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TAKEN -- PART 1
by Kandi Kox
I'd always wanted to go to Paris. But it was Emma who persuaded me to stop dithering, forget about all the obvious travel risks and just do it.
As the rideshare car we'd booked drove us in from the airport, however, I was struggling to concentrate on the city I'd so long wanted to see. I kept glancing sideways instead to check that the amazing woman I'd met only a few days earlier was still with me. And every dazzling smile I got when she noticed my gaze made me thank my lucky stars yet again.
I still didn't understand what someone so attractive and vivacious would see in me. Slight of build and socially awkward, with all the ease around the opposite sex you'd expect of a single child who'd attended an all-male Catholic school, I was hardly a catch for any of my classmates, let alone someone like Emma. But when I met her at an end-of-term party, we somehow clicked right away. The fact that she was older and working in some kind of marketing job made the connection even more remarkable.
Still, here we were, on our first trip together in the city of love. And as I sipped the complimentary juice our driver had given us, love was very much on my mind. Or, not to put too fine a point on it, the sex that Emma had all but promised me once we were settled into our hotel and her "problem" had run its course. Sex that would be my first. Ever. I was excited and terrified in equal measure, but if I trusted anyone to guide me through the experience, it was the confident redhead sitting next me.
I looked sideways once more to check she was still there, then returned my attention to the streets through which we were driving. As we turned a corner, a river came into view. I craned my neck to look at what could only be the famous Seine ... and just like that, fell asleep.
I was out for what felt like a very long time. My dreams were dark and disturbing, punctuated both literally and metaphorically by stabs of sharp pain, especially around my face. Each time the discomfort was almost enough to awake me, but then I would slip back down again into unconsciousness.
When I finally came properly awake, blinking my eyes against a harsh, artificial light, things felt ... wrong. But in my confusion and lassitude I couldn't immediately work out in what way. I endeavoured to sit up, but couldn't -- some kind of strapping across my chest, arms and legs held me firmly in place on what seemed, from the equipment around me, to be a hospital bed.
I attempted instead to call out for help, but something was wrong with my voice. All that came out was something between a squeak and a sigh. Nor could I seem to clear my throat, no matter how hard I tried. Closing my eyes, I did my best to hold down the panic that was rising inside of me. When I reopened them, I had another go at trying to speak, this time more softly. In a high, breathy tone that was nothing like my normal voice, I managed: "Can someone help me? Please?"
"Oh sweetie, there's no chance of that I'm afraid!"
The cool, sardonic voice, with what sounded like an American accent, came from behind me. As I turned my head, its owner came into view -- a middle-aged woman with blonde hair pulled back tightly into a bun, horn-rimmed glasses and a white coat. "But you can help yourself -- and your girlfriend."
"What -- what do you mean?" I quavered, unable to hide the fear that surged within me.
The woman smiled. "Well, you're here to do a job for us -- several, actually. And you're going to do that whether you like it or not. But the process of getting you ready will go a lot smoother if you do as you're told. It will certainly be better for her."
She gestured as she said this to a screen on the wall, which came to life to show a chilling scene. Emma was sitting on a chair in what looked like a hotel room, with her arms behind her back. She was flanked by two men in black balaclavas. As I watched, one of them pulled out a gun and inserted the barrel into my girlfriend's mouth, slowly and obscenely, before looking up at the camera. An involuntary moan escaped my lips.
"Do as you're told, and she'll be released in a few days, with some money to keep her quiet. Or, the boys get to play with her. And she gets sold as damaged goods. To some people who'll damage her some more. Well, I say people, they're really more like animals."
I wasn't sure what was worse, what she was saying or the broad and completely unconcerned grin that accompanied it. I stared at her in horror, but all that prompted was a raise of her eyebrows. I tried to speak, but it took me several attempts before I managed to get the words out. "What -- what do you want me to do?"
She gave a satisfied nod. "Good decision. As for what we want, well, not much for now. But you can start by learning how to walk to your dressing room."
I started to ask why I would need either a dressing room or lessons in how to get there. But the doctor (if that's what she was) was already pulling back the sheet covering me and disengaging the strapping that held me in place. And my questions evaporated as I stared at what was revealed.
To my shock, I was not just naked, but completely hairless. Someone had shaved me from head to toe -- and perhaps done something more, because I couldn't see or feel anything that even looked like stubble. The second thing I noticed, as my hands shot down reflexively to cover up my genitals, is that my private parts were strangely shrunken. It's not that I was especially well endowed, but even so, there was barely anything now to shield. My balls in particular seemed to have almost vanished into my sack.
I opened my mouth to voice my outrage, but all that came out was a high-pitched squeal of pain as something whipped down and smacked me hard on the back of my hands. I looked up to see the doctor brandishing something that looked like a fly whisk. "Did I say you could play with yourself?" Her glare turned to a smirk. "Not that you'd be able to do anything with it. We decided it was a distraction you didn't need. Now get yourself to your feet, lose the modesty and we can get on with the lesson."
With a snarl, I launched myself from the bed, sending her crashing into a machine as my hands closed around her throat and her expression turned to terror.
Or at least, that's how it went in my head.
In reality, I found, I barely had the strength to sit up. It took a further painful slap on the belly to galvanise me into swinging my legs to the ground and then preparing to stand. And that's when I realised that what I had somehow taken to be slippers on my feet were, in fact, high-heeled pumps.
I reached down to remove them, but the whisk once again forestalled me. "They stay on," said my tormentor. "Unless you're in bed, or in the shower, or we give you another pair. Understand?" I nodded, trying to wipe away the tears that had sprung to my eyes. "Now, let's see you try them."
I rose unsteadily to my feet, tried to take a step, and would have collapsed but for the woman's hand reaching out to steady me. "Not very coordinated, are we?" she observed in an acid tone. "Here, watch me and do as I do ..."
For the next half an hour, she drilled me in how to stand and walk in heels. The combination of her sharp tongue and merciless whisk prompted more than one set of tears on my part, but I made sufficient progress that she was ready to let me walk unassisted.
It should have been a relief that I was allowed to dress before leaving the room. But the fact that the only clothing offered to me was a pair of lacy black panties and a sheer black minidress was, if anything, more worrying than the idea of going through the door naked.
We emerged into a featureless white corridor that was mercifully free of anyone else. Not, I thought, that I could expect to find any help in this place, whatever it might be. I was under no illusion that I was in some sort of captivity. Even if I had felt strong enough to overpower the doctor who was escorting me, which I certainly didn't right now, there was Emma to think about. Her life might depend on my compliance.
So I did my best to concentrate on staying upright in the unfamiliar heels and swaying my hips in the way I'd been shown. And I tried not to think about why I'd been shaved and forced to wear women's clothing.
Our destination proved to be exactly what I'd been told -- a dressing room. Inside was a very pretty young woman with short black hair, dressed in identical fashion to me. She looked familiar, although I couldn't quite place her face. But wait -- was she actually a girl? On a second look, I saw an androgynous young man in heavy makeup, with no hint of anything that looked like breasts under the sheer fabric covering her (his?) hairless chest. I blushed as I realised that I was staring, but if s/he was disturbed by my attention, his (her?) placid smile didn't show it. Her, I decided -- she was far too attractive to be a boy.
"I'll leave you in Marissa's capable hands," said the doctor. "Just be sure to do everything she tells you. If you don't, we'll know." She gestured upwards at a camera mounted high on a wall. "And for every failure to comply, your girlfriend loses a finger, you understand?" On that chilling note, and without waiting for my hurried assent, she swept out of the room and closed the door.
"Come, sit down," invited Marissa, her voice soft and breathy just as mine had become. The accent was not French, but from somewhere else in Europe that I couldn't place. For all I knew, we might even be in her home country, wherever it was. I certainly couldn't assume we were still in Paris, given how long I seemed to have been out. "What's your name, honey?" she asked.
"Uh, James," I replied, taking the offered chair.
"Oh no," she responded with a smile, "I mean your new name?" When I looked at her blankly she motioned me to get back to my feet and then walked around behind me. To my astonishment she knelt down, lifted up my skirt and peered underneath it. "Oh," she exclaimed, "Lexi -- how cute!"
As she straightened up I stared at her uncomprehendingly. She shook her head, still smiling, then turned around and folded forward gracefully, lifting her skirt. On her right buttock, only partly obscured by the panties, the word "Marissa" was stencilled in cursive script.
"You mean," I said incredulously, "I've got `Lexi' tattooed on my butt?"
"Yes," said Marissa cheerfully, sitting me down again. "And I think it's a very sexy name."
"But I'm not a -" I began, but the words died on my lips as I looked into the mirror in front of me.
Staring back at me was someone who looked for all the world like Marissa's twin sister. It wasn't just the makeup, although the heavy eyeliner, dark blue eyeshadow, delicately arched brows, mascara-laden lashes and bold red lips all matched hers precisely.
Our features were eerily similar, and I knew then why I had thought I recognised her -- it was my own face I was really seeing, behind the face paint. Or the face of someone who looked very much like me at any rate.
Reflexively, my hand strayed up to my mouth. Without thinking of the consequences of smudging my makeup, I touched my lips, which had always been naturally full but now seemed even plumper than normal, and stared at the red stain on my fingertips. Or rather, at what I expected to be a stain. They were completely clean -- and I hadn't even felt any stickiness.
I tried again, moistening my fingers first and rubbing my lips more forcefully this time. Still nothing. The same thing happened when I tried to rub off some of the eyeshadow, or the rosy pink blush on my cheeks.
Once again, Marissa relieved my confusion, while simultaneously ratcheting up my anxiety levels. "Don't worry Lexi," she said in what was obviously meant to be a soothing voice, "your makeup won't get messed up. It's permanent -- tattooed on, you know? Or glued on, with the eyelashes. So you don't need to worry about it every day. It will last for months!"
I had been holding things together only by the slimmest margin, and this latest revelation about how I was being physically altered tipped me over the edge. A sob that I couldn't quite stifle became a flood of tears. The fact that this was not how I would normally handle adversity simply intensified my distress.
Marissa did her best to comfort me, though she didn't seem to find my crying at all distressing. I got a sense why, when she went to a handbag and pulled out a small bottle, from which she extracted a blue pill.
"Here," she said, holding it out, "have one of these. It takes some of the worries away. And even makes some of the bad things feel, you know, nice!" She gave a delicious shudder.
I eyed the pill suspiciously. I had no idea what was in it, or what it might do to me. But I was also tired of being afraid -- afraid of what had been done to feminise me, afraid that some of the changes might not be reversible, afraid of what might still happen to me or what I would be expected to do, afraid for Emma ...
It would have taken courage to resist the lure of some chemical insulation, and I had never had much courage to begin with. So I took it, washing it down with a glass of water Marissa gave me.
The effect was not instantaneous. But as I allowed my new companion to work on my hair, skilfully turning my usual tousled curls into a more stylish bob that more closely matched her own, I found some of my fears receding, or at least not pressing so heavily on me.
By the time Marissa attached new and much longer tips to my fingernails and painted them bright red to match my lipstick, then swapped out my tiny gold earrings for larger, diamond-studded pendants, a kind of haze had descended on me. Even the revelation that my nail extensions were another semi-permanent feature that I would not be able to remove without a special solvent failed to spark more than a momentary concern.
When Marissa was satisfied that I was looking as "hot and sexy" as I needed to be, she asked me to follow her to what she said was the bedroom we would be sharing. As we set off down the corridor, I found it a little easier to walk in my heels, partly because I was more relaxed, but also because I was able to watch Marissa and imitate her movements.
As we passed what was clearly marked as a women's bathroom, my attractive guide stopped and asked if I needed to go. After a moment to think about it, I nodded. She led me inside and then asked: "Do you need me to take your plug out?" I nodded automatically, but then, as the question percolated through the haze, added: "Wait, what?"
"Your plug? The one in your bottom?"
I stared at her, then felt my hand creeping almost of its own volition behind my back, then up inside my skirt and between my legs. There was indeed something hard and circular at the entrance to my rear passage -- I could feel it through my panties. And clenching my sphincter, I could now sense it inside me. I wondered how on earth I hadn't noticed it before.
Either Marissa was a mind reader or my expression was an open book. "Bit distracted, huh Lexi?" she said with a smile. "And before you try, no, you can't get it out, you have to have one of these." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black remote control. "And, you know, I'm only supposed to do that if you really, really need it out."
I did for a minute think about suggesting that it needed to be out because there was no way it should have been there in the first place. But it was pointless to suggest the young brunette do anything other than what she'd been told. Nor was it worth asking her why I even had a plug in my butt. Even if she knew, I could tell from my sporadic and unsuccessful attempts to elicit information from her that she either couldn't or wouldn't give me any.
So I simply shook my head, then went inside one of the cubicles and did my business -- sitting down, of course. As I was washing my hands I looked at the two of us in the mirror, struck once again by how alike we looked -- and also by how pretty we both were.
No doubt it was the pill I had been given, but I had somehow got past the point of being utterly freaked out by being dressed and made up as a girl, and had begun to marvel just a little at how gorgeous a female I could apparently be. At the same time though, I could not completely put out of my head the worries about what the point of abducting and transforming me might be.
My residual (if nonetheless dampened) anxiety only grew when Marissa ushered me into our bedroom. The large and comfortable looking bed in the middle of the room certainly fitted the bill. But sleeping chambers didn't usually come equipped with all the cameras, lighting and sound equipment that surrounded it.
I looked quizzically at Marissa and she gave me the enigmatic smile to which I was starting to become accustomed. "They want us to make a little film," she said, handing me a small earpiece and taking one for herself. Following her lead, I inserted the device into my left ear, marvelling at how snugly it fit.
"Hi Lexi," said a man's voice, sounding as if he was right beside me. I gave a massive start and he chuckled. "So you can hear me? Good. Now listen very carefully, because you're only going to get one chance at this. We're going to put you through a test. Pass it, and we put you to work as planned. I won't say things will be easy, but you won't hate it, that's for sure -- just ask Marissa."
My eyes flicked sideways to my doppelgänger, who was sitting placidly on the bed with her long and shapely legs crossed. I wondered idly if my legs looked as good as hers. But the voice in my ear quickly reclaimed my attention as it went on.
"But mess up and you and your girlfriend -- Emma, right? -- will live only very short and incredibly painful lives. And each of you will have to watch every unspeakable thing we do to the other. Is that clear?" I shuddered and nodded my head so hard I almost felt that it could come off.
"Very well. Now here's the scene we want you to imagine. You and Marissa are twin brothers called Lex and Marc who've decided it would be fun to dress up in your sister's old school clothes and try some of her makeup. You've had a bit to drink and popped a few pills and you're both feeling very horny -- but you in particular. Because you've always had the hots for Marc, even though you know it's wrong, and this is your chance to make out. Got that?" I nodded again.
"Okay. As you go along, I'll give you some dialogue to say, you just repeat what you hear. But if you want to improvise, do that too. What really matters though is that you have to show us how badly you want him. We may give you some help along the way. But you need to be convincing, yeah? Because if not ..."
As I moved to change into the clothes that Marissa was already laying out for us, I tried my best not to dwell on either the implications of what I was being asked to do or the consequences of not doing it well enough. Just do what you're told and act the part, I told myself. The pill was obviously still working, because otherwise I would have been a gibbering wreck. But even so, it was hard to ignore the knot of tension in my stomach as I took a seat next to Marissa on the edge of the bed.
Strangely, however, as we got underway, things became somewhat easier than I might have imagined. The fact that all the filming was being done remotely, with nobody in the room with us, plainly helped. So too did the white wine which we found on the bedside cabinet as some kind of prop and to which we very liberally helped ourselves as the scene progressed.
But what really reduced the difficulty of playing a part that was far outside my experience, spouting dialogue as contrived as how I looked, was that I didn't have to pretend to be attracted to Marissa. She had looked hot enough in her minidress. But in a transparent white blouse, loosely knotted tie, royal blue plaid skirt and white socks, to complement the patent leather high-heeled shoes left over from her previous outfit, she was absolutely irresistible.
The fact that I was dressed the same way was more than a little disturbing, of course. And so too was the sense of being highly aroused without any corresponding reaction from my shrunken member, now tucked away inside white cotton panties. But as I followed the prompt in my ear to ask "Marc" if he'd ever wondered what girls felt like when they were being kissed, I found it surprisingly easy to set aside those thoughts and enjoy locking lips with my delectable companion.
And it did quite genuinely feel different to anything I'd experienced with Emma, or the two previous girls I'd kissed. I'm not sure why or how, but it was softer and more sensual. And as our eager lips came together, then parted to allow our tongues to delicately touch, and my hand cupped the back of her head just as hers caressed the nape of my neck, I felt something else as well. Slowly at first, and then gradually more powerfully, the plug in my butt came to life and began to throb.
An involuntary moan rose in my throat, although whatever had been done to my voice box meant that it came out as more of a sigh. At the same time, Marissa gave a kind of half-sob, and I wondered if she too had felt something similar. But I wasn't going to dwell on it, because now we were kissing more urgently and our hands were roaming over each other's body.
Lost in the exhilaration of making out with this sexy schoolgirl, and a little tipsy from the wine, all thoughts of both Emma and my predicament were temporarily forgotten. I was only dimly aware of stroking Marissa's thigh and reaching up under her skirt as she opened her legs to admit my questing hand.
Until I found it. The very large and throbbing lump inside her panties.
I froze for a few seconds. Until three things happened more or less simultaneously. Marissa murmured "Don't stop." The plug in my butt intensified its vibration, sending a wave of pleasure through my abdomen. And the voice in my ear said: "Take it out and stroke it."
If I'd thought about it at all -- and I'd been trying really hard not to -- I would have assumed that Marissa, like me, had been left in a state where any kind of erection was impossible. But that was clearly not the case.
I hesitated. But the voice repeated its instruction, this time with an edge that was enough to prompt me to comply. Or at least to try to. Because it seemed to be firmly wedged inside. After a brief struggle, I left off kissing Marissa, a task I had resumed almost without thinking about it, and used two hands to liberate my target from its enclosure. Even then, its owner had to help me pull it free.
Once it was out and standing proud, I could see why it had been a problem. It was big. Not in girth -- it was far thinner than mine, or at least how mine used to be. But it was long -- maybe eight or even nine inches in length.
"Do you want to touch it?" asked Marissa. When I didn't answer, she gently took my hand and wrapped it around her shaft, just below the head. It pulsed and throbbed under my touch and I stared at it in amazement. Slowly, unsteadily, not really believing what I was doing, I began to move my hand up and down, gently tugging until the foreskin was pulled back to reveal a purplish helmet. Marissa moaned in appreciation.
"Tell him you want to taste it. Tell Marc how much you've always wanted to suck his cock. Tell him you've dreamt about having it in your mouth."
Mechanically, still dazed at the sight and touch of the organ jutting proudly from my partner's groin, I repeated the script I'd been given. But then I gave Marissa a searching look. "Is that what you want?" I asked. Her response was immediate and emphatic. "Oh yes," she breathed, her blue eyes sparkling now with a life that simply hadn't been there before.
I knelt down on the carpeted floor between Marissa's legs, bent forward, then stopped, as the enormity of what I was about to do struck me. An internal voice was telling me in no uncertain terms that it was unnatural and wrong, even as the one in my ear was urging me to go ahead. But whether instructed to do so or simply acting on instinct, Marissa resolved any debate. Her hand found the back of my head and gently guided it down to her rampant cock.
As I took it in my mouth, I wasn't sure what to expect. It didn't taste of anything in particular, until I ran my tongue over the tip and caught a hint of something sweet yet also salty. But the warmth, the way it twitched and pulsed, the noises its owner made as I moved my lips up and down the shaft ... It was an experience like no other I had ever had. And all overlaid with that feeling of both dread and illicit thrill, that here I was, sucking another man's cock!
Left to my own devices, I would have had no real idea what to do. But the director -- or whoever he was -- gave me all the guidance I needed.
I started by opening wide and taking it as far into my mouth as it could go, taking care to keep my teeth out of the way as It slid to the back of my throat and then down my gullet. I expected it to choke me, but I was somehow able to take all of it without gagging too badly. I wondered later if something had been done to me to enable that -- or perhaps it had just been a by-product of the work on my voice box.
After holding it in my throat for a few seconds I released it and took a gasping breath, before dutifully kissing and licking my way up and down the shaft, I hesitated when I reached the bottom, but then obeyed the instruction to take Marissa's large balls in my mouth, one at a time.
As with everything else I was doing, the moans that this elicited from above me suggested I was doing okay for a first-timer -- and perhaps even a little better than that. My butt plug too was rewarding me with a more intense vibration -- and it seemed to be getting larger too, swelling inside me and stretching my asshole.
Taking the head of Marissa's cock back into my mouth, I began to fellate it as hard as I could, doing my best to maintain suction as I bobbed my head up and down. After a few minutes of this, however, I started to tire. As unexpectedly and perversely exciting as the process of giving my first ever blowjob was proving to be, I was still lacking much of my usual energy.
The director must have sensed this. "Ask him to fuck your face," he demanded. "Tell him how much you love his big cock, and how badly you want to taste his cum."
I did as I was told, blushing all the while and desperately trying to tell myself that it was all just play acting, that I wanted nothing of the sort.
But as I lay back on the bed and watched a naked Marissa straddle me, then feed her huge phallus into my mouth, the thrill that went through me was only partly one of revulsion. There was something else there too, something I didn't want to dwell on. Something that found an echo in the strange pressure building up in my groin, as the device in my butt throbbed with ever greater urgency and seemed to connect with a sweet spot somewhere inside.
I was panting now, and not just with the need to gasp oxygen into my lungs, as Marissa drove her rock hard cock into my mouth and down my throat. Somewhere behind her, I felt a tide crest and then break within my lower abdomen. But all my attention was on her massive cock and her beautiful blue eyes, shifting from one to the other as she thrust herself into me with ever greater urgency.
If I could have, I would have called out to urge her on. But it was all I could do to gasp for breath as she plundered my mouth and throat with a shaft that was slick now with my saliva.
As Marissa's eyes rolled back into her head, I knew what was about to happen and steeled myself for her ejaculation. Her first couple of spurts happened too far down my gullet to feel properly, but the rest -- and there were many -- filled up my mouth with salty goo.
"Don't swallow it yet. Swirl it around in your mouth. Then take some of it on your fingers and put it all over your mouth. Show him how much you like his cum."
For a fleeting moment I wanted to rebel, to spit out the disgusting mess that had been deposited in my mouth, then vomit up the portion I'd been forced to ingest. But as Marissa unsteadily withdrew her cock, still shaking from the force of her orgasm, I knew I didn't have it in me.
"Your spunk tastes so sweet Mari- ... Marc," I managed to say between heaving breaths. It was only at the last moment that I remembered to use my partner's assumed name. Unless of course it was really her own -- but I really didn't want to think about Marissa being male, despite the copious evidence I was now busy smearing all over my face.
Her answer was to bring her ruby red lips down to mine and we kissed deeply, before she licked up the cum on my face and then let it drip back into my waiting mouth. Something made me look straight at one of the watching cameras before gulping it down ostentatiously, without any prompting from the voice in my ear.
I was half expecting a reprimand, but instead I heard an amused chuckle. "Congratulations Lexi, you've passed your cocksucking exam. In fact I'd go so far to say that you qualify as a real cum slut! It's a taste you should get used to ... You can take the earpiece out, by the way, we've got everything we need. But you might want to check your panties before you do anything else."
As Marissa climbed off me and collapsed at my side, I swung my legs off the bed and sat up, removing the earpiece as I did so. Lifting up my plaid skirt, I could see a wet spot on the front of my knickers. Inside, the top of my limp cock was coated by a small amount of a sticky substance that I had no trouble identifying -- especially given the quantity I'd just swallowed.
"What is it, sweetie?" came the question from behind me. I thought for a moment about dissembling, but if I couldn't trust someone with whom I'd just been swapping cum, then I don't know who I could. (It said a lot for my stressed and chemically altered state of mind that this passed for logic.)
"I came -- at least a bit," I responded, with a trace of wonder, as I stripped off my uniform.
"Um -- that's good, right?"
I turned back to Marissa and, accepting her unspoken invitation, lay down next to her and allowed her to gather me into her arms.
"You don't understand. I'm ... not like you." I hesitated, then reached down to gently touch her now-flaccid organ. It twitched a little as I gave it a squeeze. "I'm a lot smaller, but it's not just that. I think they did something to me, to stop me getting hard. Because ..." I swallowed nervously before making the admission. "I, um, really wanted to just now. When I was ... well, you know."
Blushing furiously, I continued. "But even though it didn't work properly, I think I still had an orgasm. Just before you did. Only nothing like as big. Just a dribble really."
There was silence for a moment, before Marissa said, half to herself: "Oh, that's like Giselle." But if I was waiting for an explanation, none was forthcoming. We just lay there in silence and, after a while, fell asleep holding one another.
The last thing I remembered, before fatigue overwhelmed me, was the voice in my ear telling me who I now was: Lexi -- Lexi, the cum slut ...
[To be continued in Part Two]