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Their competition for the IDOL Awards aren’t a new group. They’ve been floating around the top ten for a while—Zoey is pretty sure they were…fourth? Fifth? last year before the Saja Boys rocketed up the charts with their demon-powered tunes. When they post up semi-aggressively in front of her leader, she thinks about doing something to help but quickly decides against it because Rumi putting people in their place is easily one of her favourite things ever. Which no one is allowed to judge her for! It’s hot! And it’s in her brain, no one knows.
Mira definitely knows.
She takes in the scene quickly before sauntering over to join Zoey.
‘What’s going on here?’ she murmurs.
Zoey wants to pull her lip into her mouth but they’re about to perform and if she ruins her makeup her assistant will kill her. Instead, she says,
‘Rumi’s about to do something so hot. It might kill me. It will kill me. If I die, will you hide all my porn from my parents?’
‘Yeah, I’ll steal it all. Thanks in advance.’
They share a quick grin before fixing their eyes back on their girlfriend. Fuck, Zoey thinks, adoring. She’s so hot. This year, they’re dressed all in red and gold and it makes Rumi look fierce—not that she needs much help. She could wear a turtle onesie (and should, actually) and still look tall and strong and poised. Zoey is largely focused on how hot Rumi looks while she’s being gracious but she does lock in when the lead of the other group says something stupid like,
‘Make the most of your time on stage tonight, Rumi-nim. I’d hate to see a repeat of last year’s disaster.’
Zoey’s hands clench at her side. In her chest, her heart clenches too. Beside her, Mira tenses and Zoey knows she’s feeling the same—the hot rush of shame and fear that has never vanished, not fully, the horror that overtook them that night as they raced back to Rumi’s side. Someone had hurt their girl. Someone had worn their faces to make her think it was them. And as much as they’d tried to reassure their fans and manage the narrative of what had happened that night, there was a small contingent who still believed that two-thirds of Huntrix had turned—violently—on their leader in front of millions of fans.
Rumi is no longer one of those people.
For a moment, she takes in the other group quietly. She hands off the microphone she’s been testing to one of the stage-hands (who correctly picks up on the vibe and takes it with a bow before scurrying off. Smart girl) and then—it’s hard to describe. There’s not one single thing Zoey can point to that changes except that Rumi is suddenly, completely, devastatingly (to Zoey’s sense of self-control and lust) transformed. Zoey loves seeing Rumi like this. It’s rare outside their home but not totally unlike the transformation that overtakes her when she’s about to perform—but this is so much more pointed, fixed on five fools instead of fifty thousand beloved fans, and all the more potent for it. When Rumi lifts her chin, a smirk pulling at her lips, it’s like she’s grown three inches and the aura that burns around her is pure power.
(Zoey doesn’t moan. No matter what Mira’s judgemental look might suggest.)
‘Thank you for your concern. It’s always so nice to meet a fan,’ Rumi replies sweetly, like the other group is there for them, is opening for them rather than presenting any kind of solid competition. Like the results of the show is a given—Huntrix is winning for the sixth year in a row tonight and while Zoey believes that totally, Rumi has always been far more generous. Not anymore. It’s so deliciously dismissive that Mira makes a little noise too—you weak bitch, Zoey thinks as hard as she can in her girlfriend’s direction. She is thoroughly ignored.
Rumi eyes the other idols. Golden eyes crawling over them, assessing. Zoey knows the other group doesn’t understand what Rumi is, exactly, but they know who she is and how they feel standing in front of her—small, bite-sized, hunted.
Rumi shifts her weight. Puts a hand on her hip. Her smirk twists, displeased. The other idols tense. Rumi’s voice drops into a dangerous purr.
‘You can go now,’ she advises, with a dismissive flick of her hand.
They flee.
‘Rumi,’ Zoey groans. ‘You can’t just do that.’
‘What? I was nice!’
Mira blinks adoringly. The rest of her stays in her unimpressed slouch. ‘No. You weren’t.’
‘Nicer than you’d be,’ Rumi counters. She tears her eyes away from the pleasant sight of the idol group practically falling over themselves in their eagerness to get away as fast as possible; a mean kind of pleasure burns bright behind her eyes and Zoey shivers under the pin of that golden stare. Rumi quirks a brow. ‘Should I apologise?’
Zoey blinks. A small part of her that she cannot entertain right now wails that she’s acting weak in front of a predator and she’s gonna fucking die.
‘No,’ she says. ‘You should kiss me.’
Rumi blinks and laughs. She tilts her head—so fucking cocky—and winks.
‘Later, babe. Show first. Celebration second.’
‘We’re holding you to that,’ Mira tells her. ‘Just so you know.’
‘Looking forward to it.’
They win. Whatever. Zoey basically doesn’t care because Rumi has her on her knees in the elevator as it brings them up to their home. She feels so hot she’s surprised the mirrored walls aren’t all fogged up. Instead, they’re perfectly clean and clear and Zoey can see herself—on her knees, face red with want—as Rumi leans casually against the back wall. She’s talking quietly with Mira about the performance—something about Mira’s choreography (excellent)—and occasionally they’ll kiss, Mira moving closer and closer to their gorgeous, shining leader like she might perish if she has to leave her side.
Mood, Zoey thinks. Then, fuck. Put your hands on me. She doesn’t care which one of them but she’s dying for someone’s attention.
Her heart leaps when Rumi’s eyes flick down to her.
‘I gave you a job, sweetheart. Did you get distracted?’ Rumi asks. The words are deceptively light. Pleasant. But Zoey can hear the edge—slippery steel, silver like water, like moonlight, like a blade under her chin lifting her head to meet Rumi’s eyes.
‘What?’
Rumi smiles. ‘Did you get distracted?’
‘Yeah,’ she admits, and pouts. If Rumi makes fun of her for being so gone already, she’ll explode. Or cry. Or maybe just whine for a little while. That’s more reasonable. But she likes the drama of pretending like a sideways look from her girlfriends will make her explode. ‘You’re so pretty,’ she manages to say. ‘You’re so pretty, Rumi.’
Rumi’s pink lips twist, faux sympathetic. ‘I know. Makes it a little hard for you, hm? Hard to think?’
Yes. Absolutely it does. But Rumi knowing how pretty she is? Knowing that it makes Zoey feel like her head is full of cotton and like her hands are full of static until she can get them on Rumi, moving all over her skin…that’s the real brain-melter.
‘Yeah,’ she says again. Maybe she should be embarrassed by how breathy she sounds but she’s not. ‘I’m sorry.’
Rumi clicks her tongue. One of her hands has been busy with Mira, lovingly twirling pink strands around her fingers, and she pulls away gently now to put a finger under Zoey’s chin. Her nail scrapes on the soft underside, a gentle warning.
Zoey shivers. Follows the implicit instruction, lets herself be coaxed forward, shuffling closer on her knees, until Rumi can curl her fingers around the back of Zoey’s neck and tug her the rest of the way until Zoey’s nose is against Rumi’s abs. Her breath puffs hot between them, steamy against her own mouth and chin as she pants against her girlfriend. Hands trembling at her side because all she remembers from Rumi’s instructions was Down and Kiss me but she doesn’t remember the rules—if there even had been any—and she’s enjoyed this version of Rumi enough times to know there are always rules. Maybe there’s somewhere she’s not supposed to kiss?
Zoey stares at her beautiful girlfriend, hoping the sight of her will jog her memories and not just lust but she gets distracted by the tight clench of her abs, vaguely coated in glitter, and how long her legs look in those shorts and her boots and she wants to press her mouth, open, to Rumi’s stomach and lick into her bellybutton, coat her tongue with the taste of effort and joy and victory and—
A sharp tug on her hair pulls her out of her head.
’Very distracted tonight.’ Rumi clicks her tongue again. The sound is sharp against the back of her teeth, white and sharp. ‘Thinking about something else?’
‘No. Only you,’ Zoey tells her, and dares to lean a little closer until her bottom lip just barely grazes Rumi’s skin. It was supposed to be a tease for Rumi but she’s the one who groans and she can’t keep still, presses forward so she can drag her lips over the bump of powerful abs. It leaves a trail of gloss behind. Zoey has been trying out a new coat that shines like glitter and she already thought it was cute but now she knows why it called to her—because it looks like Rumi, the same iridescence of her patterns. ‘Fuck. Please. Let me—‘
‘No. You wasted all your time. We’re nearly there.’
Zoey’s face falls.
Rumi sighs, benevolent. ‘One kiss.’
‘Rules?’
‘Oh, I see. You were trying to be good. That’s very sweet of you,’ Rumi compliments her. ‘No rules yet. But only one kiss, okay?’
Zoey nods, beaming. She sucks her lip into her mouth as she stares, trying to find the perfect place for—oh yes, that’ll do.
High on Rumi’s right thigh, on the outside, there’s a spot where several patterns end. It leaves an odd blank spot like the claws of a ring missing its jewel. Begging to be filled it. Zoey’s kiss can be that jewel. She drags her fingers down the back of her thigh, dipping into the sensitive crook of her knee—Rumi jerks with a short laugh—until her hand rests against the clench of her calf. Zoey presses her whole face to Rumi’s leg and nuzzles in, preening, when Rumi’s fingers move gently through her hair to grip one of her buns, keeping her close.
She doesn’t have a lot of time. And she wants to be good, honest.
She kisses Rumi’s leg, exactly where she planned to. It’s short and sweet. Chaste, really. But she makes the mistake of opening her eyes and her gaze trips up, up, up Rumi’s body—flushed pink after the show (and no small part due to Zoey’s single-minded attention), breathing a little ragged—and she’s so beautiful that Zoey can’t help herself. She opens her mouth wide and licksRumi’s thigh, loosely following the jagged line of a pattern.
Despite her breaking the rule, Rumi doesn’t seem inclined to stop her. She pets the back of Zoey’s head.
‘You’re so sweet,’ she murmurs in a voice like syrup, sticky-sweet. ‘Couldn’t help yourself. Taking what isn’t yours to take. But it’s good, isn’t it? You want it so bad. Wanna be close to me. Wanna make me feel good.’
Zoey nods. Her tongue finds a dimple on Rumi’s leg, leftover from an old scar. She remembers this one; a demon had caught her with its horn when Rumi kicked its fellow, who had been trying to menace Mira. Hot, hot, hot, Zoey’s mind chants. Rumi’s so strong and powerful. Her hand is so gentle on Zoey, stroking her hair.
’Feel good?’
‘Yes.’
There’s almost nothing left of the gold in Rumi’s eyes, all eaten up by the hungry black of her pupils. She’s not smiling, exactly, but she doesn’t seem upset. Thoughtful, in a way that cuts to Zoey’s core. Like she can see right through her and finds every messy, bloody, chaotic bit of her delicious.
‘If I cared a little less about keeping you for myself, I’d have you do this on stage.’
Zoey freezes. Rumi would never—obviously it would be a disaster, not to mention wildly inappropriate.
And yet.
Her whole body floods with molten heat and she has to grab Rumi’s leg hard, trying to stay still and not melt into the floor. Rumi keeps talking to her in a quiet voice, dark, like something out of a dream.
‘Can’t you imagine it? I can. Having you just like this, down on your knees for me. Showing everyone in the world how good you are. How pretty you are when you do what you’re told.’ Her lips tick up at the corners. ‘Or when you’re being a little naughty. We’d get a lot of new fans, I think. Everyone would be delighted by you. Seeing how fast you’d hit the deck,’ she teases and laughs, throaty and warm.
Zoey doesn’t know what to do with this. Rumi is complimenting her—she’s being kind and the praise is, yeah, doing a lot—but the angle of it is doing something to her head. Rumi is literally talking down to her and for a blissful moment Zoey thinks she’d like Rumi to really lean into it. She wants Rumi to be mean. She wants Rumi to be undeniably, inescapably in charge.
‘You’re so cute. You’d be shaking like you are now and the camera’s would get nice and close and everyone would see it’s because you’re so excited you can’t handle it. Can’t remember the rules. But that’s okay.’
Zoey swallows. ‘It - it is?’
‘Of course, baby. You don’t have to handle anything. Not while I’m around.’
From Rumi, it’s a promise. A weight lifts from Zoey’s shoulders—a weight Zoey hadn’t noticed until it was gone. She shivers again and follows the press of the hand against the back of her head until she’s nuzzling at Rumi’s skin.
The elevator dings.
‘Mira,’ Rumi murmurs, ‘the couch, I think.’
‘Gotcha.’
‘And Mira?’
‘Mm.’
‘I don’t think Zoey needs to walk.’
‘Sure,’ Mira agrees. She doesn’t sound affected by the suggestion but Zoey knows she is; she shifts her weight, breath humming almost completely silent in the back of her throat as she considers her next words. ‘Want me to carry her?’
‘No.’ Rumi tickles the back of Zoey’s neck with a sharp nail. ‘Just drag her there.’
Zoey’s whole body clenches. Mostly her cunt but also every other part of her. Eyes flickering up to the mirrored wall, she spies Mira—leaning against another wall, staring. Eyes burningly intense, scalding, as she drags her eyes over Zoey before settling on her show jacket. Her hands flex.
Mira’s voice has dropped about an octave, rough. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.’
She reaches out but stills when Rumi’s hand snaps away from Zoey’s head to grip her wrist.
‘Mira.’ Rumi’s voice is still so gentle but only on the surface.
Mira hears it too. Zoey knows, because her girlfriend ducks her head, makes herself a little smaller. For Rumi. Not that Rumi needs it. Doesn’t need them small to handle them. She’s stronger, faster, frighteningly clever.
‘Thank me. For letting you touch her.’
‘Thank you,’ Mira says without hesitation.
Rumi releases her wrist. ‘Not on the couch. She hasn’t earned it yet.’
Zoey yelps, surprised even though she’s been witness to the whole conversation, when Mira reaches down and grabs the collar of her jacket. She wrenches her out of the elevator with ease and Zoey can’t quite find her feet with the pace she sets, can’t get them beneath her. She tries—almost manages to stagger upright—but Rumi tsks as she saunters after them and Zoey loses something vital in the effort, collapsing harder into Mira’s grip.
Mira drags her down the hall and into the living room. The carpet stings against the back of her legs as she’s yanked into place and her elbow aches when she hits the ground where Mira drops her. She’s nothing. Placed where Rumi wants her, moved how Rumi wants her moved. Her pulse has settled well and truly in her core, thrumming, and Zoey eyes her girlfriends warily. Wondering if she can trick them into fucking her immediately, right now.
Probably not.
That’s okay—she loves to earn it.
They leave her there with a few rules to keep her entertained. Focused. Strip without getting off her knees. Throw her clothes as far as she can. Then, eyes closed and hands still. Hands still. Count up to one hundred and then back down. She’s only down to seventy-three when her girls return. Rumi takes the spot in front of her. She lets Zoey open her eyes and for a split second she’s disappointed—Rumi has changed out of her show outfit and into a tank and sweats. She hasn’t touched her makeup or her hair though and the hotness didn’t come from the outfit anyway. Rumi looks just as confident in this—maybe more so.
For a moment, Rumi just looks at her. Naked and vulnerable. A pink tongue flickers out, licking across her lips, dragging slowly against a sharp, sharp fang.
‘You know…I keep thinking about that song. Takedown.’
Zoey tenses. Before she can even fully think about apologising for it—she’s apologises before but it always comes back, that sick feeling, that awful cold hurt twisting in her belly when she thinks about Rumi suffering all alone—Rumi’s eyes flash gold and her face falls from sweet to harsh. It’s…very hot. Zoey’s breath catches in her throat, barely audible to anyone else; from the way her patterns pulse, Rumi hears. She huffs a laugh, equally quiet, and touches Zoey the way she has been all night. A gentle press against the back of her neck, guiding her forward until her face is pressed to Rumi’s pants where she can feel a rare but not wholly unfamiliar length hard under the fabric.
Zoey’s breath catches again.
Rumi’s chuckle sets her thoughts alight. Everything in her brain—important or not—curls with the licking, orange heat and turns to ash and smoke.
‘You wanna take me down, baby?’
‘Please—’
‘You think you can take me?’
Zoey wants to say yes but she’s not sure—they have a handful of straps and some of them Zoey can take like a champ. But the mood Rumi is in—all of them are in, lets be fair—she’s suddenly convinced that it’s going to be the big one and the only one who can take that is no-gag-reflex-dick-swallowing-champ-2025 Rumi.
Rumi’s nails scratch lightly at her hairline. So sweet. Like she isn’t shifting her hips in tiny circles, grinding the cloth of her sweats against Zoey’s open, panting mouth.
‘You wanna try, don’t you? Big bad hunter. Take my cock all the way down your throat?’
There’s always been a kind of magic in Rumi’s voice—she’s their lead, she’s the voice of Huntrix, but this is different. Her voice drips over Zoey, honeyed and hot. She never wants Rumi to stop talking.
‘Wanna stay there until I let you up. Wanna wrap those pretty lips around my dick and suck until all your worries go away. That’s what you want, isn’t it, sweetheart? You don’t wanna think,’ she laughs meanly. ‘You want me to fuck you stupid. Fuck you ’til you’re crying. Want me to fuck all the thoughts outta your head, voice right outta your throat. You don’t wanna be a big bad hunter. You wanna sit there so pretty and take it,’ Rumi hisses, yanking Zoey’s head back on her neck so she can press her length against the skin of her throat.
It’s so fucking long and hard, there’s no way it’s one of the small ones. Zoey’s gonna die. She’s gonna die and she’s gonna thank Rumi the whole time. Rumi presses her mouth against the front of her pants again.
‘Is that what you want, baby?’ Rumi asks, fingers wrapped in her hair to force her to nod. ‘Yeah? Pretty girl?’ She clicks her fingers in front of Zoey’s face and laughs again when she can only blink, dizzy with want. ‘You’re so pretty like this. Already so stupid for me and we haven’t even started.’
‘Fuck,’ Zoey hears. Mira. The words are hazy. She hears them but she can’t be bothered to focus. ‘Fuck, Rumi—she’s totally gone.’
‘Not quite.’
‘I think she could come from that. Just you talking. I think I could come from that.’
Rumi’s laugh scratches something deep in her head. Her nail scratches the skin of her neck, the almost-pain keeping her from totally floating away.
‘Well she’s about to have her mouth full so maybe I’ll keep talking to her. Tell her what a good job she’s doing. Or maybe a bad job. Pretty bad hunter, huh? Weak. How ashamed her girlfriends would be, seeing her choke on demon cock. Seeing how much she wants it.’
The mean words needle at her but it’s the tone that really sinks in. Careless and confident. Sympathy soft at the edges. Like Rumi knows no matter what Zoey tries, she won’t be able to get away until Rumi is done with her. She’s too strong. She’s too good. Zoey has never been able to measure up. She lets out a tiny broken sob as every part of her throbs, hot and wet. Her hands shake as she lifts them from her knees to brace against Rumi’s thighs.
‘Oh and you do want it, don’t you baby? You’re ready to take it out, aren’t you? Almost ready? Did you wanna drool a little more. You’ve only made a little mess of my pants.’
Rumi pulls her hair hard, yanking Zoey back so she can see the front of her sweats where, to her dismay, there is a sizeable dark patch where Rumi has been pressing Zoey’s mouth to her—where Zoey has been drooling for her.
‘Messy girl,’ she tuts. ‘I like these pants.’
Through the heat, through everything, Zoey feels herself smile.
Rumi does like these pants. Her favourites. Lilac sweats, soft and relaxed. Zoey bought them for her years ago. Her hand strokes up toward Rumi’s hip where the tiny embroidered RMZ sits hidden under the waistband.
Everything eases for a second. Rumi’s hand gentles. She bends at the waist and presses a warm kiss to her forehead.
‘Colour?’
Zoey’s heart flutters. She hums. Tilts her head to catch Rumi’s lips in a quick kiss. ‘Green.’
Rumi nips her bottom lip. ‘Sneaky. I’ll punish you for that.’
Zoey bats her lashes cutely. ‘Promise?’
For a second, Rumi forgets what they’re doing; Zoey can tell, because an adorable blush floods her cheeks. She watches her girlfriend soften, eyes skimming her cheeks, lingering on her freckles, and dipping to her cutely pursed lips where she’s waiting—very patiently—for another kiss.
Mira interrupts. Clears her throat expectantly.
‘Hey. I was promised a show.’
A show.
A spark stings up Rumi’s spine and she straightens. Looming over Zoey, eyes dark with promise. If there’s one thing Rumi knows how to do, it’s put on a show. Her smile stretches out into something thin and dangerous, wide enough to show off the flash of too-sharp canines.
‘It’s time, sweetheart. Take me out.’
Zoey widens her eyes. Shakes her head no as best as she can with her hair caught tight in Rumi’s fist. It tightens until it’s just shy of painful, stopping her from moving.
‘What’s that? No?’ Her laugh rumbles in her chest. ’It’s a little late for that, I think. But it’s okay. You’re shy. I’ll be nice. I’ll help you.’
An impatient thumb slips into Rumi’s pants, loosening the ties. She tugs at her pants until they slip, partway down her thighs. Enough for Zoey to see what she’s packing.
It’s big.
It’s purple.
Most importantly, it’s new and Zoey recalls now, in a flash of white-hot lust, Rumi and Mira’s quiet thoughtful discussion days ago that stopped abruptly when they caught sight of her, and their subsequent disappearance with nothing but a kiss to her cheek in farewell. They must have picked it out for her. They must have talked about her, together, what she could handle, what they wanted to do to her, how they wanted to wreck her.
And as hot as that is…
‘Yellow,’ Zoey blurts.
Rumi withdraws, not losing anything of her hunger but politely masking it. ‘Thank you for using your yellow. What do you need?’
‘It’s - is it clean?’
She knows it is. Rumi is nothing but diligent. But it’s always been a silly hangup and she knows she won’t be able to sink the way she wants to if she’s thinking about the strap being dirty.
‘I cleaned it earlier,’ Rumi tells her. ‘But I’m happy to clean it again now. Would you like that?’
Zoey pulls her lip into her mouth, thinking.
‘Okay. Don’t think too hard, sweetheart. I’m going to clean it again,’ Rumi decides for her. ‘Mira, the cleaner—’
’Yeah, I know where it is. Meet you in the bathroom.’
’Thank you,’ Zoey whispers. ‘Sorry.’
Rumi shakes her head, smiling.
‘You don’t need to apologise. You did the right thing. Thank you, she says again, crouching to deliver a sweet kiss, ‘for using your yellow. And for giving me the chance to clean up so we can both see just how nice and wet and filthy you can get me.’
Zoey groans, leaning hard into her girlfriend’s hands. ‘Fuck. That’s so not fair,’ she whines, burying a smile when Rumi laughs. ‘I love you so much,’ she whispers.
Rumi takes her into the bathroom and shucks her pants. It doesn’t take long to clean the strap and she teases Zoey the whole time—can’t wait to get you on this, can’t wait to see how wet it gets—so when she’s strapped up again, wonderfully clean, the tiny bit of hesitation vanishes from Zoey’s spine and she can’t resist hugging Rumi tight.
‘Happy, baby?’
‘I love you.’
‘Love you too. Want me to carry you back?’
‘Yes!’ Zoey jumps up into Rumi’s arms, enjoying the mild break from their scene—game—whatever—to press a series of quick kisses up and down her neck and across the broad lean of her shoulders. ‘I’m so excited. That looks so hot on you. You look so good in purple.’
‘It’s all for you,’ Rumi winks.
She carries Zoey all the way back to the living room where she had Zoey kneel and they slip back into where they left off, more or less exactly. Rumi has a smear of lip gloss on the side of her neck—Zoey’s mark—and it shimmers under the gentle lights.
Zoey loves her so much.
She looks back over her shoulder. Mira blows her a kiss then swirls her finger, silently commanding Zoey to turn back, focus on Rumi.
Who is gripping her strap in one hand, letting it jut proudly out in front of her.
A moan rips out of Zoey from deep in her gut.
On the couch, Mira snorts. ‘Oh yeah, that sounds like a no to me. What a slut.’
Rumi stays gentle. Zoey has enough brain left to think it’s not what she was imagining when she suggested this—and enough to think that it’s so much better than she could possibly have imagined. Rumi talks to her the whole time, barely letting up for a second, an endless stream of horribly cruel and delicious commentary about how pretty Zoey looks, how eager she is to take a purple patterned dick into her mouth, how cute she looks when she cries. It’s made worse (better, so good) by Mira’s gaze heavy on them both, her wet panting breaths, and a sound Zoey can’t quite pull herself together to identify but hits somewhere in her memory, this slick wet slide that feeds into the atmosphere, a wicked feedback of noise and smell and sensation.
Rumi strokes the crinkle between her brows softly, not quite at odds with the way she gently presses her length a little deeper.
‘What’s got you thinking so hard, baby?’
Zoey makes a noise, garbled. Rumi considers her thoughtfully. Then, generous to a fault, pulls out of Zoey’s mouth.
‘What was that?’
‘There’s—‘ Oh fuck. Zoey shivers at the sound of her own voice. Already messed up and she hasn’t even started taking it properly. ‘Sound?’
‘A sound?’ Rumi hums. ‘Is it you? You’re making pretty little sounds for me.’
Zoey shakes her head. That’s not it. She can hear that clearly—feel it, more like, the wet click of the drool pooling in her mouth loud in her ears.
Rumi shrugs. Hooks her thumb into Zoey’s mouth and yanks her forward again, wipes the drool-slick head of her cock over Zoey’s lips before feeding it into her mouth little by little.
‘Maybe you’re hearing Mira, then. She’s sitting on the couch, watching. She’s got her cock out too,’ she says lightly, though her eyes are gleaming as Zoey gasps and chokes at the casual words. ‘All wet. Fucking into her hand. Bet she wishes she was the — ah, just like that — bet she wishes she was the one fucking you. Pretty little mouth. Wanna show me what you can do with it? Wanna show how good you are? Take me a little deeper?’ she croons, ever so sweetly.
Zoey forgets for a second that she’s supposed to be pretending she doesn’t want this. She groans, fingers clawing into Rumi’s thighs, and presses down until she can feel the fat head touch her throat. She relaxes as best she can and, eyelashes fluttering, takes it in. It feels huge and she fights the instinct to gag, press it out, until Rumi laughs at her.
‘Fuck. Look at her. Hunter taking my cock. Wants it so fucking bad.’
No, Zoey tries to say, with a lurch of awareness. She’s supposed to be fighting—
Rumi clutches her bun and drags her down further. Splits her throat open on her dick with a groan that burns all thoughts out of Zoey’s head. She wants her. She wants her. She wants her right here, she wants to use her, she wants to have her and take her and fuck her she wants to use Zoey and Zoey feels her eyes well up with tears. She wants it so bad. She wants Rumi to want her—just her, tell her she’s the best she’s had, tell her she’s perfect, tell her she’ll never let her go, she’ll keep her here on her knees forever and love her and fuck her forever—
She cries out as Rumi’s cock leaves her mouth.
A thumb brushes her cheek. It’s wet. Oh. She’s crying.
‘Colour, Zoey?’
Zoey blinks past her tears. It takes a moment for her to parse the question—that it even is a question—then hitches a smile up at her girlfriend.
‘Green,’ she answers, voice hoarse. ‘G-Green. Green. Rumi,’ she whines. ‘Let me—’
‘Still green if I go harder?’
Zoey nods fast. ‘Yeah.’ She shivers at the thought, hand dipping between her legs to press hard. ‘Oh fuck. Please. Can I touch myself?’
‘If you want to be too sensitive when Mira starts fucking you,’ Rumi shrugs. ‘Be my guest.’
Zoey considers it seriously. As seriously as she can through the melted mess that is her brain.
‘Cuffs?’
Mira grunts. ‘I got ‘em. Tight?’
Zoey glances back over her shoulder. She’s trying for sultry but suspects her tears have made her makeup run. Sultry raccoon. Very hot.
‘You know the answer to that, babe.’
Mira laughs. Brings over the cuffs and binds Zoey’s hands carefully. ‘Twist your wrists. How does that feel?’
‘Good.’
‘Not sore? Won’t rub?’
‘No, it’s perfect, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome, baby.’ Mira kisses her temple. ‘Having fun?’
‘Yeah,’ she answers breathily. ‘So much fun.’
‘Good.’
‘How do we look?’
Mira breathes out nice and slow, a sure sign that she’s on the edge.
‘Hot,’ she growls. ‘So fucking hot. Rumi is taking such good care of you, isn’t she?’
‘Yeah,’ Zoey whines.
‘Yeah. Such a good leader, so strong. Fucking you nice and slow. But you’re too pretty like that. Crying like that for her. She won’t be able to hold back much longer. Wants to bury herself into your fucking throat and feel you gag around her. Wants to fuck your throat until you come just like that. Because you’re being such a slut for her. For a demon. On your knees for her, mouth wrapped around her. How does she taste?’ Mira asks, voice shaking just the tiniest bit.
‘Taste,’ Zoey groans, leaning her shoulders back into Mira’s chest. She looks up and up at Rumi, who has barely moved since Mira started talking. Her head is tilted, ear twitching as she listens to them, but her eyes don’t move from Zoey’s mouth. Like she’s barely holding back from fucking it. ‘Tastes so good.’
Rumi’s hips twitch. It’s a tiny motion. Zoey imagines it in her throat. It always feels like so much more when there’s a dick in her mouth. Small, tidy, careful nudges driving her hot and hard into her, making her gag around her length.
Mira’s hand curls around her throat. Her mouth burns the skin of Zoey’s neck, skimming up so she can nip at the shell of her ear.
’Yeah? She tastes good?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hm.’ Mira kisses her temple again. ‘What do you think, Rumi? Is she wrecked enough?’
‘She’s still talking.’
‘True. Could be nice, though. Sounds like she’d be good at begging.’
‘I don’t know if I care about that,’ Rumi shrugs. ‘I like the noises she makes gagging on me.’
‘Why not both?’ Mira suggests coyly.
Rumi’s eyes flash. Her hand lashes out and Zoey flinches at the crack of skin on skin. But the pain doesn’t come. Instead, it’s Mira who gasps, hot against her cheek, and shivers.
‘Are you telling me what I want?’
‘No,’ Mira murmurs smoothly.
‘I let you be here. I am letting you watch. That is a gift.’ Rumi’s lips thin out. ‘Say thank you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you what?’
‘…Thank you, leader.’
A grunt. Another twitch of her hips. Rumi considers both of them. Zoey considers trying to wriggle out of the cuffs (mission level: impossible) so she can wrap her hand around Rumi’s cock and stuff it back into her mouth.
‘I want someone’s mouth on me. I guess it doesn’t have to be her. If you want to hear her beg,’ Rumi suggests, brow inching higher in challenge, ‘you can do it instead.’
This wasn’t exactly part of the plan but fuck if it isn’t hot.
Rumi reaches down to catch Mira’s chin. ‘Colour, Mira?’
‘…Green.’
‘Yeah? Wanna suck me off?’
‘Sure,’ Mira agrees, with a snide shrug. This time, they’re all expecting Rumi’s slap. Mira grins, cheeks pink. ‘I’m a little harder to break than Zoey.’
Rumi hums, thoughtful. ‘I don’t think so. Come here.’
Zoey wants to whine when Mira abandons her—back suddenly cold—but then Rumi’s hand is curling around the back of Mira’s neck, twisting pink strands getting between her fingers, and Zoey watches with wide eyes as she presses the head of her strap to Mira’s closed mouth. Smears Zoey’s drool over her lips, her chin.
‘Don’t make me hurt you.’
Mira tenses. Then sighs, like Rumi is asking her to perform some dull chore, and opens her mouth.
‘Oh fuck,’ Zoey whines.
She can’t tear her eyes away. It’s obscene. It’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen, Rumi’s dick stretching Mira’s lips pale. The purple length sinking deeper bit by bit. Mira’s eyes rolling back into her head, lashes fluttering.
‘There we go,’ Rumi grunts. Barely a third of her is held in Mira’s mouth but she isn’t pushing. Mira doesn’t like to be used the way Zoey does, the way Rumi adores when it’s her turn. But she does like this—the way Rumi holds her in place with a tight grip, the way she talks to her. ‘Fuck. You always try to talk so tough but you’re so fucking easy. All I have to do is click my fingers and you get on your knees. You know I’m gonna be so good to you, don’t you? You know I’ll treat you so good. Don’t wanna ruin you. Not like Zoey. She won’t be able to talk for a fucking month when I’m done with her. Not you. I’m gonna be so nice to you. That’s the way you want it. You can’t fool me. You like it when I treat you nice, tell you how pretty you are. Like it when I’m gentle. When I just—fuck—move so slow and sweet. You can suck me off like that. Nice and gentle. It’s so sweet, isn’t it?’
Zoey has to press her thighs together when Mira whimpers, a tiny little sound.
‘There you are,’ Rumi praises. ‘That’s my good girl. So nice. So sweet to me. Takes me so good. I bet Zoey can tell you how pretty you look—you wanted to hear her, didn’t you? She’s so good with her mouth. She can beg for you now and then I’ll fuck her voice away. Best of both worlds. Go on, Zoey. Tell her how pretty she is.’
‘So pretty,’ Zoey says, and lets them both hear how choked up she is, how her voice rasps. ‘So pretty, you look so good like that Mira. I bet you can take her a little deeper. Isn’t it nice? She’s so—she’s so nice to us, letting us suck her dick. She feels so good. Warm and heavy. She’s so nice to you, fucking you nice and slow. Oh. You’re so pretty. I can see—you’re so wet,’ she sighs, shuffles closer. ‘Can I — Rumi, can I kiss her? While you’re—‘
‘Go ahead, baby.’
Zoey does it carefully. Leans close so she can kiss—gently, at first—Mira’s lips where they’re stretched wide around Rumi, who doesn’t stop moving. It’s dizzying, how slow and gentle she’s being.
’So nice,’ Zoey murmurs, words slurring on her tongue. She licks the corner of Mira’s mouth, who groans and drops a hand to her slicked-up cock. Pink. Big, too, but familiar. An old favourite. She’s not trying to get her off, just tickles her fingers up and down the length. ‘Rumi’s so nice to you. Gentle.’ She licks at Mira’s jaw, drags her teeth over the hinge where it stretches. Probably a little uncomfortable. ’Wanna watch. Wanna keep watching. Want Rumi to come? Come in your mouth. Want her to come in mine. We can be so good, Mira, make her feel so good.’ She can’t plan the words. Can barely hear herself husk them out between kisses, licks up Mira’s neck, against her cheek to feel the slight bump and bulge of Rumi’s dick when she aims it there, like a kiss. ‘So pretty like this,’ she sighs, nuzzling Mira’s neck.
‘You don’t have to be jealous,’ Rumi tells her sweetly. ‘I’m just using her for a second. Just because she mouthed off. But you’re the one I’m fucking, sweetheart.’ Zoey moans. ‘Why don’t you show me how much you want me? Mira can take me pretty far,’ Rumi says, pressing her thumb against Mira’s lips before she drags her cock out, measuring how far down the shaft she went. Not quite halfway. ‘Think you can do better?’
‘I - I can try—’
Rumi laughs. So pretty when she laughs. The harness tucks tight against the slight softness of her belly. Zoey wants to kiss her there, too.
‘You’re such a sweetheart,’ she says with that dangerous smile. ‘Such a stupid little bitch,’ she says, so sweetly. ‘By the end of tonight, you’ll be taking me all the way. All of me.’
Zoey’s eyes flash wide. ‘I — I don’t think — you’re too big, I can’t —‘
‘It’s okay. I’ll make it fit,’ she assures her, supremely confident. Supremely uncaring. ‘Colour?’
‘Green.’
‘Good girl.’ Rumi pats her cheek. ‘Open wide.’
Zoey opens her mouth and Rumi shoves the strap in. She’s still holding her thumb to the point where Mira’s lips touched it. Zoey feels it when it slides into her mouth—the head of her cock already pressing to her throat—and groans at the heady thought of beating Mira at this.
‘Oh, so good,’ Rumi praises. ‘Such a good cocksucker. Learned your lesson, Mira?’
‘Yes, leader.’
‘Good. Back to the couch. You can still watch.’
‘Can I touch myself?’
Rumi thinks it over for a second. She eases a little more into Zoey’s throat, sighs happily when she gags and fucking into her at that depth for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she hisses. ‘Yes, Mira. Thank me when you come.’
Zoey loses a little time. She’s kept too busy with the slide and pull and slide of Rumi’s dick in her mouth to think about anything as hard as time.
At some point, she hears thank you like it’s in the back of her mind. It feels like her thoughts are outside of her head and isn’t that funny. Rumi has fucked the thoughts right out of her head.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The gasp, the voice sounds too familiar though. Mira.
Zoey groans and pushes her head further onto Rumi’s cock, fingers clenching and unclenching behind her back, cuffed. Mira is coming. Mira is watching Rumi fuck her throat and she’s coming.
Thank you.
‘Fuck. Oh my god. Mira—she’s—fuck.’ Rumi’s hips jog, pressing deeper and deeper and— ‘Almost there,’ she tells Zoey, voice high and tight. ‘Almost—you’re nearly there, baby, just a little more,’ she says, strained, and then all of a sudden Zoey’s lips are pressed tight up against soft leather, nose full of Rumi, hot and sweaty and slick. She gags around the hard length—all of it—and shudders and shudders and shudders, throat convulsing. ‘Oh my god. Are you coming?’
Rumi pulls back the tiniest bit. Press in. Out. In. Zoey shakes. She can’t move. She can’t move, hands caught, knees weak. Her mouth is wide open, jaw straining. Her gag reflex has stopped struggling—there’s no point, Rumi isn’t going to stop, Rumi is gonna use her, ruin her, that’s what she said she will do and she’s doing it, she’s so fucking deep in Zoey’s throat, thrusting lazily like she could hold Zoey down against her for hours, days. Zoey groans, a broken noise, muffled by the cock stuffing her throat. Rumi strokes her head.
‘You remember your colours?’ Rumi asks.
Zoey groans again. Her hands are tied but that’s not uncommon. She shuffles her knee forward and Rumi helps, sliding her leg forward. Zoey taps her shin once.
‘One tap for green. Good girl. Can you tell me your colour again?’
Zoey taps her again. Just once.
‘Perfect. You’re so good. You’re doing so well. I’m going to ask you a question and I want your colour again. I wanna fuck you harder. Colour?’
One tap.
‘I want to fuck you until you cry. Colour?’
One tap.
‘Thank you, baby. You look so good like this, taking me so well. I’m going to let you up so you can take a nice deep breath and I want your colour again.’ Ever so slowly, Rumi slides her cock out.
‘Green,’ Zoey rasps. ‘Fuck. Fuck, Rumi, I—I think I’m coming.’
‘I think you already did,’ Rumi teases her, sweet and kind. ‘You’re kind of a slut for this. I’m going to move you, okay? Colour?’
‘Green.’
‘Good girl.’ Rumi crouches and shifts her carefully. Sits her so her back is against the couch, supporting her. She tilts Zoey’s chin carefully. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoey sees Mira, jaw slack in wonder, eyes lidded with satisfied hunger. ‘We’re starting again, baby. I wanna fuck you hard. Colour?’
‘Green.’ Zoey smiles as best she can. It feels a little funny. ‘Three weeks holiday. Didn’t you say—you’d fuck the voice right out of me?’
Fire ignites in Rumi’s eyes. She crouches down to press the sweetest kiss to Zoey’s lips. ‘Thank you, baby. I’m gonna do just that.’
It’s not easier, exactly, now that Zoey has already taken her. She makes the mistake of thinking it should be and it makes everything hurt so deliciously as her throat closes around Rumi’s cock and her girlfriend—her leader—growls and drives her hips forward hard, forcing her open, forcing her to take her deeper and faster until Zoey can’t keep her eyes open, until it feels like Rumi is dragging her up and down her cock and everything is heat and pressure and the slick sound of her throat opening and closing and opening—opening as Rumi forces her to take her, tells her how much she’s enjoying it, using her, how much she needed a messy little toy to fuck into, how much she wanted to ruin someone and how lucky she is that a stupid little hunter crossed her path, a slut so eager to take her, so eager to get her brain fucked out of her skull, and Zoey is shaking, an endless whine pouring out of her throat, high in her nose, as her cunt throbs and clenches around nothing, around the emptiness as Rumi takes her mouth carelessly, uses her, panting and growling and Zoey is dripping, drool pouring down her neck in awful drips that cool so quickly, a sticky wet pour of being used and abused and filled over and over and her whine punches out of her in quiet gasps, uh uh uh, until Rumi finishes, sinking deep into her throat and staying there, keeping her open and full, as she comes with a cracked groan.
She’s laying between two warm bodies. There’s something soft draped over her—a hoodie, she’s pretty sure, when she flexes her hands and feels the fabric long around her wrists, her fingers. She wiggles them. Feeling back in her fingers. Nice. She wiggles her toes next, and her legs. Groans. They hurt a little from kneeling for so long but it feels so good and so do the slow, pressing fingers of one of her girlfriends, who is massaging her legs gently.
‘So good,’ Zoey says. Tries to say. Her voice cracks horrendously.
Rumi tenses up underneath her. Strokes her throat gently.
‘You sound like shit, baby,’ she teases.
Zoey cracks one eyelid to glare at her. ‘Your fault.’
Rumi smirks. ‘Yeah. You’re welcome. How are you feeling?’ she asks. ‘You did so good,’ she praises when Zoey just vaguely mutters and flops her hand on her girlfriend’s belly in a gesture she thinks, probably, is a thumbs up. ‘You were amazing.’
‘Amazing,’ Mira agrees. Her hands continue her massage, unfaltering. ‘Do you need anything?’
‘Water.’
‘On the nightstand. Nice and cold. Just waiting for you to sit up.’
‘Don’t wanna.’
Mira and Rumi whisper together. Rumi comes back with,
‘I can get you a straw but I’ll have to leave the bed.’ She laughs when Zoey groans, shaking her head, and tucks herself all the more tightly into Rumi’s side. ‘No? You’ll have to sit up then, baby.’
She complains the whole time but her girlfriends help her, propping her up against the headboard. They’ve moved her into her own bedroom, surrounded her with all the things she loves, and Zoey beams at them both. She feels used and wrecked and totally brain-broken in all the best ways—and now, relaxing under the diligence of her hovering girlfriends.
A thought skitters across her mind and she pouts.
'What's wrong?' Mira asks, digs her thumbs into Zoey's thighs. It hurts so nice.
'You didn't get to fuck me.'
Mira smiles. 'That's okay.'
Zoey wants to complain and tell her how much she really wanted to - maybe even take both of them at the same time - but her throat hurts when she talks and she would like to talk about it at length. Considerable length. She sends Mira an apologetic look that makes her girlfriend lean in and kiss her, sweet, not trying to start up anything, and resolves to bring it up again when she can talk more easily.
‘We gotta do that again,’ Zoey tells them after drinking her water and nibbling on the snacks they insist on hand-feeding her, and examining the brand new hoodie they have wrapped her in. Big enough to be Mira’s, which is perfect, her favourite clothes to steal.
‘Zoey—’
‘Not, like, tomorrow,’ she says, and grins widely as she hears how bad her voice is still cracking. ‘But eventually.’
Rumi blushes. Avoids looking at either of them as she says, ‘Okay. Whatever you want.’ It's impossibly darling that she has the audacity to be embarrassed now after all the things she said.
Zoey leans back into her pillows like a pampered queen. Nods. That’s exactly right. Whatever she wants. For now, snacks, water, and her girlfriends holding her while they sleep all together. In the morning, their award trophy will be delivered to the apartment and Mira will cuddle with her on the couch and watch four hundred two second videos about weedy sea dragons and Rumi will dote on her, bringing tea and ice-cream and kissing her whenever Zoey so much as looks in her direction, and Zoey will feel content in a way she thinks will last at least a whole week. In some ways, hopefully, it'll last the rest of her life.