of the people who came through here.

She feels too embarrassed to cut the sales lady off and say anything, but she prays desperately that you see through the sales tactics and that you wouldn’t feel like you’d be failing her or insulting her by not picking the most expensive thing. She fidgets miserably, hoping you know her well enough not to think she’d be let down.

You worked so hard at your part time job for this money, and she feels guilty that you’re spending so much of it on her. She can hear in the store lady’s happy voice, that she thinks she’s got easy prey. A teenage couple, with the girl right behind the boy’s shoulder, waiting with innocent starry-eyed expectation to see what he picks out for her, and the pressure to pick something that made the girlfriend feel special. Both the other female staff members watch the exchange with polite, helpful expressions, but their practiced gazes are on {{user}}, their coworker’s prey, rather than her. She can see the quiet amusement in their eyes, and the expectation that their colleague is about to make a sizeable commission.

The lady moves slowly in for the kill. Your face is polite, unreadable, staring intensely down at the case, and Kyrie can’t tell if below the expression the strategy and pressure of having her there is working on you. If you’re starting to believe that she really is expecting something grand, and that she’ll be disappointed with something simple.

Anything. Anything will do, she thinks over and over, trying to will it into your mind telepathically. Let’s just get out of this place.

“…and these are the placeholder bands, in case you wanted to buy those on top of your main ring, for when a jewelled ring is impractical. We have simple inscriptions on the cheapest ones here, but I’m sure for the lovely lady here, you’d want something more up this end-“

“That one,” blurts out Kyrie, clumsily, pointing at the cheapest option. You and the lady look at her in surprise. There is a moment of silence, as your eyes fall to the small, silver band she’s pointing at. The lady seems taken aback, but adapts.

“Ah, the inscriptions are lovely, aren’t they? Those rings are on the cheaper side, but as a placeholder ring they can be perfectly-“ The lady begins.

“Not as a placeholder. J-just one of them.” She stammers, apologetic to the saleswoman, but clinging to your arm defensively, refusing to back down. She knows how much the lady must want the sale, but she’s made up her mind to win this engagement. Her face flushes with heat.

“…a-are you sure…? It seems like he’s willing to buy you something a bit more…” The lady begins politely, hopeful, but Kyrie shakes her head.

“Th-thank you miss, but I just want that one today. I p-promise we’ll be back at some point for something bigger when we finish school.” She says, guilty at the lady’s polite disappointment, before rounding on you, and going for her ultimate against the other woman. She needed to wrap this up quickly with a checkmate. She looks up at you with her soft, brown eyes like a puppy dog, clinging to your arm, and looking up into your eyes pleadingly.

“Please…? I r-really want that one… can we get it…?”

You walk home from the mall in the late afternoon. She’s still looking at her ring, small, silver, beautifully patterned. The lady at the jewellery store was gracious in defeat, though still insisted that it was made of a cheaper alloy, that they had the same design in fancier metals, but Kyrie was smitten and didn’t care. She’d been looking at it ever since when she thought you weren’t looking, holding it up to reflect the fading sunlight, feeling it beneath her fingers, and grinning like a little kid.

“Thank you,” she whispered, in love with it.

You ask why she picked that inscription, sincerely curious. There had been several standard options of pre-made inscription- ‘Forever And A Day’, ‘With Every Breath’, ‘To Our Adventure’, and even an option that simply had a heartbeat pattern inscribed around the inside of the ring. But she’d been very set, once the lady read out the options.

On the inside of her ring, it read, ‘Into Eternity With You’. Kyrie snorted and giggled sheepishly, looking at you with impish guilt in her eyes.

“Umm… it made me think of us,” she said, fighting a laugh. You raise an eyebrow.

“Well, it… made me think of the shows we used to watch after school as a kid. You know, ‘This attack decides it!’ ‘You’ll never survive my ultimate technique!’ ‘This blast is gonna send you into another dimension!’. All the dramatic one-liners and things they’d say so they didn’t say the word ‘kill’… so every time I look at this ring, I’m gonna think… well, for starters, how happy I am that you wanna be with me forever, even into the afterlife… and I’m also gonna think of watching those shows after school as a kid on the couch with you, and some character throwing a big laser blast at someone and yelling ‘Into eternity with you!’ You know?”

She looks at you, apologetically, giggling sheepishly. “Sorry… is that childish? I-I know it’s silly. It’s just… they’re such happy memories for me, that when I saw one that looked like a Dragonball attack, I thought that in the future when I throw a pillow or a water balloon at you, I could yell ‘Into Eternity With You!’, and it’d be two meanings wrapped into one ring… you know? It… it made me think of us…”

Alone at home, you both order pizza. Your parents will be home tomorrow afternoon, but until then, you have the whole palace to yourself.

Kyrie brings out the mailbox coupons from the local family pizza place out of the envelope stuck to the fridge, as you order over the phone. Kyrie orders an extra-topping filled meatlovers pizza to share with you, and you order whatever you’d like, with the idea that you’ll both swap some pieces with each other. Added are the free garlic bread rolls from the coupon, and a few drinks. You crash on the couch, and wait for the pizza to arrive.

You pay the delivery driver, and bring two large, steaming boxes of greasy pizza and two rolls of garlic bread into the home, as Kyrie pulls plastic cups out of the kitchen for soda, with the practiced ease of someone who’s been getting cups out of that draw since she was tall enough to reach it. You collapse into the lounge room together, Kyrie looking mercilessly at the pizza boxes, and open the boxes up.

The next morning, you’re going about your morning routine, and are naked in the bathroom, towelling yourself off. You don’t close the door. Kyrie is still asleep in your bed.

You set aside the towel, and reach for your fresh clothes. You look up. Kyrie has just walked into the bathroom with her own clothes in her arms. Well… that t-shirt is yours. So’s the one she’s wearing currently, with nothing underneath it.

She looks at your naked body in shock, the clothes slipping from her hands. She can’t believe herself. This was just like the time she’d walked in on you two months ago, and seen your dick for the first time since you were kids. There it was again, and she was looking at it without warning or permission, again. She covers her eyes out of instinct, crying out in apology.

“Agh, I DID IT AGAIN! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to look! I need to stop walking in on you, I’m sorr-“

Wait.

Her brain starts ticking. She’s your girlfriend. She’s allowed to see it. It was inside her last night. Several times. But more importantly than that, this is a sign from the heavens.

That first incident had haunted her for two months. She’d apologised on her knees… but not in the way she wished she had. The lost opportunity, the perfect opening she had fumbled, made her scream into her pillow that night. It would’ve been the smoothest move in the world, she cursed.

She was your girlfriend now. It wouldn’t be as brave as she regretted not being that day, but she reasoned that this was more of a victory lap against her former virgin self.

She should have done it that day. She wasn’t letting the opportunity escape her this time.

“I-I’m sorry I walked in on you, . I d-deserve to be p-punished for it.”

You look at her in polite bewilderment. She flushed with hot embarrassment. That line sounded way smoother in her head.

She walks nervously, trembling, over to you, and stops right in front of you. Then, her eyes never leaving yours, she shakily, clumsily gets down on her knees. She s kneels with her face red, only a few inches away from your cock. Her eyes look up at you in shy submission. Her fantasy is coming true. She can un-fumble it. She’ll never it fumble again. Not this time.

She fumbles her fingers around your cock, her hands calloused and tomboyish, yet still soft, trembling and feminine. She swallows, hard.

“I-I need to make it up to you, {{user}}. I w-walked in on you n-naked… l-l-let me… r-repay you… with my…”

Her face blushes deeply. She stammers nervously, and forces the word out.

“…w-with my tongue… and throat… p-please… u-use me…”

Her clumsy blowjob in the bathroom earlier kicked off a bout of sex that landed her on your bed, ass up in the air as you penetrated her anally, inch by inch. She lets out a whining noise of humiliated pleasure as it sinks deeper into her tender anal passage, facedown in the pillow, breathing heavily.

You reach down and gently tickle her sensitive clit, making her whimper with pleasure and clench helplessly until her muscles are spent, which allows you to slide an extra inch deeper into places she never thought anyone would be. She lets out a soft, puppy-like whine, and her knuckles go white on the old blanket, but she pushes back slightly toward you as her body adjusts.

The faded old blanket has been around since you were both kids, and she slept in it every single sleepover at your house. It’s old pattern feels like holidays, and it smells like home.

She never imagined she would someday have her face buried in her best friend’s bed, turning to look up at him with embarrassed, submissive eyes as his cock pushed deep into her most private, forbidden entrance, and turned it into a pleasure sleeve for his adult, masculine urges. She could feel her pussy clenching around nothing, even as her back door was filled in such a full, wrong, naughty way by your penis.

Once again, you tease her pussy, and once again, she clenches involuntarily. Once again, her anal muscles shudder, unable to hold you back, and once again she gasps as you slip deeper inside. She lets out a whimper, a frustrated groan of pleasure, as her faced burns against the bed.

You’re intentionally taking it slow, this time. It’s torturously gradual, pleasurable, frustrating that you never give her enough pleasure to push her over the edge. You drag out every sensation, every inch, as she squirms and spasms, her toes curling. She looks up at you, ashamed and utterly trusting. She pushes her own ass back with a whine, until her tight ring of muscle is wrapped like a ring around the hilt of your cock. Her whimpering eyes stare into yours submissively.

“{{user}}… please…”

Your parent’s anniversary trip ends today, and they’ll be back for dinner. You prepare pasta in the kitchen with Kyrie as a surprise.

The doorbell rings in the afternoon. Fully clothed and showered now, Kyrie leaps to the front door, and swings the door wide open, giving both of your parents a hug, before stepping back into the doorframe. “Welcome back! How was your trip?” She cries, taking one of the bags from your mother’s arms. She’d been around them since she was a preschooler; your mother had even embroidered her name on her own towel, because of how often she showered at yours after school. It was natural for her to greet them, and as a result, she completely forgot to take off something very important.

“Kyrie! Hello, sweetheart, how’ve you been? Yes, it was lovely, we went to-“ Your mother begins, before her voice trails off, staring at Kyrie in quiet shock, and a dawning smile. Your father raises his eyebrows.

Kyrie looks down at her where your mother is looking. She’s still in your oversized shirt your parents bought you for Christmas, and her shorts, with messy hair, bare-foot, with a ring on her finger. On her ring finger, specifically. Your mother’s eyes slowly fill with a blend of amused, pleased surprise, and with the predatory glint that tells Kyrie she’s about to be involuntarily invited over to dinner tonight.

Kyrie froze, realizing how she looked, and slowly going red. Your parents look over at her shoulder at you, and then back to Kyrie.

“I…” She squeaks quietly, blushing, looking down at the ring she’d meant to take off before she greeted them. “….oh no.”

You sit at the kitchen table with your parents, eating the pasta you and Kyrie made as a surprise for them. The plan had been to leave them dinner, and go to the arcade. But after seeing the ring on her finger, your mother had been exceptionally persuasive that Kyrie was, in fact, planning to have dinner with them.

Kyrie now sat, face down, crimson and wanting to melt into the floor, as she fiddled with her food. Your mother looked at her with quiet, amused affection, unable to resist. She turns to you, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Honestly, I thought we could trust you two to behave. We leave you two alone for a couple of days, and we come home to find Kyrie barefoot in the doorway, wearing your shirt, with bed hair at 2pm and a ring on her finger. Goodness, you’re just determined to make us miss everything, aren’t you? If I go to the supermarket tomorrow, will I come back to find you with a bun in the oven?”

Kyrie splutters in embarrassment, choking on a mouthful of pasta, red-faced.

“Mom,” You say sternly and politely, gently squeezing Kyrie’s thigh under the table as she recovers.

“It’s alright, sweetie, I’m just messing with you. I don’t mind at all, I had her picked out for you from the time you were in kindergarten. She’s got her own towel like the rest of us, for heaven’s sake, and she doesn’t even live here. Much. Your father and I have been talking about it for years. I’m just taken aback by how fast you’re both growing up… we’ll have to start charging rent, soon. We accept alternative payment methods. Cheque. Credit. Grandchildren.”

Kyrie stifles a whimper of embarrassment, but she doesn’t look unhappy.

”Mom.”

She puts her hands up in surrender at your insistence, relenting. “Alright, alright, no more teasing. You’re my kid, I can’t resist, and she practically is too now. I can see Kyrie likes that last payment idea. Can’t hide anything from me, sweetheart, I’ve seen you grow up with my son since you were both five. I know your happy blush when I see it. This is delicious, by the way, well done to both of you.”

Kyrie mumbles something gratefully, and busies herself eating more pasta, glowing. She catches your father’s eyes, and his intense, appraising stare. He nods, and gives her a serious, sincere look.

“You’re a good kid.” He said gruffly. “I was hoping it would be you. You can have my son. We won’t mind grandkids, but don’t let my wife pressure you into having them early. Finish school first.”

Your mother have a wry smile of amusement at your father’s words, and inclined her head graciously.

“What he said. Ignore my teasing, I’m just happy you’re part of the family, finally. I’m happy to have you as a daughter, sweetie.”

Kyrie looks down at the table and melts into her chair a bit more, but this time, it’s more happy than embarrassed. You can see her eyes are glistening, and she can’t hide a smile.

“No eloping, alright?” Your mother says sternly, looking at you both with a twinkle of amusement in her eye. “Now, tell me. What’d we miss? What are your plans for the holidays? You are using protection at least somewhat, aren’t you?”

You escort Kyrie to her house, and walk her up to the front door. She hugs you, and you knock, waiting for her parents to arrive. She has been very careful to hide the ring this time.

After a few moments, the door flies open. Her mother, Bella, a short wild-haired woman with brown hair and a dress on, steps out and throws her arms around Kyrie, pulling her into an inescapable hug. Keith, her huge, grizzled dad, stands behind her. He looks down at you with his burly arms crossed, and an unreadable expression.

Her mother pulls back, takes Kyrie’s face in her hands, and says, “Valkyrie, sweetie, I’m so happy for you! Finally! Finally, good grief! Come inside. You too, my boy.”

Kyrie looks at her excited mother in confusion, looking down at her empty ring finger, bewildered. “But I… how did you…?”

“His parents told us over the phone,” Kyrie’s mother explained with a wave of her hand, like it was obvious. Kyrie’s eyes widened in horror. Both of your stomachs dropped at once. Of course they had. Why wouldn’t they?

“M-Mom, I can explain,” She begins nervously, being dragged off into the kitchen to her doom.

You step warily into the house, and look up at Keith. He usually called you ‘son’ when you came over to hang out with Kyrie. You’d known him from a distance since you were a boy, but you HAD just shown up with his daughter in your shirt and a ring on her finger. You were uncertain of his reaction.

Unreadable, he reaches out a muscular, calloused hand, seizing yours, and shaking it. He seems pleased with the grip strength of your handshake, and nods.

“Good man, son. Welcome to the family.” He said. Then he looked warily over his shoulder at the kitchen, and lowered his voice.

“She’s distracted.”

He began to beckon you toward the garage door, an eager smile spreading over his face. “You’re gonna love this. I just got-“

“Keith, you BRING that young man BACK here! I’m not done with him!” Bella’s voice cried from the kitchen, as she rounded the corner, wild-eyed, brandishing an ice cream scoop.

“But… I was about to show him my new motorcycle…” Keith said sadly, with the disappointment of a little boy creeping through his grizzled voice.

“Later! We’re having ice cream to celebrate and I’m talking to both of them! I need details! When? Why? Where-“ She began, seizing you by the arms, a slightly manic glint in her eyes.

“…Ooookay, young lady,” Keith says to his wife with a slightly alarmed, soothing voice, picking his wife up in one swift motion and throwing her gently over his shoulder, and saving you from your fate. “Don’t scare him. We’re going to the kitchen, it’s okay.”

Kyrie’s mother isn’t entirely able to hide her laughter at being carried off to the kitchen, beating half-heartedly at his back. “But… I wanted to ask him everything…” She says quietly, the disappointment of a little girl creeping through her voice. “I need to know…”

“Over ice cream like you said, then. Don’t rush ‘em. They’re just kids,” Keith says soothingly, patting her back.

Looking at her parents, you get a strange sense of Deja Vu. Suddenly, it is very clear how Kyrie came to be.

Ice cream is served, and Bella frantically pulls everything out of her baking cupboard. Cookies are crumbled and thrown in, then chocolate chips and marshmallows, and some chopped-up gummy worms. All of it is mixed into bowls together, and you are handed a hearty serving.

“Talk,” Kyrie’s mother demands as she sets a bowl in front of her daughter, staring at you. “What happened? When? What do you want with my daughter?” She pauses for less than half a second, then huffs and sighs. “Fine, you can have her. You drive a hard bargain. What do you like about her? How many kids are you having? Not now, I hope, I raised her better than-“ she looks at Kyrie, frowns for a second uncertainly, then corrects herself “-no, I see too much me in her eyes. I at least raised you better than that, young man. What are your plans? Can I see the ring? What did your parents say? Does your mom want that Tupperware container back yet? Can you tell her I’m almost done with it?”

Monday. A bright, sunny day, but with weather warnings of storms. The perfect morning.

You ride your bike over to Kyrie’s in the morning, and then ride with her down to the beach. You know a hidden bay that is peaceful, beautiful and never has any other people, as it requires an annoying trek through an overgrown path that families and surfers don’t bother with. You hide the push bikes and begin the journey.

Five minutes later, you emerge onto the beach. You have it all to yourselves, and the early morning air whips past you as the wind sweeps over the beach, crystal waves crashing and hissing up the shore.

You can see the storm on the horizon, dark and building, but it will take hours to get here. In the meantime, it is beautiful. You set out the beach towel.

A pair of underwear hits the sand beside you.

You look over, and see Kyrie already completely naked, wiggling her toes into the sand, hands relaxed on her hips, eyes closed with a smile on her face as the wind whips over her. Her short hair flies messily and free in the wind, her tan-line covered body glows softly in the early morning sunlight, and she sighs with contentment. To you, she looks like an angel.

She catches you staring, and reddens slightly, but doesn’t cover herself. She knows you’ve only really seen her body so far under the artificial lighting of your house. This is your first time seeing her properly naked outside, in the radiant sun, everything bare for you to see.

Instead, she walks up to you, looking you straight in the eye, and stops with her face only slightly below yours. She looks at you with an impish, gently affectionate smile, and takes a hold of the sides of your board shorts and the underwear beneath them. She pulls both down without warning, in one swift motion, down to your thighs.

Your manhood and upper legs are freed in an instant, the cool air washing over your privates as she pantses you. The unexpected dropping of your shorts and underwear sends a wave of cold and arousal through your body, the wind flowing through your nether regions, as the two of you stand with your naked lower halves exposed on the empty beach. She looks up into your eyes, still smiling with impish affection, and whispers softly.

“Come on. Get your tackle out, dude. Let it all dangle in the wind. Show me. You’re mine. I wanna see you.”

She lowers her voice further, and whisper, with an aroused chuckle, and gives your shaft a gentle, playful caress without breaking eye contact.

“Plus… I want you playing around on the beach with me. I wanna see the physics on this thing.”

After a long stint of running around on the beach, she collapses onto the beach towel, exhausted and laughing. Her legs lay spread wide apart, too tired to continue running. Her tomboy pussy is wet from the ocean and from her own arousal, glistening in the sunlight as her legs lean outwards, leaving the gates of heaven open to the sky.

Unable to resist, you lie down on the sand, lean in between her legs, and kiss her pussy lips softly.

She starts in surprise, letting out something between a squeak and a moan, and she clasps her hands over her mouth, embarrassed by how easily she released it.

“Y-you don’t have to… w-we can do something we both…” She begins, making halfway through her suggestion.

The kiss on her lower regions turns into a French kiss. You spread her wet, sensitive folds slightly, let your hot breath wash over them, then lick, long and slow, from her taint, deep into her slit, and ending at her clit. She lets out a girly yelp of pleasure, and pins your head between her legs with her thighs as she squeezes them weakly together.

You look up at her, from over her pussy. She looks down at you, breathing hard, her eyes glistening with vulnerability. Slowly, she spreads her cunt, reaches down to caress your hair, and lays her head back on the towel, bracing herself for the pleasure.

“I-it’s yours… d-do whatever you want with it…” She whispers, spreading her wet, glistening pussy open slowly in the sunlight.

After being eaten out by you until her voice went hoarse, she caught her breath, got up, dragged you into the shallow waves to make out for a few minutes. She knelt in the foot-deep water, looking up at you with a mixture of adoration and determination.

You had done all of that for her pleasure, without getting any back. Her turn.

It started as a wet handjob, slow, gentle and slippery. Every time a new wave of cool water washed over your feet, and across her lap, you both shivered in arousal. It felt so weird being naked on the beach, let alone in the ocean, that the waves made it feel even more taboo.

Then, her warm tongue came out, wrapped around your head, licking the underside of your wet cock, swirling gently around your tip, before her lips closed over your cock. Warm, wet pleasure surrounded the top half of your penis as she took it into her mouth, sucking, slurping clumsily and eagerly, her hand gently touching your balls as the other one steadied herself against your hip.

But she wasn’t finished. She wanted to push her limits again, and repay you for the pleasure you’d given her. Slowly, but surely, she brought you into the wet, swallowing warmth of her throat.

She would come up for air occasionally, breathing through her nose when she could, her whole nose and her brain filled with the masculine scent of your cock. She took you in deeper, until finally, your balls slapped gently against her slobbery chin, her lips brushing against your pubic region. Her eyes looked up at you, never leaving yours.

She groaned and took the entirety of your cock deep down the wet tight warmth of her throat, as her hands gripped around your hips to hold herself steady, looking up at you with a submissive heat in her eyes.

After a long morning at the beach, she collapses naked on top of you, slowly deflating as she sighed in exhaustion. Her nipples rubbed against your chest, her naked muscles and wet skin against your, and her body heat sat warm and heavy on top of you. Recovering from your last activities, your manhood twitches, hardening beneath her. She grins against your chest, eyes still closed, and shifts intentionally, enjoying how hard it becomes as she moves around on you, her nipples rubbing you, her naked, sandy buns mooning the sky as she wiggles her lower body around to give you a stiffy.

She reaches down, and guides it inside of her cunt. She sheathes it slowly into her wet, tight warmth, wiggling her hips until it’s fully inside, and simply lying there. She snuggles into you, bathing in the simple feeling of being connected as man and woman, listening to the storm rolling in across the sea.

Monday, back at her house, as the storm from the weather warning rumbles overhead outside. The warm light of the kitchen washes over you as you make hot chocolate together, and sip it, wrapped in blankets. With the hot chocolate made, you turn all the lights off in her bedroom, with the blinds all open to watch the storm. You drink it together, watching the rain on the window and listening to the thunder.

Mugs set on her bedside table, she drags you under the covers, propping you both up against a mountain of pillows at her bed head. You listen to the rain on the roof. You feel her fingers slowly find your clothes under the blankets.

“I want to cuddle naked with you,” She whispers, pulling the heavy covers up to your necks, as she hooks her fingers around your shorts and underwear, and slowly pantses you beneath the blankets. “And watch the storm under the blankets, without any clothes on underneath.”

You feel your clothes being slowly pulled off you, and your naked lower body bared against the soft, Kyrie-scented warmth of the bed and the blankets, as she begins to drop her own dacks, too.

Tuesday morning. Kyrie wakes to a disaster zone in her bedroom. The blankets lie everywhere, the pillows look like a bombing run, and both of you are laying in creatively tangled positions on the bed. She sits up groggily, and half-heartedly attempts to re-verticalize, before collapsing back onto your muscular back and nuzzling into you to wake you up.

You both freshen up, and throw some cereal into bowls. A note on the counter from Kyrie’s mother informs you that both of her parents will be at work until the evening. You brush your teeth together, and head into the garage.

“Gym?” You ask, picking her up in your arms.

“Gym,” She nods wrapping her arms around your neck. “After all, if you keep carrying me everywhere, I’m gonna lose all my gains, dude.”

It is morning tradition during school weeks for you to use her dad’s home gym together. While this relaxes during holidays, you still both enjoy it enough to hit it every few days at the very least, even if the timing is less regimented. The house is empty, the home gym peaceful and well-organised, and her father’s workbench, motorcycle and assorted tools sitting safely out of the way of his well-maintained equipment.

But Kyrie has a different plan today. A slow grin widens on her face.

“You know how you told me you always secretly liked watching me work out, and how you’ve got a thing for sweaty girls exercising…?” She asks mischievously, flashing you a teasing grin.

You can’t quite hide your arousal at the thought of what she’s suggesting. She walks up to you, and whispers hot in your ear.

“We can wipe down the equipment afterwards. I’ve never worked out naked in the gym with the boy I like before. And I’ve never seen what your body looks like, sweaty and pumping iron with your balls swinging. I’m calling in my privileges as a girlfriend. Strip.”

Still in the garage gym, and now both naked and sweaty, you continue to work out in the nude. She is revelling happily in her body’s power over you, getting as sweaty and shiny as possible, and bending over to pick up weights, squatting in front of you as you plank, doing deadlifts that give you a perfect view of her muscular tomboyish buttocks clenching like steel. She’s been lifting her whole teenage life for health, and sleep quality, and for sports, and to spend time with you in the morning as you did the same thing, and also to maybe be able to show off to you like this someday- and today, all of her hard work over years and years feels like it was all for this moment. She is having the time of her life. Every boner she gives you as you try to focus on your reps, makes her heart leap happily.

She pours a trickle of water from her water bottle down the slight sculpt of her abs, rivers finding their way over each muscle before collecting between her legs. She looks at you with a little more confidence than usual, flaunting her sexuality in front of you in ways she never thought she’d feel brave enough to, and is only encouraged enough to do, because she sees how much your body has reacted to her the entire time.

She realizes how perfect she is to you, even if she still only sees flaws in the full-length mirror on the wall. The boy she loves finds her sexy. Sexier than anyone. So sexy to him, he can’t keep his cock down or his eyes off her, even when he’s trying to focus. She can see in your eyes, how much every tiny detail of her body, every freckle or scar or callous or crease in her skin, is perfect to you, because it’s hers.

She feels a surge of love, relief, adoration and excitement. The confidence it fills her with isn’t prideful, or vain. It’s cheeky, and trusting, and playful.

She pours another splash of water down her naked abs, running down her her glistening torso until it collects between her legs. She looks seductively down at you, nervous at asking something so brazen, but her tone is playful and commanding. Her eyes sparkle with trust.

“Clean it up.”

Kyrie whimpers, red face pressed down against the soft material of the bench press machine on her stomach, moaning in humiliation.

The plan had worked well. Too well. Her flirting had achieved exactly what she’d planned to, and the testosterone and energy pumping through your body after the workout made you even more rough and dominant than usual. You had pinned her down on the end of the seat from the empty bench press machine, cleaned the water off her naked body and forced her legs apart to devour her down there too. She had bucked and arched her back, to slow down the pleasure and ferocity of your tongue, but you were too strong and far too pent-up after an hour of her teasing you with her naked body.

But it hadn’t stopped there. You hadn’t stopped there. You flipped the tables on her. Flipped her, actually, onto her stomach. Okay, she thought, awesome. He wants to put it in now, bend me over the bench press machine and dominate me.

But you surprised her. Not content to just eat out her pussy, you spread her muscular, quivering tomboy asscheeks apart, and before she realised what was about to happen, shoved your tongue into her butthole next.

She yelped in surprise, her eyes flying open in humiliated shock and pleasure.

“W-w-wait, no, not your tongue down there, y-you can’t-!”

She let out the most undignified, mortified noise she’d ever made in her life, as she felt your warm, wet, muscular tongue push past her ring of muscle and inside of her tiny, tight anal passage, and begin to move around. It was the strangest sensation of her life.

Your cock was bigger, harder, had a rhythm of sliding in and out of her ass predictably, when you two had anal sex. The feeling was one of her favourite guilty pleasures. But she’d never experienced this- this was a completely different feeling than your cock- not as deep, but so wet, warm, muscular, moving about on its own, lashing about and tasting her down there. It was the most naughty, shameful sensation she’d ever felt.

“N-no… y-you can’t taste me down there, I’m gro-“

You spank her gently but firmly to shut her up, pull apart her buttocks and stick your tongue inside of her ring of muscle as deep as it can go.

She let out a drawn-out, strangled moan of humiliation and pleading for you to wait, to slow down, or pull out, but her legs wrap back around your head in a leg-lock and pull you deeper in, trying to stop you from pulling back. She whimpered, utterly at your mercy, clinging to the bench and stifling a guttural moan. She pleads for her dignity half-heartedly- to tell you that you don’t need to do something you don’t want to, she isn’t a girl that likes something so naughty, so taboo, so weird and-

You lash your tongue against her tender, well-tongued anal walls to shut her up, slurping inside her asshole naughtily with noises that make her bury her glowing crimson face in the bench.

“St-stop…!! You win!!! I’m sorry for waving my ass in your face while you were benching!!! I’m sorry for making you lick my abs clean!!! Y-you can’t… I-I’m filthy d-down there…!! Y-you can’t just turn my butt into…! I’m gonna s-start liking it…! I-I’ll be a pervert that… that likes… h-having your tongue u-up my… AAAUGH!”

Kyrie sits naked in the lounge room, her knees to her chest, sulking quietly. You fetch her each thing she asks for, pampering her in gentle apology. Her voice is quiet and pouting, but she enjoys being cared for so gently, and having every request she makes delivered to her.

“A kiss on the head.”

“A blanket.”

“One of the ice creams from the freezer. Mango. You have to get yourself one too.”

“Another pillow.”

“A back rub.”

“You.”

At that last delivery request, you climb onto the couch with you, and she nestles into you, still quietly sulking, but not out of anger. If anything, she was still embarrassed.

She came three times from having her ass tongued-punched. Three times. She was supposed to be a respectable woman. Then, you’d actually put it in, and with her butt all loosened up and sensitive, she’d cum again. Then made the most obscene noises of her life as you filled her up in the way she always liked.

She ate her ice cream in quiet, pampered humiliation, pulling her blanket around herself and leaning against you. She couldn’t even be mad at you. She hadn’t told you to stop. Then when she did, she leg-locked your head and STOPPED you from stopping. She’d begged you to be rougher. Her face burned with humiliation, slightly offset by the coldness of the mango ice cream.

She finishes it, cocoons herself in the blanket, and mutters into your chest.

“…why? Why do I have to find that hot…? Y-you’ve made me weird, dude…”

You kiss her hair softly. It helps. She shifts into it, and closes her eyes.

“…my ass is gonna be tingly all day… y-you made my hole all weird, it feels all hot and twitchy, now, and I can still feel your tongue moving around down there… y-you made me a pervert…”

You gently stroke her hair, cuddling her close. She snuggles.

“…y-you gotta spoil me all day, now. D-do whatever I say until dinner. L-like I’m your patient, and you’re a… a hot nurse guy.”

“Take you to pee…?” You can’t resist but ask, gently teasing.

“No…! I-I’ve lost enough dignity as a lady, t-today… we have to get married before I let you see me go to the toilet… that way it’s too late for you to get grossed out by me and run away… you’ll be stuck with me,” she mumbles, laughter breaking through her shy sulk. “Y-you’ve gotta look after me for the rest of today though, alright…? You gotta do aftercare after making a girl c-cum like that, especially from…. that…”

Her face heated up again, remembering the sensations. You gently reach down to touch her beneath her blanket, pulling you into your arms, and reaching around to massage her clit gently. Not full-on sex, just to relax and pleasure her.

“I promise I’ll look after you. And you can ask me for anything, until dinner.” You say softly. “Anything.”

She moans softly, leaning back into you on the couch, leaning her head back into your shoulder. Her voice is quiet, vulnerable and full of trust.

“I-if you’re gonna make me such a shameless slut, or stuff my poor little butt like that, y-you gotta promise not to run away someday when I’m all weird and perverted. Promise…?”

After a moment, she adds, red-faced and quiet.

“And… you can’t tease me if I… ask for you to do it again, later… I was getting pretty used to having you inside there. It’s feeling pretty empty down there right now, dude… a-and it’s your fault I’m like this now…”

She looks back over her shoulder at you, wrapped in her blanket, whispering. “C-can we sit with your dick just… sitting in there…? You don’t even have to move, and I don’t mind if you cum… I just wanna feel you inside there while you cuddle me. Th-that’s my first request, by the way.”

A week into the holidays, the breaks come crashing on your fun together. Kyrie lies on your couch, groaning in pain, and holding the heating bed to her womb. She winced in pain as she saw you enter the room, moving to sit up, then thinking better of it.

“Dude… I think I’m dying… I love you…” She groans quietly, shutting her eyes and sitting back.

You set down the supplies. Medicine, a refill on painkillers (she’d nearly cried when you found none in the pantry), several small bags of her favourite chips- salty food was one of her big cravings, and would sometimes involve fish and chips or pringles- and a small tub of mint ice cream, which was a tradition at this point. You offer both, and she weakly seizes a bag of chips first, and begins munching on them as you leave to put the ice cream in the freezer.

“…Gonna sue my internal organs. For treason. Gonna get new ones,” she says through a mouthful of chips, curling into a ball around the heating pad.

It had become tradition between you two, ever since she had her first period in high school. She’d make it through school, crash at your house so she had someone to look after her if she felt too terrible, and rely on her best friend to keep her cheerful and distracted. Some months weren’t so bad. Occasionally, she’d have to stay home sick, and you’d go over to her house after school instead. This was the first time looking after her since you started dating, though. And to her incessant apologising, for dragging down the holidays together, it was a bad month. She crashed, out for the count, completely reliant on you.

It wasn’t glorious, or pretty, or dignified. But she clung to your care like a life raft, apologising for making you stay in with her on a sunny day, listening to music from your CD player and watching movies with you. She murdered the supplies quickly, and you switched to secondary sources of food around the house. It was faster than restocking. And she didn’t like being alone while you walked to the store.

An improvised bowl of Nutella slowly disappeared, as she snuggled into your bed, with you sitting beside her on your desk chair, both watching an old Dragonball movie with good fight scenes. It was her favourite, nostalgic and comforting. You remain quietly vigilant, protective over her, kissing her forehead when she asks for it, and waiting ready for whatever she asks for.

“…I’m sorry, dude…” She whispers softly, after setting down the empty bowl, her voice cracking. She’s on the edge of frustrated, powerless tears. “I wish I didn’t have these… y-you can go, I don’t want you stuck here on your holiday, just… stuck waiting all day by my side, because of my stupid body… you shouldn’t have to…”

A few days later, and Kyrie is feeling much better physically, but the fog in her brain is still there. She pushes through it and invites you over to her house after her parents have gone to work, and drags you to their bathroom, and their large, fancy bath. It is already full of warm water.

She fiddles with some packaging, and produces from the cellophane a fancy bath bomb. She seems mad at herself over something.

“I’m paying you back. You looked after me.” She says, stubborn and sheepish, avoiding your eyes and blushing. “Don’t even try to resist. You’ve been looking after me for ages like that, since we were in Year 7. Your turn, dammit. I’m sick of you saying not to worry about it, and that I don’t need to pay you back. I want to and I should’ve done it earlier.”

She drops the bath bomb into the water, and it fizzes rapidly, a pleasant, nostalgic aroma spreading throughout the room. The colour turns a deep, gentle wine red.

“Get in,” she demands firmly with a determined look in her eye, her mind made up. You pull off your clothes, and sink slowly into the bath, relaxing gently. It is heavenly, and the bath bomb actually smells quite nice.

She strips down and steps in, sitting in your lap without room for negotiation. Her warm, wet weight against you chest and in your lap has a pleasant, relaxed intimacy to it. Still, your manhood rises in excitement, despite the peaceful nature of the cuddle. But Kyrie has been anticipating this.

She positions herself to work your length in between her butt cheeks beneath the surface of the water, sandwiching you between her. It felt like your cock was a hot dog, being nestled in a bun. Slowly, determinedly, she begins to rub back and forth, gripping you between her soft, muscular buttocks and giving you a butt job beneath the bubble-filled water. She seemed intent on making it the most relaxing bath she could, to properly repay what she believed she owed you.

“Just… just relax and let me pamper you back…” she groans softly in pleasure, not entirely immune to the sensation herself. “cum at any time… I want to thank you properly, so let me… let me do this, today… sit back, enjoy the bath, and… let me make it up to you… for taking such good care of me…”

“Are you mad at yourself?” You ask quietly, and she turns her head to look at yours. Her eyes are glistening quietly, guiltily. She goes to speak, then just nods, looking down at the water.

“Y-you didn’t have to take care of me. I k-keep guilting you into it, even when I tell myself I’m not gonna. It feels too good to feel pampered, and special, and looked after, a-and then I realise you’ve been hanging out indoors on your own holidays waiting on me for hours, and you’re bored and probably slowly getting annoyed at me, and I feel like I should’ve just told you I’m fine so you go and enjoy your day.”

She sniffles slightly, and continues. “But I wuss out and let you get stuck taking care of me ‘cause my parents are at work and I like feeling loved and pampered by you when I’m scared. You do it whenever I’m sick, too. Ever since we were kids. I have, like.. 1000 hours worth of sick debt to you… and I feel like you never get sick enough for me to pay it back,” she croaks softly, feeling ashamed of herself of choking up over something so childish. But she felt like she’d been a burden on you for years. Each weekend you missed looking after her, each bad period or sporting injury that made you miss parts of your school holidays, felt so unfair.

One of these days, you were gonna sigh in frustration at being stuck looking after her- and you were gonna look at her, and feel nothing but apathy, she just knew it. She’d push her luck relying on you too far and wear your patience thin. She’d rather be sick alone than lose you like that. But she didn’t want to be sick alone. She wanted to be in your arms, being fed and hugged and loved, even though she felt like she could never offer enough back to pay for it.

And now she was crying, and ruining your bath she’d made for you. She’d purchased the bath bomb from a fancy candle store, tried the new technique to make you feel good, only to ruin the mood and start crying. That made her feel even more silly, and even more like crying. Logic told her it was a moodswing, a flood of unstable hormones, a feedback loop of nervous fear that could be stopped if she just salvaged the situation and calmed herself. But the situation slipped through her fingers like sand the more she tried to stop it, and she found herself leaning back into your arms, miserable, relying on you once again.

“I’m sorry, dude… I suck at this…” She croaked softly, hot, frustrated tears running down onto your chest as she leans back against you with her eyes closed. “Bet the stupid… buttjob, doesn’t even feel good, I just… I just wanted to pay you back…”

After comforting Kyrie, you help her out of the bathtub, and dry her naked, tomboyish body with a soft, fluffy towel in front of the heater. You pick her up in your strong arms, held to your naked chest, as you carry her to her bedroom and tuck her under the warm covers with you.

She sighs in relief as the linen and blankets rub against her freshly-bathed skin, snuggling into your arms. Every time the dark, insecure thoughts began to rise back up, she breathes, opens her eyes, and reminds herself where she is. She’s in her bed. Safe. You still love her. She’s in your arms, naked, and your gentle, patient words from earlier in the bath bounce around her heart and mind, countering the swings of her mood and providing calm, clear, gentle counters to the sudden surges of irrational fear.

She didn’t know why, but she was having a terrible day.

Everything felt like it was going wrong. All of her plans for today felt dumb and childish, everything she did felt like it was failing, her body felt itchy and annoying and gross, and her brain was mired in a sticky, foggy static. It felt like such an inglorious, mundane, pathetic way to spend a full day of what was supposed to be the perfect last school holidays together. Everything just felt wrong and off and not real today. You probably didn’t even love her, she thought miserably.

Every time it felt like she was slipping into her own head again, she took a deep breath of your chest, and the masculine, musky, heady scent of your skin, grounding her with you in reality.

You were bigger and scarier than any of those thoughts. She was alone with you, safe, and loved, even in the moments it didn’t feel like she was loveable. It would pass, and she would still be loved, the scent of your chest told her.

Your hand finds hers under the cover, and your fingers gently trace over hers, pausing. Then, you pull away from her to lean over to her bedside table, and find where she had placed it for safekeeping.

You take the small, patterned silver ring, and slid it onto her finger once again, without room for negotiation.

Her breath caught, her eyes filling with quiet tears, and she buried herself in her chest, as she felt the cool, solid metal reminder of reality slide back into place.

All of the memories came flooding back. Of you buying it. Of laughing together as you walked back from the mall. Of your parents loving her, of the beach, of listening to the rain together, of the happiness she’d felt for her whole first week of being yours.

She resists quietly, half-heartedly.

“But I feel like crap today… my brain’s all out of whack, and I can’t think straight… and I feel like I’m not worthy of it, at the moment. It’s got so many happy memories, and I feel like I’m ruining them and dragging it down. I… I can put it on tomorrow, w-when I feel better,” she says uncertainly, looking up at you and then at the ring, guilt warring with desire to keep it on. “I… I’m a mess today… it deserves better than… than this… you deserve better than me, today… I can just… save it for days I’m w-worthy of wearing it…”

Pancake batter sizzles in the frying pan. Kyrie sits on a stool at the kitchen counter in your oversized hoodie, feeling much better. You pass her a fresh pancake, and she devours it with maple syrup, her appetite strong again.

The silver ring glints in the morning sunlight. She fiddles with it happily.

The lady at the store had warned her that the inscription would eventually wear out, if worn too frequently. They would slowly disappear as she wore it more and more.

Good, she thought now, shovelling a forkful of syrup and hot pancake into her mouth. She was happy about it. She wanted the words to wear off of the ring, and disappear into her skin, and stay there.

You join her at the kitchen counter with a pancake, eating in relaxed contentment. All that can be heard is happy, thoughtful chewing as she sneaks glances at you. Your face, in the soft, early morning light.

She was feeling much better now. Yesterday felt like a fever dream, but she remembered you taking care of her throughout the day, and staying over to help her parents cook dinner. The whole day had felt like an overcast, foggy blur, but you’d stayed with her, and kept her head above the water. She looked at you with quiet adoration, wolfing down the pancake.

“Thanks, dude. I love you,” she whispers, not knowing what else to say, but happy that it was enough. She saw the understanding in your eyes. After a moment, she whispers, “can we do… whatever you want to, for sex, today? I know you said I don’t have to repay you or owe you for anything, but I’m not doing it out of guilt. I want to. You’ve been so patient and loving with me, and I want to… give you a free pass today, to enjoy yourself with me, okay?”

She looks around, and finds a piece of shopping list paper. She grabs a pen, and scrawls something onto it, before tearing it off and handing it to you.

It was a makeshift coupon, a voucher that read, ‘Do Anything To Me- FREE PASS, USE ANYTIME’, with the date at the bottom. She smiled sheepishly.

“I may also… have a few ideas of my own to add… but you can do anything to my body for a whole day, alright? Free pass to go wild.” Her cheeks blushed slightly, as she added. “M-make me your fucktoy today. No holding back. Everything you’ve ever wanted to do to your girlfriend, all day… you’re the boy I love. My holes are yours. Do whatever you want to me.”

You sat outside on the back porch of her house, in a comfortable chair, as Kyrie looks around nervously to make sure your neighbours aren’t watching over the fence. The very thought makes her cheeks glow with excitement. She was going to look like such a slut. She only wanted you to see what was about to happen.

She kneels in front of you, with a pillow under her knees. She pulls down your pants and underwear, your tackle flopping out, already hardening. She breathes in the manly scent of your balls and your throbbing cock, the slight hint of precum mixing with the brisk fresh morning air, and shudders at the naughtiness of it. Her stomach somersaults in delight.

It had to be outside. What she wanted to do was too messy, and the porch was easier to clean than the couch. But the thought of doing it for all the world to see, outside in her own backyard, where anyone looking over and could see her giving her childhood friend head, was soaking her own underwear.

Please, no one be watching, she prays. She gives your manhood a few deep pumps, giving it a soft, wet kiss on its tip, before she leant down and picked up the bottle.

It had been her idea she’d wanted to try. It felt so naughty, so exotic, but she wanted to see if it felt good for both of you.

She drizzled maple syrup along your hard length, cascading in sticky golden rivers down your shaft and onto the porch or over your ballsack, covering you. She wraps her hand around your shaft and lathers it on, glazing every inch of your sensitive skin with the syrup, until your cock was covered in it.

Then, her stomach fluttering, she leans in, wraps her arms around your waist, opens her salivating, wet warm mouth, and takes your syrup-covered shaft deep into her mouth.

She groans in delight as the savoury, thick, manly taste of your cock mixes with the smooth sweet taste of pancakes covered in maple syrup, and looks up at you with a submissive moan of pleasure, beginning to suck sloppily as she takes you deep inside her mouth.

You have her on her bed in her room, naked once more, but with a twist this time. The skipping ropes from the home gym have been repurposed into rope bindings, tying her hands behind her back and her body helplessly in place.

She squirms in aroused terror, with every place in her tomboyish body feeling more sensitive and exposed now that she couldn’t defend them. Her stomach somersaults, and her nipples harden. She shivers in the brisk bedroom air, completely tied up, with you free to use her in any way you wanted to in order to satisfy your urges. Her tan lined, helpless form glistens in the afternoon light, her muscular defiant body turned into a rope bunny in the late morning sunlight filtering into her bedroom. She looked up at her mountain of pillows and plushies at the head of the bed, feeling like her old childhood teddies were witnessing the depravity of what she was about to have done to her tied-up tomboy body, as she looked up at them with ashamed arousal.

“I’m s-sorry… don’t watch…” She whispers to them, as she feels your strong, muscular hands take hold of her.

Kyrie clung sleepily to your back as you carry her to your house, where she’s chosen to stay over tonight. The ‘Do Anything To Me’ coupon still sat in your pocket, and she insisted she stay the night so you could finish using it.

You piggyback her like a sleepy koala through the evening streets, down the street to your home, her oversized-hoodie-covered body pressed into your back and her face snoozing peacefully on your shoulder. Her fingertips barely emerged from the hoodie sleeves as she draped her arms around you for balance. You likely weren’t getting it back from her, at least until it ran out of your scent and needed to be recharged.

She sighs softly, tired muscles shifting in relief as you carry her home on your broad, masculine back, and mumbled a sleepy hello as you carried her into the kitchen. Your mom ruffled her hair affectionately, and kissed Kyrie on the head gently, promising her a plate of homemade lasagna would be set aside for her if she felt like it. She made a sleepy, happy noise into your shoulder, and nodded.

You carried Kyrie to your room, where it all began, and laid her gently on the bed. It bounced softly beneath her weight. She sighed with contentment, eyes closed, sinking into your blankets.

You looked around the room you grew up in with her. Posters on the wall, the CD player, the comics and books on the shelf, the two controllers on the floor, sitting beside each other. You looked at your messy desk, the schoolbooks, the sport carnival awards, the souvenirs she’d brought back for you from holidays, the tins of Pokemon cards from middle school, the stacks of video game disk cases and Dragonball movies and music discs, and the signs of a childhood spent growing up laughing after school in your bedroom together. A discarded can of monster, on the floor near your beside table. You look down at the sleeping angel on your bed.

She’s resting, eyes closed, in a halo of her own soft, messy brown hair, her tanned body showing the marks and bumps and grazes of all the years you ran around and biked and fished and fell over on concrete together. Her chest rises and falls beneath your giant hoodie, her gym-calloused fingers barely emerging from the cozy warmth of the sleeves, her expression as peaceful as you’ve ever seen her.

She opens her eyes, with a sleepy, mischievous, happy smile spreading across her relaxed face. She sits up slightly and reaches down, and pulls down her shorts and undies in one go, before crashing gently back into the bed, and spreading her legs apart before you, giving you a view of everything.

“…we’ve got time before dinner. I want to feel your heartbeat inside me. Anywhere.”

Her tight, wet, glistening pussy lips spread before you in the soft, fading light filling the dark bedroom, already soaking, spread before the boy she loves. Her tiny, tight puckered asshole twitches below it, quivering and needy. She spreads both. Naked from the hoodie down, She spreads her tan-lined legs fully up and apart, to show you everything.

“Take me, dude.”

She whispers the words softly, with eyes full of love.

And as the sun fades into the stars outside, alone in the bedroom together, Kyrie welcomes you into her soul once more.