Fucking my Clone

The air in my room is thick - humid, sterile, humming with machines and electricity and the faint tang of sweat. Four NAS units chatter softly to themselves in the corner like insects. My main tower cycles into a fan curve adjustment and rattles for a moment before settling. The glow from the screen spills pale and blue across the black walls. I don’t bother turning on the light. I don’t need to see anything but this.

I love this room. I built it with my hands. It smells like me. Feels like me. The leather chair creaks under my thighs as I stretch back, absently rolling my neck. My nails - still painted black and half chipped - click against the side of my glass. It's vodka and something synthetic. The kind of burn that reminds me I’m real.

Then I hear it.

The door clicks.

My bedroom door.

I freeze. No one’s supposed to be here. Taylor’s out. I didn’t hear the front door. My throat goes tight, but I don’t move. Just tilt my head toward the hallway.

And standing there - backlit by the dim orange glow of the hallway bulb - is me.

Not a mirror. Not a hallucination. Me.

Same leather jacket. Same red undercut. Same eyeliner smudge on the left eye. Her eyes flick to mine, then down my body, slow and deliberate. She smiles like she already knows what I’m thinking.

"I'm not here to hurt you," she says. Her voice is my voice, but warmer. Confident. Lower, like she smoked before coming in.

I swallow, and my mouth tastes like metal. "What the fuck."

"Yeah," she says. "That's fair."

She steps inside. No sound from her boots on the carpet. She smells like sweat and nicotine and vanilla body spray. My brain stutters - there’s no protocol for this. No file for me walking toward me with that look in my eyes.

"What are you?" I ask.

She shrugs, pausing just a few feet away, standing exactly where I’d stand when I undress at night.

"I'm the version of you that didn’t forget how to touch yourself."

The words hit harder than they should. Like they came from someone who watched every flashback, every blackout night, every time I flinched when someone’s hand went near my hips. And I hate her a little. And I want her.

We just stare at each other for a second too long.

Then she looks down - at my thighs, my bare stomach under my tee, the line where my leggings hug under my hips. Then up again. She licks her lips.

"You really are as pretty as I thought," she says.

And something in my chest cracks.

I stand. I don’t even remember deciding to, but my body’s up before my mind catches up. My thighs brush against hers and it’s like stepping into a fever. She doesn’t flinch. She tilts her chin up, close enough now that I can smell her breath - mint and something darker. We’re the same height, but she feels taller. Denser. Like she's leaning into gravity different.

“Why are you here?” I ask, quieter now.

“To remind you what you’ve been missing.”

She says it like a threat. Or a promise.

My fingers twitch at my sides. I want to grab her jacket. I want to shove her. I want to kiss her. I want to run. Everything is too sharp. My breath's too shallow. The space between us feels like it could snap.

“Missing what?” I snap, voice shaking with more than just adrenaline.

Her eyes flash with something hot.

“Yourself.”

And then she touches me. Just her fingers - barely grazing the outer curve of my hip, over the seam where my leggings dig into flesh. It’s not even a grope. Just a hello. But my knees nearly give. I suck in a breath through my teeth like I’ve been slapped.

“You’re touch-starved,” she murmurs. “I know, because I’m touch-starved.”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“No,” she says, tone razor-flat. “You know how to survive.”

Her hand moves to the small of my back - just a palm, grounding. And I can’t lie to myself anymore: I’m melting. My brain starts firing in reverse, PTSD flashbacks blending with raw need, but this time it’s safe. She knows how to touch me without scaring me. She knows where I hate being grabbed and where I ache to be held.

Her other hand comes up - slow, deliberate - and she brushes my hair behind my ear. The contact is featherlight, and still it sends shivers straight down my spine. I realize how long it’s been since anyone touched me like this without me bracing for pain.

“Do you want me to stop?” she whispers.

I should say yes.

I should run.

But instead, I whisper back, “No.”

And then she kisses me.

It’s not soft. It’s hungry. Messy. Tongues meeting halfway. Teeth knocking. I gasp against her lips and she breathes it in like oxygen. I grab her by the collar and yank her forward until our hips collide.

The tension breaks like glass.

I feel her hand slide down - over the curve of my ass, fingers squeezing just enough to make my breath hitch. She pulls back from the kiss and looks at me like I’m dessert.

“You feel that?” she murmurs, squeezing again.

“Yeah.”

“That’s yours. You made this. That ass is a fucking masterpiece, Zoey.”

My whole body goes tight with arousal. She spins me, rougher now, pushes me gently but firmly toward the edge of the bed. I fall forward onto my palms, ass in the air, heart pounding.

She whistles behind me.

“Goddamn. You’d let me worship this all night, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Oh baby, you couldn’t.”

And then her hands are on me - firm, greedy, reverent. Exploring curves like she’s memorizing them, tracing along the waistband, sliding under fabric just enough to tease.

“You’re so fucking soft,” she growls. “So full. I could eat you alive.”

She presses a kiss to one cheek, slow and hot, and then drags her tongue up the curve. I moan, unable to hold it in.

“I know how long you’ve wanted this,” she whispers. “So I’m gonna give it to you. Everything.”

I can feel her breath before her lips even touch me - hot and shallow, ghosting over my skin through the thin fabric of my leggings. I shift my hips upward on instinct, offering myself. The part of me that usually tenses or hides is gone, dissolved in the humid throb between us.

She slides my leggings down in one slow motion. They stick a little to my thighs from sweat, and the tension of the stretch just makes the moment filthier. I hear her sigh - this guttural, aching exhale - and then her voice, low and raw.

“Fuck, Zoey. I’ve dreamed about this.”

She spreads my cheeks with both hands, reverent but firm, and I can feel her gaze trailing over every inch. Not judging. Not cataloguing. Just worshipping. The air hits my exposed skin and I shiver - equal parts anticipation and hunger.

And then her tongue touches me.

It’s slow at first. Delicate. Just the tip, tracing a circle around the tight rim of my ass like she’s painting me. I groan, low and long, burying my face into the mattress as my knees buckle.

“God, you taste like sweat and sin,” she murmurs, licking again, longer this time - flat of her tongue now, dragging up in a single motion that makes me twitch. “Like you’ve been waiting for this for years.”

She’s right. I have.

She spreads me wider, thumbs digging into the plush of my cheeks, and dives in deeper - licking, sucking, teasing my hole like it’s the center of her universe. My hips start moving without permission, grinding into her face, chasing every flick of her tongue. I’m moaning now - no control, no hesitation. Just need.

Her hands are so strong. One stays planted on my ass, the other slides up my back, nails dragging softly down my spine in rhythm with her mouth. I feel like I’m being unraveled. Worshipped open.

She pulls back just enough to spit, hot and wet, directly on my hole, and then goes back in harder - tongue pushing just inside, flicking and circling, letting me feel the friction build. I cry out into the sheets, half-mad with sensation.

“Say it,” she growls against me. “Tell me what this ass means to you.”

“It’s mine,” I gasp. “It’s - fuck - it’s beautiful. It’s perfect. I want to be touched here forever.”

“Damn right,” she breathes. “You deserve to be devoured.”

And then she goes feral - eating me like it’s the only thing that matters. No rhythm, just hunger. Tongue deep, wet sounds, obscene moans from both of us. I’m grinding down into her mouth like I’m trying to climb inside her. Like I want her buried in me.

It feels like the entire room disappears - just heat, breath, slickness, and surrender.

Finally, she pulls back - face shining, breath ragged - and slaps my ass, loud and sharp.

“Get on your back,” she orders. “I want to see your face when I make you beg.”

I’m on my back now, legs splayed and knees trembling, the sweat between my thighs sticky and sweet. She’s between them, dragging her fingers along my inner thighs with maddening softness. Her eyes are locked on mine - deep, ocean-blue, exactly like mine. Exactly like me. Except this version of me is calm. Focused. Her hunger is cold and methodical, and it’s terrifyingly hot.

“Spread wider,” she commands, tapping the inside of my knee. “I want to see everything I’m about to fill.”

I obey with a whimper. There's no hiding. No shame. My body is soaked, needy, and twitching under her stare. And she loves it - smiling like she’s looking at the most beautiful thing in the world.

Her fingers slide down my slick folds, barely brushing, just tracing the mess she made during worship. Then she presses one finger - just one - against my tight, twitching rim.

I gasp, hips arching.

“You’re so ready,” she murmurs, circling slow. “And you’ve barely even been touched.”

“I - I want it,” I pant. “Please. Start slow. Make me beg. Then - take me.”

She smirks. “Oh, I will.”

Her finger slips in to the first knuckle, and my eyes roll back. The stretch is perfect. My body clenches around her automatically, instinctively, like I’m trying to suck her in. She waits - just a moment - then slides in the rest of the way.

Her free hand strokes up my thigh again, then across my stomach, and finally to my chest - fingers teasing my breast, lightly circling a nipple while the other hand fucks me, just with that one finger, deliberate and deep.

"You feel this?" she whispers. "That’s just one. You think you’re ready for more?"

“Yes,” I breathe, desperate. “Please. More fingers. Fill me.”

Two now - slow, wide, stretching me open. I moan loudly, grabbing the sheets. Her fingers curl just a little inside me, stroking the way she knows I love, and the way her palm presses against me sends little shocks of heat up my spine.

“I know what you want, Zoey,” she whispers. “You want to be ruined. You want me to spread you wide, watch you twitch and leak and take everything I give you. Don't you?”

I nod frantically. “Yes. Yes, fuck, I want it - I want you to stretch me open and make me feel it for days.”

And just when I think I’m adjusting to her fingers, she pulls out and grabs the toy.

It’s thick. Silicone, curved, sleek and shiny with lube. She holds it over my stomach, right between my breasts, and presses the base down like she’s marking me with it.

“This one,” she says, breath hot against my ear. “It’s going in you. Slowly. And you’re going to watch it disappear. Understand?”

I nod, wide-eyed, helpless.

She slides the tip to my hole, lets me feel the cool of the toy before it warms up. I can feel the pressure. The stretch. She’s patient - just a little, then back out. A little more, then hold. Then deeper. Every inch sends a moan tearing from my throat, and every time I look down, I see it sinking into me, my body parting for it like I was made to be taken.

“You’re taking it so well,” she whispers. “Look at your face. You love being opened like this.”

I whimper. “It feels so good - oh god, please, fuck me with it. Harder - please - don’t stop - more.”

She slides it deeper, one hand on my hip to pin me down as I writhe, the other moving the toy in slow, full strokes. My whole body is shaking. I'm moaning uncontrollably, incoherent, flushed and dripping. The toy hits just the right spot, again and again.

“I’m going to fist you soon,” she purrs. “But not yet. First, I’m going to break you on this. Then I’ll stretch you wider.”

The toy is still buried inside me, thick and unforgiving. My body pulses around it, slick and shivering, my legs useless, my arms spread, fingers curling into the sheets like I might float away if I let go. I’m a mess - flushed, ruined, gasping - and she’s watching me from between my knees like I’m art she just finished.

But then she crawls up.

Slow, deliberate, like a wolf circling its prey - but the look in her eyes isn’t hunger anymore. It’s awe. Reverence. The kind of gaze that melts your guts and makes your chest ache with how badly you want to be held.

Her thighs slide around my hips as she straddles me, her slick skin sticking to mine. Her heat presses against my lower belly. I can still feel the toy inside me, shifting with every tiny movement. But she doesn’t thrust. Not yet.

Instead, she leans down. Her hair falls like a curtain around our faces, and her lips hover above mine.

“Look at you,” she whispers, brushing her fingers across my cheek. “Fucked open, twitching, breathless. And you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

I blink up at her, heart pounding. I don’t know what to say. I feel fragile - not weak, but raw. Like my whole body’s been peeled down to nerve endings and soul. And she’s right there, watching every microexpression.

She kisses me.

Not rough. Not dominating. Soft. Gentle. Lips sliding against mine with unbearable care, like she’s memorizing the texture, the taste, the sigh that escapes me as I melt into her. Her tongue brushes mine - slow, exploratory - loving. She kisses like she knows exactly what I need, because she does. She is me.

One of her hands cups my jaw, thumb stroking lightly beneath my eye. The other presses low on my belly - just above where the toy is still snug inside me - holding me still. Reminding me that I’m filled. Owned. Kept.

Our mouths part only slightly as she speaks, her breath mingling with mine.

“You don’t have to perform for me,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to pretend. You’re safe. You’re held. I know every part of you - and I want all of it.”

Tears sting my eyes.

She kisses me again, deeper this time. More insistent. Her hips start to roll gently, just the barest movement, but the shift of pressure inside me makes my whole body tremble. I moan into her mouth and she swallows it - turning it into fuel.

The rhythm builds slowly. Her kisses grow hungrier. Her fingers dig into my hips. She’s grinding down onto me now, pushing the toy deeper, circling her hips to feel every reaction my body gives her. But it’s not about the fucking anymore. It’s about this. The closeness. The way our bodies fit. The way she kisses me like I’m sacred while she ruins me completely.

“I love you,” she whispers. “No one’s going to love you like I do. Not this deeply. Not this perfectly.”

And in that moment, I believe her. Because she’s me. She knows how my scars feel from the inside. She knows what it means to be touched right. She knows how much I need to be held after.

And she’s doing it. All of it.

My whole body is warm. Loose. That floaty, gelatinous place where everything’s soft and wet and glowing. The toy still sits inside me - no longer fucking, just resting - a constant, gentle reminder of what she’s already taken.

She leans up on one elbow and tilts her head, hair messy, lips swollen, eyes gleaming with something feral and fond. Then she says it:

“You ready for more?”

I blink slowly, breath catching. My ass clenches instinctively around the toy, and the sensation sparks up my spine like fire. I nod. Wordless. Willing. Desperate.

She leans down to kiss my cheek, my jaw, my collarbone. Her voice is a rumble just under the skin.

“I want you open, baby. I want to see how much of me you can take.”

The toy slides out with a slick, heavy sound that makes me shudder. My hole flutters at the sudden emptiness, already aching for the next thing. She doesn’t keep me waiting. Her fingers - lubed and warm - press gently against me, circling, teasing, worshiping.

I gasp when she slides one in. Then two. Then three.

Her pace is slow, patient, but unrelenting. Every thrust spreads me wider. Every movement sinks deeper. She curls them just right, watching my face with rapt attention.

“You’re doing so good,” she whispers. “So fucking perfect for me.”

By the time four fingers are inside, I’m trembling. My thighs shake. My eyes are glassy. I feel massive around her hand. Stretched to my limit - and somehow, not even close to full enough.

Then her thumb presses in.

A whimper escapes me, helpless. She pauses, letting me adjust, kissing my temple like I might break - but I won’t. I can’t. I’m made for this. Made for her. My clone. My twin. My self.

Then it happens.

Her whole hand slides in.

I cry out - raw, primal, overwhelmed - and she’s there, kissing me, grounding me, telling me I’m safe, I’m beautiful, I’m taking her so well. My ass clamps down around her wrist, pulsing, desperate, and she just keeps going. Slow pumps. Deeper thrusts. Her knuckles twist inside me, rubbing places no toy ever could.

“You’re gonna take my arm if I let you,” she purrs, grinning against my ear. “God, you’re so greedy.”

And I am.

I moan, nodding, sobbing with need, hips grinding down to meet every motion. My guts are liquid heat, my mind gone. There’s no more shame, no more fear - just fullness. Connection. The filthy, divine oneness of it all.

And when I come - God - it’s not like any orgasm I’ve ever known.

It’s not sharp or explosive. It’s deep. Like something tectonic shifts inside me. Like my whole being cracks open and spills light and wet and heat and devotion. I’m crying. Shaking. Clutching at her arms like I’ll fall through the bed without her.

She doesn’t stop until I beg.

The water’s already running when she comes back to the bed. I can barely move - my legs are jelly, my hole still twitches with every tiny movement. I’m floating somewhere between bliss and brain fog, but she picks me up like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Not fragile. Not broken. Just… sacred.

She carries me.

The bathroom is warm and full of steam, light golden from the overhead glow. The sound of water pattering against tile is soothing, grounding. She steps in with me and we’re instantly wrapped in heat again, but it’s not the hungry, devouring kind - it’s safe. Soothing. Like being in a womb of light.

She sets me down on the little bench, careful, slow, brushing hair from my face.

“You okay?” she asks.

I nod, still dazed. “More than okay. I think I saw God.”

She laughs, but her eyes are soft. That post-orgasm glow, that look of being entirely devoted to the person in front of her.

She kneels.

Takes the detachable shower head and sets it to warm, gentle pressure. She starts at my feet, rinsing off the sweat and slick, then moves up - slow, rhythmic strokes over my calves, my thighs, my soaking core. She’s careful around my ass, like it’s holy ground, like I’m something that needs reverence now, not ruin.

“I stretched you so wide,” she murmurs, not as a boast, but like it awes her. Like she can’t believe someone so beautiful could handle so much and still look this soft in her arms.

She uses a loofah next, lathering up a soft, fragrant soap - lavender and vanilla. It smells like comfort. Like bedtime stories and safe homes and kisses on foreheads.

She washes me everywhere.

Behind my ears.

Under my arms.

My belly.

My breasts.

My thighs.

My hole, tender and swollen, gets the gentlest touch of all. She hums a little while she works, a soft tune I don’t recognize but never want to forget.

When she finishes, she sets the loofah aside, rinses me again, and kisses my knee. Then my hip. Then my lips.

“Let me dry you,” she whispers, and I just nod. Boneless. Grateful.

She wraps me in a thick towel and pats me dry like I’m the most important thing she’s ever touched.

Form and Function

The gym smelled like eucalyptus cleaner and quiet ambition. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead, bouncing off the rubber mats where early risers chased discipline. Among them was Mara.

She wasn’t what most people expected when they heard personal trainer. Thick thighs, full hips, soft in places the fitness world pretended didn’t exist. But she moved with absolute control. Deep squats, steady breathing, no wasted motion. Strength without apology.

Across the room, Ash adjusted the hem of her borrowed tank top. She’d only been out for less than a year and was still figuring out who she was, never mind what she wanted her body to be. Coming here had felt like a dare. But when she saw Mara, everything paused. Not just the shape of her, but the comfort she had in herself. It was like watching gravity bend around a planet.

Their first conversation happened by the water cooler. Ash asked the question she’d been too shy to say to anyone else.

"How do you… do all that and still stay soft?"

Mara blinked, then smiled. It wasn’t pity or condescension, just a flicker of warmth and interest.

“I train for function,” she said, passing Ash a bottle. “Not for Instagram.”

Ash laughed, then looked down. “I think I’ve been training for survival. Not sure what I’m doing anymore.”

“You came in,” Mara said. “That’s a start. Wanna learn how to deadlift like a tree trunk?”

Ash smiled. “Only if you promise not to go easy on me.” 

The next few weeks melted into rhythm. Ash showed up every other morning, still early enough for the gym to feel like a private sanctuary. Mara always noticed, her sharp eyes flicking toward the front as Ash walked in, earbuds in, hair tied back like she meant business.

Ash watched her too. She couldn’t help it. Mara didn’t move like someone who was trying to prove anything. She moved like someone who belonged. Even when she was drenched in sweat or barking encouragement at some guy straining under a barbell, there was this quiet, effortless confidence in her. She was a force, not in spite of her softness, but with it.

Ash was fascinated. Not just by Mara’s strength, but the way she inhabited herself. The way her laugh would break through the music, low and a little raspy. The way she always kept her black nails short but painted, and how her eyeliner never smudged no matter how hard she worked.

One morning, after a rough night and no sleep, Ash dragged herself in anyway. Her hoodie hung low, covering her shape, and her voice was quieter than usual. Mara clocked it the moment she stepped in.

“You good?” she asked softly, handing Ash a resistance band.

Ash gave a half-smile. “Barely slept. Dysphoria hit hard. Felt like skipping but... I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Mara didn’t rush the answer. She set the dumbbell she’d been holding down and stepped a little closer. Her voice was calm, but it had that gravity again, the kind that made Ash listen hard.

“You don’t owe me performance. You show up, that’s enough. Some days are gonna suck. That’s not weakness. That’s the process.”

Ash blinked, her throat tightening unexpectedly. “You make it look easy.”

“I don’t,” Mara said. “But I decided to make peace with myself, even when it’s loud in here.” She tapped her temple. “Especially then.”

They trained gently that morning, no records, no strain. Just form, breath, and pacing. Afterward, Ash found herself leaning back against the wall near the squat rack, stretching her legs and sipping from her water bottle. Mara sat beside her, arms draped casually over her knees, her body language open. Their shoulders nearly touched.

“I used to think people like you didn’t exist,” Ash said. “Strong. Kind. Unapologetic. I thought I’d always be chasing this version of myself that was just out of reach.”

Mara turned to her, slow and deliberate. “You’re not chasing. You’re becoming.”

The air between them shifted. Not heavy, but charged. Ash’s pulse picked up—just enough to notice. She watched Mara’s eyes flicker, softening, tracing her face in a way that wasn’t evaluative, it was curious. Admiring.

Ash smiled, nervous but honest. “You always this good at making people feel seen?”

Mara tilted her head, her voice quieter now. “Only when I mean it.”

There was a pause then. Not awkward. Just full. Of maybe. Of what-if. Of the thousand things they weren’t saying yet.

Ash looked away, suddenly shy. “Is it weird that I… kinda want to hug you?”

Mara didn’t move right away. Then, with the same quiet confidence she carried into every lift, she opened one arm and said, “Not weird at all.”

Ash leaned in, resting her head briefly against Mara’s warm, sweat-damp shoulder. She smelled like lavender and effort. Like someone real.

For a long, still moment, neither of them said anything. There was no rush. Just two people, breathing in sync, on the edge of something that could become more.

The gym was quiet again. Early morning light filtered through the blinds in soft, slanted beams, catching on dust motes and the edge of a resistance band left under a bench. It had become their time. No music yet, just the low hum of old fluorescent tubes and the occasional creak of rubber flooring.

Ash stood at the doorway, not in gym clothes. She wore jeans that actually fit and a slate-gray hoodie with sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her hands fidgeted at her sides as Mara caught sight of her.

Mara raised an eyebrow, still mid-stretch. “You skipping today?”

Ash shook her head. Her voice was different, quieter, with a soft kind of intensity. “I… wanted to tell you something first. Before anyone else.”

Mara straightened, instantly attentive. “Okay.”

Ash exhaled, like she’d been holding her breath for hours. “I got the papers back yesterday. Name change’s official. No more Ashton.” She looked up, eyes catching the light. “It’s Seraphina now. Or Sera.”

Mara blinked once, then smiled, slow and warm, like the sunrise creeping in behind her. She stepped forward without hesitation, resting one palm lightly on Sera’s shoulder, the other brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with surprising care.

“Seraphina,” she said, tasting the name like it deserved to be said slowly. Her thumb lingered just below Sera’s jaw. “It suits you.”

Sera’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushing with something more than just shyness. “You really think so?”

Mara nodded, leaning in a little. “I think you chose a name that feels like fire wrapped in silk. And that’s exactly what I see when I look at you.”

Sera laughed softly, eyes a little glassy. “God, you’re gonna make me cry before I even do a single squat.”

Mara tilted her head, and this time there was a glint behind her eyes, something deeper, more openly admiring. “You show up here, raw and real, pushing yourself through fear and dysphoria and doubt, and still have the guts to keep going. That’s strength, Sera. That’s beauty.”

Sera looked up at her. Mara’s dark red hair was pulled back in a low, loose bun, and there was the faintest shimmer of lip gloss catching the light on her mouth. Her fingers were still on Sera’s shoulder, warm and grounding. Her nails, black and short, brushed against her collarbone now, just enough to make Sera feel every inch of skin.

Sera swallowed. “You always do this? Make people feel like they could take over the world?”

Mara’s voice dropped, quiet but edged with something unmistakable. “No. Just you.”

Silence stretched between them again, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt electric. Sera could feel her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips, even in the soles of her feet.

Then Mara stepped in fully, not pressing, just close enough that their bodies nearly touched. Her hand moved up to cup the side of Sera’s neck, thumb resting just beneath her ear, the rest of her palm warm against her cheek.

“You have no idea how much I admire you,” Mara said. Her voice was velvet and grit. “Not just for the strength, but for the softness. You don’t hide. That’s rare.”

Sera couldn’t stop the way she leaned in, just slightly, drawn to that warmth, that steadiness. Mara’s lips hovered near hers, close enough to feel the heat of them but not closing the distance. Not yet.

“You’re waiting for me to move,” Sera whispered.

Mara nodded. “Always your pace.”

Sera closed the last inch.

It wasn’t explosive. It was slow, deliberate. A kiss built on quiet want and mutual admiration. Mara’s lips were soft but sure, moving with intention. She tasted faintly of mint and something warm, maybe cinnamon. Her hand stayed on Sera’s face, holding her like she was fragile and sacred all at once.

When they finally pulled apart, Sera was breathless. Mara rested her forehead against hers, still close, still steady.

“Damn,” Sera murmured.

Mara smiled. “You’re not done becoming, Seraphina. But if you’ll let me... I’d like to be here while you do.”

Sera didn’t remember exactly how her back ended up against the gym’s office wall, only that Mara was there with her, hands planted on either side of her hips, body radiating heat like a live wire. The kiss had deepened the second they were alone again, and now it was a slow, aching kind of hunger. Their bodies close but not grinding. Not yet. Every inch between them was a deliberate tease.

Mara wasn’t rushing. She didn’t fumble or grasp. Her fingers moved like she knew Sera’s skin, tracing the side of her waist through the fabric of her hoodie, inching it up slowly until her hand met bare skin.

Sera gasped as Mara’s palm flattened over her stomach, fingers splayed, warm and sure.

“You good?” Mara murmured, breath brushing her ear.

Sera nodded against her, one hand clinging to the back of Mara’s neck. “Better than good.”

Mara leaned in again, brushing her lips along Sera’s jaw, then her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses and the occasional playful scrape of teeth. Sera tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut, one leg already hitching around Mara’s hip without a second thought.

“I’ve wanted this,” Sera whispered. “You. All of this. I just… didn’t know how to ask.”

Mara chuckled against her throat, the sound low and intimate. “You didn’t have to. I’ve been waiting for the moment you knew you deserved it.”

Her hand slid further up, under the hoodie now, fingers grazing the edge of Sera’s sports bra. Every movement was slow, asking for permission even when words weren’t exchanged. Sera arched into her, breath catching, and Mara’s lips found hers again, this time deeper, more possessive.

Sera’s hands found Mara’s waist, then up her back, tracing the soft curves that were so often hidden under gym tanks and hoodies. Mara was all power and softness, muscle wrapped in warmth. Her body welcomed touch. Sera explored with reverence, her fingers slipping under the band of Mara’s leggings just slightly, teasing but unsure.

Mara broke the kiss with a grin that could’ve melted steel.

“Careful,” she whispered. “You touch me like that, I might not let you stop.”

Sera bit her lip, eyes daring now. “Who said I wanted to?”

That was all it took. Mara pushed forward, pressing Sera flush against the wall, their bodies aligned with delicious tension. She kissed her again, deeper now, hips pressing with intent. One hand held Sera’s thigh, her grip confident, supportive, lifting, encouraging.

Sera moaned softly, the sound caught between her lips and Mara’s.

This wasn’t a frantic collision. It was a controlled burn, measured, precise, wanted. Every inch, every breath, every press of skin against skin was deliberate. It was two people learning each other by feel, with admiration as the foundation and desire pouring over every edge.

When they finally paused, foreheads touching, both breathless and flushed, Mara spoke first.

“We don’t have to go further tonight. But if we do... I want to take my time.”

Sera smiled, lips swollen, cheeks pink, pulse thundering. “Then take it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mara didn’t say another word, just took Sera’s hand and led her deeper into the gym, past the racks and benches, until they reached the corner by the stretching mats and cable machines. The lights were low here, shadows curling in the corners, the place practically humming with potential.

Sera’s pulse jumped as Mara turned, pressing her back gently against the edge of a squat rack. The cool steel frame touched the small of her back. Mara’s hands found her waist again, thumbs slipping under the hem of her hoodie, and this time Sera lifted her arms to help peel it off.

The sports bra came with it, slowly, like an offering, and Mara’s hands paused as she took in the full view. Her eyes traced every curve, not with shock or greed, but something hotter: appreciation, respect, hunger.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, low and firm. “And I’m going to make sure you feel that.”

She didn’t wait for permission again, she already had it, written in every shaky breath Sera took. Her lips met Sera’s collarbone first, then lower, trailing a line of heat down to her chest. Sera leaned back against the metal bar, legs unsteady from more than arousal, this was overwhelm, total surrender.

Mara’s mouth was soft but sure, her tongue slow, teasing, wrapping around a nipple before she gently bit. Sera gasped, back arching.

Mara caught her waist to steady her, then glanced over her shoulder.

“Turn around,” she said, voice low and thick. “Hands on the bar.”

Sera obeyed without thinking, turning to face the rack and bracing herself against the cool, knurled metal of the barbell. Her bare skin shivered under the sudden rush of air, every nerve alert.

Behind her, Mara’s hands trailed down her back, settling at the waistband of her leggings.

“Okay?” she asked, voice suddenly softer.

Sera nodded. “Please.”

The leggings came down slowly, peeled from her hips with reverence. Mara dropped to her knees behind her, kissing the small of her back, then lower. Her fingers slid along the insides of Sera’s thighs, spreading gently. Sera nearly lost her balance.

Mara steadied her with both hands. “Use the bar. Like you’re about to squat.”

Sera gripped the bar, body bent slightly forward, exposed, vulnerable, and completely safe. She felt Mara’s breath against the back of her thigh, then lips. Soft. Teasing. Kissing higher, higher.

And then, tongue. Firm. Exploring. Slow circles. The kind of pressure that made Sera cry out, one hand slipping from the bar to slap against the cold metal frame just to keep steady.

Mara was methodical. She didn’t rush. She explored like she was studying anatomy, tongue stroking with perfect rhythm, lips sealing around Sera’s clit just enough to make her knees buckle. Her fingers came next, sliding in deep and slow, curling just right.

The mix of sensations, the metal bar under her hands, Mara’s mouth working her over, the open space of the gym all around them, was surreal. The place she’d come to fight for herself was now the place she was coming undone.

Mara’s other hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave a mark, grounding her. The pace picked up. Deeper. Rougher. Mara’s moan vibrated through her, and that was it.

Sera came hard, hips jerking, a strangled sound escaping her lips, body locking up in waves. Her vision blurred. She barely heard her own name as Mara whispered it against her skin.

When she finally turned, breath still ragged, Mara rose to her feet, flushed, eyes half-lidded, mouth wet.

“I want you,” Sera breathed, voice hoarse. “Now.”

Mara smiled, dark and slow. “Then you’re going to climb on the bench press and ride me like you mean it.”

The bench press wasn’t just for reps anymore.

Sera climbed on, knees straddling the padded seat, her thighs gripping the sides, her hands braced on Mara’s shoulders as she settled into position. Mara had leaned back on the bench beneath her, legs bent slightly at the knees, her body stretched out like an invitation. Her sports bra was gone now, and her skin gleamed under the dim light, flushed and alive. She was firm in all the right ways, soft in all the better ones.

Sera reached down and tugged her own waistband further out of the way. No shame. No hesitation. She was here, fully herself, and Mara didn’t flinch. She looked up at Sera with nothing but heat and hunger.

“You're perfect like this,” Mara said, one hand moving to stroke her hip, the other sliding between Sera’s thighs to grip the base of her shaft. Her touch was confident and sure, guiding her against her own slick warmth.

Sera gasped as their bodies met, skin to skin, no barriers, the heat between them immediate and overwhelming. She felt herself press against Mara’s folds, and the wet, slow grind that followed made both of them moan. Mara tilted her hips, catching her just right, guiding her length along her entrance, dragging the head across her clit with aching precision.

The contact wasn’t penetration yet, it was teasing, gliding, pressure and friction that sent sparks racing up Sera’s spine.

“Fuck…” Sera breathed, her fingers digging into Mara’s shoulder. “You're gonna make me lose it before I even get inside you.”

Mara chuckled, low and rough. “Then take your time.”

She wrapped her legs around Sera’s waist, heels digging into her lower back, pulling her just enough closer.

Sera reached down, hand guiding herself now, trembling slightly. She lined up, nudged forward, and Mara welcomed her, slow and tight and perfect. The sensation made Sera’s head drop forward, forehead resting against Mara’s collarbone as she slid in inch by inch, every part of her trembling.

Mara gasped, arms locking around Sera’s back, nails dragging gently down her spine.

“Fuck, baby, just like that…”

They moved together, hips rolling, grinding, not frantic, not rushed, but intense. Deep. Rhythmic. Sera’s pace started slow, building naturally with every sound that left Mara’s lips, every shift of her body beneath her.

The bench creaked beneath them, a steady counterpoint to the slick slide of their bodies. Sweat beaded at Sera’s temples, dripping onto Mara’s chest as she picked up the pace, driving deeper now, grinding her hips with focused precision.

Mara’s breath hitched, back arching, thighs tightening around Sera’s waist.

“Right there - don’t stop - fuck, Sera - ”

The name, her name, on Mara’s lips nearly pushed her over the edge.

She putone hand behind Mara’s head, pulling her into a kiss that was all tongue. Their bodies moved together harder now, wet slaps echoing in the empty gym, breathless sounds filling the space around them.

Mara was close. Her fingers clenched, hips grinding up, and Sera could feel her clenching, pulsing around her.

“Come with me,” Mara whispered against her ear. “Don’t hold back.”

Sera let go.

Her whole body tensed, release crashing over her in violent, blissful waves. She cried out into Mara’s shoulder, shuddering, every muscle locking for one wild second before melting into her completely.

Mara followed, legs shaking, nails biting into Sera’s back, moaning into her neck as her orgasm hit, raw and staggering.

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless, skin slick, heartbeat to heartbeat.

They stayed tangled on the bench press for a while. The air smelled like sweat and heat, rubber mats and skin, the aftermath of something honest and primal. Sera rested her cheek on Mara’s chest, listening to the way her heart slowly steadied beneath her.

Mara’s fingers traced idle shapes along Sera’s spine, feather-light. Not teasing anymore—just grounding. Her other hand cupped the back of Sera’s neck, warm and steady, thumb brushing the short hairs at her nape.

“Still with me?” Mara murmured, voice rough but sweet.

Sera nodded into her collarbone. “Very with you.”

A breathless laugh followed. “You good?”

“Better than I’ve ever been.”

Mara tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “You just ruined bench presses for me.”

Sera looked up with a grin. “You’re welcome.”

They slowly untangled - gentle movements, careful touches, reluctant to leave the warmth. Sera pulled her hoodie back on, loose and half-zipped, no bra underneath. Mara grabbed a towel from the storage shelf and wiped herself down, then tossed it to Sera.

“Come on,” Mara said, tucking a strand of sweaty hair behind her ear. “Let’s rinse off before someone actually comes in for leg day.”

They padded through the gym, bare feet quiet on the mats, the entire space still feeling like theirs. The locker room was dim and empty, lit by soft motion lights along the baseboards. The tile was cold underfoot, the air heavy with steam from the showers still running on standby.

Mara flicked one on and stepped in, fully nude now, her silhouette hazy behind the glass. Sera watched her, heartbeat picking up again - not just because of the body, but the way she moved. Confident. Unhurried. Inviting.

Sera followed.

The water was hot, mist curling in the corners of the stall as Mara turned and reached for her, pulling her into the stream. Their bodies met again, skin slick and flushed under the heat. Sera wrapped her arms around Mara’s waist, cheek pressed to her shoulder as the water poured over them.

“You still feel like touching?” Mara asked softly, kissing her temple.

Sera nodded, hands sliding down to cup Mara’s ass. “I don’t think I ever don’t feel like touching you.”

Mara smiled and tilted Sera’s face up. “Then let’s make this one slow.”

This time, they didn’t rush. Mara reached for the soap, lathered it in her hands, and started washing Sera’s body like she was sculpting it from memory. Fingers traced each line of muscle and curve, soapy hands sliding down her chest, stomach, thighs. Her touch was reverent, like Sera was art, worthy of attention, worthy of care.

Sera melted into it, her eyes fluttering closed as Mara sank to her knees, mouth pressing soft, wet kisses to her stomach, then lower. The water ran down Sera’s spine as Mara’s lips met her cock, slow and unhurried.

She sucked her gently, tongue curling, pressure perfect. One of Sera’s hands went to the wall, the other burying in Mara’s damp hair. Her knees buckled slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips as Mara took her deeper, gaze locked upward, eyes dark with want.

Mara pulled back, licking the tip slowly, teasing. “You wanna fuck me again, don’t you?”

Sera groaned. “You know I do.”

Mara stood, turned around, and braced her hands against the shower wall—her back arched, legs apart, hips tilted just enough. Her ass was perfect under the spray, glistening.

“Then come get it.”

Sera didn’t hesitate.

She stepped up behind her, hands gripping Mara’s hips, lining herself up. The heat from the shower mixed with the heat between them as she pushed in, slow and deep, both of them moaning in unison.

Mara pushed back into her, gasping as Sera found her rhythm. Wet skin, soaked hair, the slap of hips echoing off the tile, it was rougher this time, more urgent, but no less intimate. Sera leaned in close, mouth to Mara’s neck.

“You feel so fucking good,” she whispered.

Mara growled through her teeth, pushing harder into each thrust. “Then don’t stop. Make me feel every inch.”

And Sera did.

Harder now, deeper. Their wet bodies collided with growing urgency, and the water turned hotter, steam swirling around them like smoke from something holy. Mara cried out as Sera angled just right, hitting her spot over and over. Their rhythm built like a storm, messy, wild, unstoppable.

Sera reached around, fingers finding Mara’s clit, rubbing in time with her thrusts. Mara’s cries turned sharp, breath stuttering.

“Right there...right...fuck...Sera... ”

She came hard, legs shaking, voice echoing off the tiles. Sera followed seconds later, buried deep, body twitching as her orgasm crashed into her like a wave.

They collapsed into each other under the water, spent and tangled, lips meeting again in a long, lazy kiss that tasted like steam and sweat and something new.

The water eventually ran cooler, and Mara reached for the dial with a sleepy groan. “We should probably stop hogging the hot water before someone files a complaint.”

Sera chuckled, forehead resting on Mara’s shoulder. “Let them complain. Worth it.”

They stayed in the warmth for just a few more seconds, then finally peeled apart. The air outside the shower was sharp by comparison, raising goosebumps along their skin. They moved in sync now, quiet and unhurried as they dried off with the gym’s oversized towels. There was no rush, no awkward fumbling. Just a shared rhythm that came from being fully known and accepted.

Sera pulled on her hoodie again, loose and damp around the collar. Her hair was messy, her cheeks pink. Mara slipped into a sleeveless zip-up and a pair of joggers, dragging a towel through her hair, watching Sera out of the corner of her eye.

“You okay?” she asked.

Sera nodded, smoothing her palms down the front of her hoodie. “More than okay. You?”

Mara gave her a lopsided smile. “Feeling smug. And satisfied. And maybe a little sore.”

“Then I did my job.”

They both laughed.

Outside the locker room, the sound of the front door buzzing open broke the bubble. Voices drifted in, familiar, early-morning regulars. The gym was waking up again. Life creeping back into their little sanctuary.

Mara reached for her phone and glanced at the time. “Shit. I’ve got a 7:30 client.”

Sera nodded, slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. “And I’ve got class in forty minutes.”

For a moment, they stood close, still damp around the edges, still holding onto that shared warmth like it could carry them through the rest of the day. Then Mara leaned in, resting her forehead briefly against Sera’s.

“Tonight?”

Sera smiled. “Definitely.”

They didn’t kiss again, not with footsteps approaching and the real world bleeding back in. But Mara brushed her knuckles down Sera’s cheek before stepping away, and that tiny gesture said everything.

As Sera slipped out the back door, sun breaking low on the horizon and a fresh chill in the air, she felt full. Body, heart, all of it. Like she’d just taken the first real breath in years.

And she couldn’t wait to see Mara again.

Wolf, Wife, Worship

The sky was unusually clear for a spring night, stars flickering above the open-air chapel like distant lanterns hung just for them. A crescent of white chairs was set up beneath an arch wrapped in fairy lights and silver wisteria. Dozens of guests filled the seats - family, friends, even a few coworkers - all gathered to witness the moment when James Miller would marry the love of his life. And there she was. Selene, standing at the altar across from him, barefoot in that gleaming white dress. The corset hugged her waist tight, accentuating the dramatic flare of her hips and the soft curve of her bust. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves, eyes fixed on him with a look that could stop time. Her lips curled slightly, teasing the edge of a smile. The minister, some old guy who looked like he’d been grown in a greenhouse for weddings, finished his speech about eternal love and hardship, then gestured to James. “I do,” he said without hesitation. Selene tilted her head and blinked slowly. Then she said it too. “I do.” They kissed. The crowd cheered. And then the screaming started. It happened fast. Her nails elongated. Her jaw cracked wide, bones shifting under her skin with sickening pops. Fur sprouted through every seam of that beautiful gown. She grew taller, broader, her shoulders bursting through the delicate lace. The corset snapped in half, the bodice tearing, baring thick muscle and matted chest fur. Her eyes burned yellow like lit coals, teeth gleaming as her mouth stretched into a sharp, animal grin. People screamed. Chairs flipped. One guy fell into the punch bowl. James didn’t move. Selene - the werewolf version of her - turned her head. She growled low in her throat. Her claws twitched. She looked like she could rip the tent poles out of the ground and crush them into scrap. And James just... stared. “…Holy shit,” he whispered. She snarled and took a step forward. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he exhaled and adjusted his collar like a man watching a sunset made just for him. Her ears twitched. Everyone else ran. But not him. He stayed. The courtyard was empty now, aside from toppled chairs, scattered petals, and the smell of burnt ozone and fear. Somewhere far off, a car alarm wailed. Someone was yelling about demons. James stood completely still, the hem of his tux fluttering in the breeze, staring up at the towering creature in front of him. Selene - if you could still call her that - was a mountain of muscle and fur, well over seven feet tall. Her once-delicate wedding dress hung in tatters across her broad, heaving chest. The remains of the skirt clung to her waist, half-shredded, revealing toned thighs and clawed feet planted in the grass like she owned the damn earth. Her breathing was heavy, chest rising and falling, the rippling curve of her abs flexing with each exhale. She stared at him. Waiting. Maybe expecting him to run like the rest. James just took a step closer. “I knew you were hiding something,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t expect this, but I’m not mad about it.” Selene growled, a deep, throaty sound that rolled out like thunder. Her lips curled back - not in aggression, more like confusion. Her golden eyes narrowed. She sniffed the air. “Still smells like you,” James muttered, smiling. “Just… furrier.” She huffed, chest puffing out slightly, and stood taller. Her claws flexed. She tilted her head, those ears twitching as if struggling to process what was happening. “I should be running,” James said, glancing down at a shredded bouquet and the faint red smear where someone had apparently tripped. “I should be terrified. But all I can think about is how good you look with your tits out and fangs bared.” Selene let out a sharp exhale through her nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but something about it felt close. Then she dropped to one knee, closing the distance in a sudden, fluid motion. Her claws hovered just inches from his chest. He could feel the heat rolling off her, could see the twitch of muscle just under the fur, the hunger in her gaze. He didn’t back away. Instead, James lifted a hand and gently touched her jaw, stroking the edge of her cheek with his thumb. “I said ‘for better or worse,’ right?” he whispered. She pressed her muzzle into his palm, letting out a low, rumbling purr-growl that vibrated his bones. They found shelter in an old stone chapel just behind the altar - abandoned, ivy-covered, probably condemned, but it had a roof and thick doors and stained-glass windows that painted Selene’s fur in blues and purples when moonlight streamed through. James pulled the doors shut behind them. The clunk of the heavy latch echoed through the silence. The only light came from the moon overhead, casting long shadows across the pews and broken altar. Selene sat cross-legged on the floor, towering and calm now, like a wild thing after the storm. Her breath had steadied. Her ears swiveled as she listened to the wind outside, the distant chatter of panicked guests fading into nothing. She glanced at him again. Those golden eyes glowed like lanterns in the dark. Her dress was mostly gone now - just a strap of silk across her shoulder, a few stubborn scraps clinging to her hips. Her fur was thick across her limbs and chest, the curves of her new body exaggerated, sensual in a way that felt almost unfair. James sat beside her. Close. Very close. “I’m sorry,” she rumbled finally. Her voice had changed - raspy, deeper, a bit distorted by the fangs and the muzzle - but it was still her. “I didn’t want to ruin today.” “You didn’t ruin anything.” His voice was steady. “You made it unforgettable.” She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You’re not afraid?” “I should be,” he admitted, eyes tracing the slope of her shoulder, the swell of her chest. “But I’m not. This is still you. Just… raw. Unfiltered. Honest.” She blinked, slowly. “I can shift back.” James looked her over, lingering on the way her fur caught the moonlight, the rippling muscle under her chest, the power in her arms. He reached out and rested a hand just under her collarbone, fingers brushing against her fur. “I don’t want you to.” Her breath hitched. “I mean it,” he continued. “You’re beautiful like this. Strong. Fierce. Real. I didn’t fall in love with the dress, or the hair, or even the voice. I fell in love with you. And if this is you at your fullest? Then I want it. All of it.” Selene stared at him for a long moment. Then her lips pulled back, revealing just the edge of a grin - sharp teeth and all. She leaned forward, her massive body casting him in shadow, and nudged her snout against his neck. A quiet growl rumbled through her chest, possessive and warm. “I am yours,” she whispered. “Even like this.” He pulled her close, hands sliding across her thick shoulders and into the dense fur at the back of her neck. She let him, melting into the contact, wrapping those enormous arms around him like a shield made of muscle and claws and heat. They stayed like that, tangled in silence, the night wrapped around them like a velvet curtain. The moon watched through the stained glass, full and bright. The silence between them wasn’t empty - it was charged, electric. James lay half in her lap, one arm draped over her waist. Her fur was thick and warm beneath his fingers, her body solid like living stone, every breath she took rising and falling with steady power. Selene leaned back against the cracked stone wall, claws tracing lazy circles across his back through the fabric of his dress shirt. She could’ve shredded it with a flick of her wrist, but she liked the feeling of restraint. For now. “You keep staring,” she said, voice low and playful. James looked up at her, chin on her thigh. “Can you blame me?” Her muzzle parted just slightly, fangs glinting in the moonlight. “You really meant it. You want me like this.” “God, yes.” He sat up, pressing closer, running both hands over her stomach, her ribs, her sides. She flexed just slightly, the muscle shifting beneath her fur. Her chest rose, massive and heavy, framed by what was left of the wedding dress hanging off her in ragged strips. He trailed his thumbs just beneath the curve of her breasts, not quite touching - yet - but making his intentions obvious. “You don’t think this is too much?” she asked, almost mockingly. He met her eyes. “No. I think it’s perfect. And you know it.” Selene growled softly, leaning her head down to nuzzle his neck again, her tongue - longer now, thicker - running a slow line up to his jaw. “You’re such a perv,” she whispered, voice almost a purr. “You married a woman and wound up with a beast, and now you wanna bury your face in these?” She cupped her chest, pushed it together, the sheer weight of them more than enough to overwhelm him. He exhaled sharply. “Yes. I absolutely do.” She laughed - a throaty, guttural sound that vibrated through her body and into his. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in, smothering him between her breasts with an affectionate growl. Not hard. Just possessive. Claiming. Teasing. James let himself melt into her, nose pressed into her fur, the scent of her musk filling his lungs, hands gripping her sides like he was afraid she’d disappear. But she didn’t. She was warm and solid and there, surrounding him with strength and power and something that felt dangerously close to peace. “You’re mine now,” she said into his ear. “And you’re never leaving, are you?” He pulled back just enough to look at her, dazed, breathless, eyes full of love and hunger. “Never.” Selene's grip on him tightened - gently, but firm enough to remind him just how massive her hands were now. Claws grazed the back of his scalp as she held him against her chest, a soft growl rumbling through her lungs and into his bones. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He tilted his head, kissing the swell of one breast, letting his lips part slightly against the heat of her skin under the fur. The taste was raw, earthy, her scent thick in his nose like wet pine and sweat and the kind of pheromones that short-circuit thought. She huffed, amused. “You’re gonna ruin that shirt.” He pulled back just enough to pop the top two buttons, baring his collarbone, then shrugged one sleeve down. “Then help me finish the job.” Selene grinned with her fangs. There was a ripping sound, brief and brutal. A single swipe of her claws tore through the shirt like tissue. It fluttered down in shreds, leaving James bare to the waist. The night air hit his skin - but the heat coming off her body eclipsed everything. He shivered. Not from cold. “Better,” she murmured. She leaned down again, mouth open, tongue dragging a long, deliberate stripe from his chest to his neck. Her breath hitched halfway through, and she made a low, keening sound that barely sounded human. Her hips shifted slightly, claws flexing. James pressed into her touch, fingers sliding up her sides, across the curve of her waist and into the thick fur beneath her arms. He wasn’t just touching her - he was holding on, reverent, like she might ascend into the clouds if he didn’t anchor her. Selene's voice dropped to a growl, right against his ear. “Say it.” He didn’t hesitate. “You’re beautiful.” “Louder.” He kissed her throat. “You’re beautiful. You’re mine.” A snarl broke from her lips - not one of rage, but of need. She shoved him down against the ruined pew beneath them, straddling him in one smooth, terrifying motion. Her claws dug into the wood on either side of his head, her heavy breasts swaying just above him, framed in torn lace and moonlight. James looked up at her, heart pounding, completely helpless beneath the weight of her, utterly content. “Do what you want with me,” he whispered. “I’m yours.” Selene lowered herself until her fur brushed his chest, her breath hot against his cheek. “You’re damn right you are.” The pew creaked under their combined weight - James flat on his back, Selene crouched over him like a queen descending her throne. Her claws twitched near his face, but they never touched. She wasn’t holding him down because she had to. He wasn’t going anywhere. Her hips straddled his, thighs thick and muscular, fur brushing against his bare torso like velvet wrapped around steel. Her weight settled into him slowly, deliberately, the curves of her monstrous body folding over his like a blanket made of hunger and safety. James reached up, reverent. He ran his palms over her stomach, up over her chest, into the fur just beneath her breasts. She made a sound - half sigh, half growl - and lowered herself until her chest was flush against him. Her nipples grazed his skin, fur softer than it looked. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” she whispered, muzzle brushing his temple. “Pretty sure I do,” he breathed. Selene pressed her nose to his neck, inhaled slowly, and shuddered. “You smell like trust.” He blinked up at her. “That’s… kind of romantic?” “It’s dangerous,” she corrected, voice gravel. “You shouldn’t trust something like me.” James reached up and cupped her face, thumb tracing the edge of one long, white fang. “I trust my wife. Not a monster.” She growled low - not in protest, but from deep, vibrating pleasure. She rocked her hips slowly - nothing crude, just pressure. Weight. Claiming space on top of him. Her claws teased the waistband of his pants. “You gonna let me break you?” she whispered, voice dripping with affection and heat. “Mark you up? Knot you full and make you mine in every way that matters?” His breath hitched. “Yes.” She licked the side of his face, slow and firm like she was tasting him for the first time. Her tail thumped against the ground once, twice, like a drumbeat in the dark. Then she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Her body glowed in the stained glass moonlight, divine and feral and sacred in a way that no chapel had ever earned. “You’re not just marrying me tonight,” Selene whispered. “You’re getting claimed.” James grinned, utterly wrecked already. “About fucking time.” The moon filtered through broken stained glass, painting them in fractured halos - like divinity had shattered the moment she transformed, and now all that was left was this: raw love in fur and skin. Selene loomed over him, breathing heavy, claws slow and deliberate as she undid the button of his pants - not in a rush, but like she was unwrapping a gift. Her lips curled up slightly, revealing just a bit of fang. “I like how you tremble,” she murmured. James’s voice caught in his throat, half-laugh, half-moan. “You’re huge.” She leaned in, chest pressed to his again. Her body radiated heat, and her tail flicked lazily behind her, a slow arc of power and control. “I’m yours,” she whispered. “Every inch. Every fang. Every claw. But if I’m giving you all of me…” Her claws traced down his abdomen, featherlight. “Then you better give all of you to me.” She tugged his pants down with a growl - not aggressive, but territorial. Possessive. Her muzzle hovered just above his stomach, her breath ragged. Then she kissed his lower belly, slowly. Just once. Like a benediction. James gasped. “You’re making this feel holy.” Selene chuckled against his skin, voice low. “It is. This is sacred. You didn’t marry a woman, James. You married something older. Wilder.” She moved lower, kissing along his hip. Her tongue flicked out, dragging over his skin in warm, slow strokes. Her claws never left his sides, keeping him grounded while she took her time. Not teasing to torment - but to worship. Then she looked up. “You want me to take you apart?” she asked, almost too gently. “Piece by piece?” He nodded, breathless. “Please.” Selene didn't answer with words. She opened her jaws just enough to let her tongue run down, low, slow, greedy. Her eyes never left his. Every lick, every breath, every grind of her hips against his thighs was deliberate. Intimate. Reverent. By the time her lips closed around him, he was already shaking. She devoured him. Slowly. Her tongue curled around, hot and firm, and her throat let out a low moan that vibrated down his entire spine. Her hands - huge and clawed - held his hips perfectly still. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not from her. Not from this. She didn’t rush. She savored. Like this wasn’t about getting him off - it was about tasting the man who chose to stay. James whined softly, hand tangled in the fur of her ears, the other gripping her shoulder. “Fuck - Selene - ” She pulled back just enough to breathe, licking her lips. “You say my name like a prayer.” He looked down at her, dazed. “Because you’re a fucking goddess.” She growled in delight and swallowed him again - deeper this time, faster now, her rhythm building. The worship turned to hunger, and the hunger turned to need. Hers. His. Shared. And when he came - choking out her name, back arched, hands gripping fur like it was the only thing keeping him alive - she stayed on him. All the way. Drinking every last drop. Letting him feel every inch of her mouth, every bit of devotion. She finally pulled off, slow and smug, licking her fangs. “Yours, huh?” she said, chest rising and falling with heat. “Then get up here and prove it.” James barely had time to breathe before Selene grabbed him again - strong arms under his shoulders, claws careful not to pierce. She lifted him like he weighed nothing, laying him back against the worn stone of the chapel floor, the shattered stained glass crunching softly under her knees. Her eyes glowed down at him, a molten yellow that flickered like wildfire. Her breasts hung low, heavy, furred, tipped with dark, swollen peaks that brushed his chest as she settled over him. Her body was a furnace, heat rolling off her like she was made for it - like this form was where she was always meant to be. He spread his legs without thinking. Not in fear, not in uncertainty - in offering. Selene reached down and guided him into her with a single, slow grind of her hips. She didn’t need to ask. He was already slick with her saliva, already twitching from her mouth’s memory. She was wet - dripping - tight and pulsing and hot as hell. The moment he slid inside, they both made a sound. His was a breathless groan. Hers was a guttural, possessive snarl. “Mine,” she growled, voice trembling, walls fluttering around him. She didn’t start slow. Her hips crashed into him like waves, each thrust deep and greedy. Her breasts bounced with the motion, fur brushing his chest as her claws sank into the floor beside his head. Her breath came in pants. Her tongue lolled free. Her moans started rising, feral and feminine and needy. James couldn’t keep quiet. “Yes - Selene - fuck - yes - ” “Say it again,” she panted, slamming down harder. “You’re mine,” he gasped. “My wife. My monster. My everything.” She roared - actual, fanged roar - and doubled down, hips grinding now, clit pressed to his pelvis with every stroke. She leaned down to bite his shoulder - not enough to bleed, just enough to warn. Her saliva smeared hot across his throat as she licked where she might’ve bitten harder. “I’m going to claim you,” she whispered, voice shaking with lust and love and violent tenderness. “You want that? You want to be marked?” He couldn’t think anymore. Just nodded. “Do it.” Her pace faltered. Then - slammed. One last, brutal grind. Her body locked up as she pushed the head of his cock into her uterus. She screamed his name. He arched under her, crying out, cumming so hard it felt like he left something behind inside her. They shook. Together. Clinging. She stayed locked around him, riding the spasms, his cock buried deep in the furnace of her monstrous cunt, her thighs tight around his hips like steel cords. And then she collapsed onto him, careful not to crush, his cock still deep inside her as it began to soften. James wrapped his arms around her furry waist and kissed her muzzle, breathless. “‘Til death do us part,” he whispered. Selene chuckled against his neck, voice low and rough. “Oh, baby… I’m immortal. You’re fucked.” “Best decision I ever made.” They lay there together, fused, panting, wrapped in moonlight and the scent of sex and fur and holy, carnal devotion. She licked sweat from his collarbone slowly, tender now. No growling. No snarls. Just long, warm strokes of her tongue, like she was tasting peace. His eyes fluttered half open. “You still there?” She grunted softly, pressing her muzzle to his cheek. “I didn’t black out, did I?” he asked, slurring with sleep and overstimulation. “You moaned my name five times and nearly passed out when I claimed you,” Selene murmured. Her voice had softened again. Still deep, still bestial, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. It was the voice of someone who knew she’d been chosen. Not just accepted - wanted. He chuckled weakly. “Best wedding night ever.” The chapel was silent now, except for their breathing. Faint wind pushed through a shattered stained glass window, sending flecks of colored moonlight across the floor. Dust floated like snow in the beams. Eventually, her body relaxed. She eased off him carefully, holding his hips as she slipped free with a wet, sticky sound that made them both gasp softly. James groaned. “Oh, fuck.” Selene grinned. She curled around him on the stone floor - arms draped over his chest, thick tail resting over his thighs like a blanket. He shifted to face her, burying his face against her furred chest, lips pressing lightly to the center of it. “You’re not cold?” she asked. “I’m inside a werewolf furnace. No, I’m good.” She snorted. They lay there for what felt like hours. She stroked his hair. He traced slow circles along the ridges of her knuckles. No words. Just warmth. Just weight. Just them. James didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up to the feeling of skin - bare, smooth skin - against his cheek. The fur was gone. So was the weight. She was still curled around him, but her body was smaller now. Softer. He blinked slowly and looked up. Selene’s human face gazed back down at him, framed in dark hair that stuck to her cheek. Her eyes - still gold, but less glowing - were wet at the corners. “…Hey,” she whispered, voice raw. “You’re back,” he murmured. “That’s okay.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to change back. It just… happens after.” He reached up, thumb brushing her cheek. “I loved you in that body,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t marry a form, Selene. I married you.” Her eyes closed as she leaned into his hand. “I’ll go back,” she whispered. “If you want.” He smiled, curling closer. “Right now, I just want to sleep with you in my arms.” Selene tucked her head under his chin and let him pull her in. The chapel was still ruined. The moon was still full. Somewhere outside, there were still scared guests and flipped chairs and unanswered questions. But in that little patch of warmth between two bodies tangled on the floor, there was only this. Peace. Love. And a monster’s heartbeat slowing beside her husband’s.

Sigma AU: Fuck the Police

WARNING: STORY CONTAINS CNC (consentual nonconsent) AND MASOCHISM

Etrius pushed the gas pedal of his car hard to the floor, and the 6.8L twin-turbo V8 in his car roared, sending him up the long road through the mountains on the outskirts of the city. His prosthetic hands gripped the steering wheel, and his robotic arms held it steady as the car fought against the wheelspin the engine produced.

The car accelerated up the road, the body squatting as the power surged through the powertrain. Etrius smiled smugly as he stared intently at the road in front of him, then slammed on the brakes as the first switchback reared its head. The car decelerated with astounding agility, the massive 17-inch carbon ceramic disc brakes producing a visible glow in the growing darkness of the fading night.

He spun the steering wheel hard, but with finesse, as the fat racing tires gripped the asphalt. He floored the accelerator again midway through the turn, fire spitting out the car’s side exhaust, lighting up the rocky canyon and the guardrail of the switchbacks, as he began the process once more.

Suddenly, a flash of red and blue told Etrius that he was not alone. Suddenly, his expression went from happiness and joy to one much more serious as he began to handle the car much more roughly - no silky finesse this time. Back and forth through the switchbacks he drove, pushing the car to its absolute limits. One slip, and he would slide off into the abyssal canyons below.

Without warning, an all-too-familiar orange light appeared on the gauge cluster. He was beginning to run out of fuel. Serves me right, he thought, for buying such a monstrous vehicle. At last, he relented, as he realized he was screwed one way or another. He braked hard and pulled rockside, away from the guard rail, and put his car into park and unbuckled his seatbelt - preparing for the worst.

Etrius sat patiently, waiting for his judgement. A large, tall figure appeared in the mirror, and he watched as the shadow grew larger and larger, until the figure was standing at his door. He rolled down the window, and was greeted by the cool night air, and the familiar scent of lavender.

“Do you know how fast you were going?” a recognizable voice squeaked.

“I don’t even want to know where you got the cop car or the uniform, Zoey,” he responded.

“You don’t need to know. I did catch you though!” the police officer responded, the lavender scent growing stronger as she leaned down and peered into his car, her massive breasts pushing against the fabric of the faux uniform in the dim glow from the city down the canyon.

“Every goddamn time, I am surprised.” Etrius complained, “You have no business having a voice that high for how tall and large you are.”

“What can I say, it’s either the drugs the Germans fed me or the drugs the Americans fed me. I don’t remember. Why don’t you step out of the vehicle?”

“Zoey, are we really doing this tonight? I know we agreed beforehand, but I have shit to d-”

Etrius was interrupted as Zoey reached into the car and pulled the handle from the inside, forcing the door open. With her other arm, and with alarming speed and strength, she grabbed Etrius by the shoulder and yanked him out of the car. She then pinned him against the pillar window, holding both his arms behind his back.

“I wasn’t asking,” Zoey said.

“Don’t scratch the paint,” Etrius growled, as Zoey used her free hand to search his pants pockets.

“Cargo pants shouldn’t have this many pockets, especially yours,” Zoey said as she patted his thighs, moving closer and closer to his crotch.

With one hand restraining his arms behind his back by his wrists, and with the other on Etrius’s shoulder, Zoey moved him over to the hood of his car and pushed him face down hard enough to nearly wind him.

“You’re gonna dent the fucking hood, you slut!” he yelled, his words echoing throughout the canyon.

“Oh, I’m a slut now, am I? You’re going to pay for that, boy.” She pulled out a pair of handcuffs and shackled Etrius’s wrists together. “Don’t even try to break these, they’re made of the same metal your bones are. You’re gonna rip your prosthetics out of their sockets if you try. My prosthetics may be older than yours, but I’m still stronger than you.” she snarled, either overjoyed or intensely angered by Etrius’s insult. It was hard for him to tell, as he couldn’t see her face.

Holding him down with one hand, Zoey used her free hand to rip Etrius’s pants all the way down, and used a booted foot to push them aside.

“Do you always drive shirtless? Fucking creep.” she said, with more definite anger in her voice.

“Do you always carry a bottle of lube in your utility belt?” Etrius quipped in response. He yelped as Zoey slapped his bare asscheek with her own prosthetic hand as punishment for yet more stinging words.

“I know you have a temper, but that was just uncalled for,” he said, and she thrust one knee into his crotch, making Etrius arch his back and whimper. “Fine! I’ll shut up! Just arrest me already!” he cried.

“This nightstick isn’t just for show, you fucking asshole. I’m gonna make your ass sore.” she replied.

Still forcing Etrius hard onto the hood of his car, she used her free hand to pull the nightstick off her belt and put it between his muscular glute.

“Oh fuck, I do not consent to this. Dammit, Zoey, I’m sorry!” he yelled in regret.

“I don’t give a shit about consent, you dumb prick,” she snarled.

With a resounding hock-patooey, she spit on the end of the nightstick as it sat between Etrius’s upper thighs, and slowly but firmly forced it into his asshole.

Etrius whimpered as Zoey played with him, and bit his lower lip as his cock began to grow out of its sheath. I should not be aroused by this, he thought. What is wrong with me?

Zoey pushed the nightstick further into Etrius’s ass, and spit on it again. She angled it just so, and Etrius’s face suddenly went from pain to mixed pleasure, and he began to pant. She rhythmically pushed the nightstick back and forth, the mechanical precision of her own prosthetics making the motion fluid and smooth.

Etrius’s cock was now fully erect, the knot just barely visible, black precum dripping out of the spiked tip. Zoey shoved the nightstick further up, and firmly, and smiled sadistically as Etrius moaned and his dick twitched. Releasing her grip on the nightstick she moved her hand down to jerk him off, all while reinforcing her grip on his bound arms.

“St...stop, p..please,” Etrius moaned between breaths, his balls swelling noticeably.

“I’m not gonna let you cum until I want you to, and you’re not going to have any choice anyways.” she squeaked, her unnaturally high pitched voice echoing against the rock face of the canyon.

She hooked the handguard of the nightstick around a protruding pouch on her belt, and started moving her hips in a sex-like motion, pushing the nightstick in and out of Etrius’s ass like it was her own cock. She squeezed his erect penis hard enough to make him whimper and hard enough to stop him from orgasming, and stared at him writhing on the hood of his car with a wretched grin, and with a vengeful ire in her eyes.

“Goddamn, Z...Zoey...Stop...T..That hurts…”

She ignored him, and kept stroking his cock with her hand, and fucking his ass with her nightstick. Etrius’s cock began to leak more black precum, which splattered all over the headlights and bumper of his car as Zoey’s strong motions pushed the car around.

“I know you can take this entire nightstick, you fucking manwhore. But I’m not gonna give it to you because you’d fucking like that, wouldn’t you?” Zoey squeaked.

“J...Just let me c..cum already…” he panted.

“I can’t believe you’re so weak. You’re pathetic. The legendary mercenary Etrius vanRandr, brought to his knees. I could fuck you to death out here and nobody would care. I could leave your corpse out here, and nobody would find you at the bottom of the canyon in a pool of your own disgusting black blood.”

“Sh...Shut the f..fuck up, Zoeeeiiiiiiiiii-!” He was cut off as she squeezed his growing knot firmly, the pain stopping his orgasm.

“How much longer do you think you can endure this? I know you were tortured, drugged, and raped by that she-wolf years ago - I bet that was nothing compared to this. The saddest part about this is, you fucking enjoy it. And I’m a damn fox! Your pathetic feline ass must really enjoy getting fucked by dogs.” she chided, shoving him into the hood of his car once again, his face hitting the metal as he got jerked around by the force.

Etrius was finally silent, the schlick-schlick of Zoey’s nightstick reciprocating in his ass filling up the now-quiet canyon.

She pulled her hand away from Etrius’s cock and she unhooked the nightstick from her belt. Just when Etrius thought she was done, she pulled a taser off her belt and put it against his balls and pressed the power button.

Etrius yelped, black cum forcing its way out of his cock, splattering all over the front of his car and the road. His ass clenched against the nightstick, and Zoey used her thigh to push the nightstick as far into his ass as it would go.

Between the edging, the nightstick pressing directly against his prostate, and the taser electrocuting his testicles, black cum was being shot everywhere, his cock pulsating with electricity that arced to the metal grille of his car.

Zoey pulled the taser away and shut it off, then pulled the nightstick out of his ass with alarming speed, black anal juices dripping from it, leaving Etrius’s asshole gaping.

Etrius collapsed on the hood of his car, panting heavily. Zoey stood over him, arms crossed in disappointment.

“For such a prolific figure in the city, and for as much I hear about you from the other women, you truly are pathetic. I expected more...enthusiasm.” she said.

A few minutes went by as she stood over him. He finally regained his composure and tried to stand up, but she pushed him down to the hood again. Black semen dripped from his still-erect cock.

“You really are turned on by this shit? Where’s the strong and dominant Etrius I hear so much about?” She used a finger to wipe some of the cum off his cock and put it in her mouth.

“Undo these cuffs and I’ll show you exactly what I’m capable of.” Etrius said angrily.

“Oh, honey, you know I can’t do that,” she flirted. Zoey reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. She dropped it in front of Etrius’s face, which he desperately lunged towards as she smacked it away. It landed in the dirt a few metres away from his car.

Zoey bent down and stared at Etrius, his face still pressed against his car. She spit on him, then walked away without a word and got into her stolen police cruiser, started the engine, and drove off.

The lavender scent lingered for a moment, and then was gone.