The diploma hung on her dorm wall, crisp parchment declaring Teresa a juris doctor, yet each Friday afternoon found her folding silk blazers into an overnight bag with the urgency of a pilgrim. Her classmates chased corporate internships in glass towers downtown, while Teresa boarded the commuter train humming with anticipation, thighs pressed tight against the worn velvet seat. Home wasn't just where she'd learned to ride a bike or conjugate Latin verbs�it was where her father's large, calloused hands would slide up her stockinged calves as she knelt before his armchair, where the scent of his aftershave mixed with her arousal when she unzipped his trousers with reverent fingers.
She'd tasted other men�fraternity boys with clumsy tongues, a teaching assistant who wept after climaxing�but only her father understood the sacred geometry of her pleasure. His thick cock, veined and heavy as a scepter, felt like coming home when she took him deep, gagging reflexively before relaxing into the rhythm. She'd mapped every ridge and pulse point with her lips over twenty-three years, knew how his balls tightened against her chin seconds before release, how his groan vibrated through her skull when she swallowed him whole. Campus flings left her bored; their thrusts were punctuation marks while her father's lovemaking wrote epics across her nerves.
The offer came over breakfast�her first morning home as a graduate. Sunlight caught the silver in his beard as he slid the itinerary across the marble countertop. "Singapore, Zurich, Buenos Aires, " he murmured, fingertips brushing her wrist. "Boardrooms by day, suites by night." Her pulse hammered against her collarbone. This wasn't apprenticeship; it was coronation. She'd sit beside him while he dissected supply chains, then kneel beneath conference tables where foreign CEOs shook his hand. The thought of his zipper parting under her palm in a Dubai penthouse, his semen slicking her thighs before shareholder meetings, made her fork clatter onto her plate.
Later, in his study's leather-scented gloom, she traced the brass plaque on his desk: *Charles Vance, Chairman Emeritus*. His hand settled heavy on her nape. "Certain clients... prefer personal persuasion, " he said, thumb stroking her jugular. "Men who expect beauty to seal negotiations." Her breath hitched�not at the implication, but at his knuckles grazing the swell of her breast as he added, "You'll wear the sapphire choker. The one that matches your veins."
***It was settled then.*** Teresa’s pulse hammered against the sapphire choker already warming at her throat�a collar disguised as elegance. The jet’s engines thrummed through the cabin floor, vibrating up her bare calves as she curled her toes into plush carpet. Across the aisle, Charles flipped through a prospectus, the crisp pages whispering like promises. She watched his knuckles, remembering how they’d grazed her nipple yesterday�a casual ownership that liquefied her knees. Below them, Dubai glittered like scattered diamonds on velvet, indifferent to the contract they’d seal tonight, or the way her father’s gaze lingered on the damp spot darkening her silk skirt.
The Burj Al Arab suite swallowed sound in its marble vastness. Teresa trailed fingers over a sofa upholstered in stingray leather, cool and pebbled against her skin. Two bedrooms yawned behind lacquered doors, irrelevant tonight. Charles poured Macallan into six crystal tumblers, the amber liquid catching the city lights bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. The clients arrived in a murmur of Italian suits and Qatari thobes�six men whose eyes snagged on Teresa’s silhouette against the skyline. She sank into a low armchair, knees pressed together, the choker’s gemstone digging softly into her windpipe. Charles’s laugh boomed as he handed out drinks, a lion among jackals. One executive’s gaze crawled over her ankles; she felt it like a physical drag, sticky and intrusive. Her father’s hand settled possessively on her shoulder. *Mine, * the pressure said. *Watch.* He introduced her: "Ms. Vance, our lead counsel. Handles delicate acquisitions." His thumb stroked the tendon at her neck, just below the sapphire.
The slit in her midnight-blue skirt gaped open as she shifted, exposing a crescent of thigh�pale silk against duskier skin. She let it linger. The Qatari executive choked mid-sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Another man’s knuckles whitened around his glass. Teresa crossed her legs slowly, deliberately, the fabric riding higher. A collective intake of breath rasped through the room. Charles’s chuckle vibrated against her spine. "Gentlemen, " he murmured, "shall we discuss terms?" Her heel hooked around the chair leg, arching her foot. A bead of sweat traced down a banker’s temple. She tasted their hunger�acrid, metallic�on the back of her tongue. Her own pulse throbbed low in her belly, hot and slick. Charles’s thumb pressed harder into her neck. *Good girl.* The choker’s clasp bit into her skin.
After negotiations for most of the day, they all adjourned to the hotel's spacious lounge for dinner and drinks. Teresa had a few too many and her gown hem kept creeping up her thigh as she consumed more and more alcohol.
Across the lounge’s low table, Teresa’s champagne flute tilted dangerously. Liquid gold sloshed onto her wrist. "He asked... if you'd worn it for him, " she whispered, voice fraying. "Said it tangled in the seam." Teresa’s laugh came out breathy, unsteady. Her fingers brushed the hem riding higher, cool air kissing bare skin. The silk pooled between her thighs as she leaned forward, refilling a glass. Three pairs of eyes tracked the movement�the smooth dip of her spine, the shadowed cleft revealed beneath taut fabric. Ice clinked violently in someone’s tumbler. Charles traced idle circles on her exposed knee under the tablecloth. His touch burned through the thin silk. "Tell him, " he prompted softly, "it was worn precisely as intended."
The elevator ascent pressed them against mirrored walls. Teresa’s reflection shimmered�sapphire choker tight, pupils blown wide. Her spine arched into Charles’s palm splayed low on her back. Breath hitched as his thumb found the dip above her tailbone. "They’re waiting, " he murmured against her temple. The doors slid open to hushed expectation. Six silhouettes framed against the city’s electric sprawl. One executive loosened his tie, gaze snagging on the damp patch darkening her thigh where silk clung. Charles guided her forward. "Gentlemen, " he announced, fingers tightening possessively on her hip. "Ms. Vance finds post-negotiation... relaxation essential."
She felt their stares like static�prickling across her collarbones, tightening her nipples beneath the sheer bodice. The champagne’s effervescence fizzed in her veins, amplifying every brush of fabric against sensitized skin. Her heel caught the rug’s edge; Charles’s grip steadied her as she stumbled deliberately against him. The scent of his aftershave�spice and cedar�cut through cigar smoke. She tilted her chin, throat bared by the choker’s unforgiving line. "Forgive me, " she breathed, voice thick with false apology. Her hand slid down Charles’s forearm, knuckles grazing the hard ridge beneath his trousers. A banker’s glass cracked against the wet bar.
"I must freshen up, " she announced, the words syrupy-slow. Charles’s thumb dug into her hipbone�approval. Six pairs of eyes tracked her sway toward the suite’s interior door. The latch clicked shut behind her, sealing her in marble silence. She leaned against the cold sink, breath fogging the mirror. Her reflection shimmered�pupils dilated, lips swollen from biting back moans. With trembling fingers, she unhooked the sapphire choker. The indent it left throbbed like a fresh bruise. From her overnight case, she drew silk thin as vapor�pale gray, translucent. She stepped into it, the fabric whispering over her thighs. No bottoms. The chill raised gooseflesh.
She reentered, the suite’s low light catching the sheer gown. It clung damply, revealing the shadowed delta between her legs, the tight peaks of her nipples. Six breaths hitched in unison. Movement ceased�glasses frozen mid-air, cigars forgotten. Charles handed her a fresh champagne flute, his knuckles deliberately grazing her bare hip beneath the hem. The flute’s stem felt slick, cool against her heated palm. She took a deliberate sip, head tilted back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat. Eyes devoured her�the Qatari executive’s gaze lingered hunrily belo her waistline, another man’s tongue darted to wet dry lips. Her own arousal bloomed hot and slick, a visceral pulse echoing the champagne bubbles bursting on her tongue. The silence thickened, charged.
Charles cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, " he began, smooth as poured oil, "a demonstration requires... authenticity." Two men stepped forward from the shadows near the wet bar�silent, efficient figures in dark suits. Their hands were cool, impersonal, as they guided Teresa backward toward the recliner. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. *Filmed?* The thought sparked panic�a sharp, metallic taste�but Charles’s gaze held hers: steady, commanding. *Trust me.* The blindfold was thick velvet, absolute, sealing her in sudden, suffocating darkness. She heard rustling fabric, smelled the ozone tang of electronics powering on. Fingers�not her father’s�worked efficiently. Cool air kissed her skin as the gown slithered away. She felt utterly exposed, breasts lifting with each rapid breath, the perfectly smooth skin of her mound tightening under the scrutiny she couldn’t see. The plush recliner embraced her nakedness.
A soft *click*, then the low hum of electricity filled the silence. "Relax, Teresa, " Charles murmured, his voice close to her ear. Something cold and slick pressed against her nipple�gel, perhaps�followed by the firm adhesion of a circular pad. She gasped as the sensation bloomed: a sharp, insistent suction, like twin mouths drawing deep. Simultaneously, another cold point settled against the swollen peak of her clit, flanking it. She arched involuntarily as a low-voltage current zipped through the nerves�a focused, fluttering vibration that mimicked expert tonguing. Below, something larger, impossibly cool and metallic, nudged against her entrance. The chrome probe. It slid inside with a slick, yielding pressure, stretching her wide. She moaned, the sound swallowed by the thick air. Lights flashed crimson against her eyelids�pulsing rhythmically along the intruder’s length. "The current follows the light, " Charles explained calmly to the room. "Speed dictates the sensation." The probe began a slow retreat, dragging electric friction along her inner walls, then plunged deep again�a perfect, relentless fucking motion controlled by an unseen hand.* The light flashed up and down the shaft as it entered her, the speed controlled by her father for the demonstration.
Tiny, precise needles of electricity danced across her nipples next�not pain, but a maddening, skittering tickle, like a thousand electrified ants swarming each hypersensitive bud. The sensation intensified, spreading outward in concentric waves, making her breasts feel heavy, alive, pulsing with unnatural heat. Simultaneously, the voltage arced sharply across her clit�the same frantic, crawling sensation concentrated on that tiny, swollen nub. It wasn't agony; it was unbearable stimulation, relentless and impossible to escape. Her hips bucked wildly against the restraints, a choked cry tearing from her throat. "Father�" The word was a plea, but he remained a silent presence near the console.* The chrome probe inside her pulsed faster, deeper, mimicking a rapid, shallow thrusting while the electric lights danced madly along its shaft.* Her inner muscles clenched and fluttered around the intrusion, slickness pooling beneath her as the conflicting sensations�deep fucking, surface torment�pulled her toward a precipice she couldn't control. Her breath came in ragged gasps.* Sweat slicked her skin.* Every twitch, every desperate arch of her spine, was recorded in high definition.* The clients watched, utterly silent, their glasses forgotten.* One man clutched his armrest, knuckles white.* Another adjusted himself discreetly.* Charles merely smiled.* His finger hovered over a dial.* Teresa's world narrowed to the electric cock inside her.* She needed more.* Her hips slammed down onto the recliner, seeking deeper penetration, faster rhythm.* The chrome shaft obeyed, pistoning brutally.* Her nipples screamed�swollen, engorged, radiating fire across her chest.* The current intensified.* It wasn't just on her skin anymore; it burrowed deep into the sensitive ducts.* The sensation was overwhelming.* Insane.* Her head thrashed.* Drool escaped the corner of her mouth.* Her clit vibrated violently.* The electric cock pounded.* Lights flashed crimson.* She was humping it.* Possessed.* Her nipples betrayed her.* Swollen.* Driving her mad.* The pleasure was immense.* Unbearable.* She arched violently.* A guttural scream ripped through the suite from Teresa:* "MORE! FASTER!"* Charles obliged.* His finger slammed the dial.* Voltage surged.* The chrome probe hammered.* Teresa shattered.* A silent scream locked in her throat.* Her body seized.* Rigid.* Eyes rolled back.* Orgasm detonated.* White-hot.* Obliterating.* Her core milked the electric cock.* Wetness flooded the recliner.* Legs trembled violently.* The suite smelled suddenly of ozone and salt.* Charles kept the dial engaged.* Watching.* His daughter convulsed.* The clients leaned forward.* Transfixed.* Teresa gasped.* Her body spasmed.* Liquid sprayed.* A jet.* Clear.* Forceful.* It splattered onto the marble floor.* An arc.* Sustained.* The banker closest recoiled.* Shock.* Disgust.* Awed.* Charles watched the spray.* Calm.* Analytical.* He noted the distance.* The volume.* The force.* Satisfied.* He released the dial.* The machines stopped.* Silence.* Heavy.* Teresa slumped.* Blindfolded.* Drenched.* Breath ragged.* Charles turned to the stunned clients.* His voice:* Flat.* Professional.* Unimpressed.* "And the system, " he said, pointing at the wet patch spreading beneath Teresa's limp form, "is waterproof."*
The film crew packed their equipment silently.* Efficient.* They avoided looking at Teresa.* She lay spent.* Blindfold still on.* Chest heaving.* Skin flushed.* Cooling sweat.* The chrome probe lay discarded.* Gleaming.* Wet.* Her thighs glistened.* Mixed fluids.* Her nipples throbbed.* Red.* Sensitized.* Charles watched the crew leave.* The suite door clicked shut.* He turned to the six men.* Their faces:* Pale.* Aroused.* Terrified.* "Gentlemen, " Charles said, his gaze sweeping over Teresa's exposed form, "that was the standard configuration. Variations exist." He paused.* Deliberate.* "The system, " he added, stepping closer to Teresa, running a finger along her trembling inner thigh, "can integrate seamlessly with... biological components." He lifted his gaze.* Met theirs.* "A human cock. Simultaneously." He gestured vaguely toward the recliner.* Teresa.* Her glistening sex.* "Any volunteers?"*
Silence.* Then:* Six hands shot up.* Simultaneously.* Urgently.* Eyes fixed on Teresa's parted thighs.* Charles smiled.* Thin.* Cold.* "Excellent."* He moved to the recliner.* Teresa flinched.* Blind.* Vulnerable.* He traced her jawline.* Gentle.* Possessive.*
"Endurance testing commences shortly."* His fingers found the blindfold.* "Watch, " he murmured to her.* To them.* He pulled the blindfold away. Teresa blinked, dazed.* Her eyes struggled to focus. The suite lights. The city. Six silhouettes, moving closer. Hungry.* Her father's face. Expressionless. Commanding. She looked down. She saw the wetness. Her thighs. The recliner. The chrome probe was gone. The bottom cushion was gone.* Dropped.* Removed. Exposed. Beneath her:was the machinery gleaming, complex.* Wires.* Motors.* And still attached:* The breast clamps.* Cold jell.* Cupping her swollen flesh.* The clit stimulator.* Vibrating faintly against her naked and exposed.
Charles pointed. "You'll notice, " he announced. Calm and clinical. His finger indicating the intricate framework beneath her. "The clitoral attachment remains fixed." The tiny electrodes. glinting against her raw nub. "The breast interface." The suction cups. Still adhered. Pulling.* He tapped a complex junction. A socket. "This, " he stated.* Meeting the eyes of the closest executive. The Qatari who was trembling "Enhances, his gaze shifted to Teresa's trembling nude body,. then back. "Any stimulation." He paused, letting the implication hang, by a male member." His hand gestured toward the waiting men, toward their bulging trousers. "Physically, he emphasized. "Interfacing." Teresa understood. Her breath caught. Her core clenched. The machines hummed, waiting. The men stepped forward. Hands fumbling. Belts, zippers, all undone in anticipation. They wanted her, especially after watching her performance. Pure debauchery in every quiver of her young body. They lined up to feel her soft flesh. All eyes locked on her.
The first, the Qatari, got on his knees before her spread legs, her pussy hovering over the exposed machinery. The clit stimulator buzzed faintly against her naked flesh. "Please proceed, sir, " he said, eyes flicking to Charles as he tuned a dial on the stimulator console. Teresa was so wet and slippery that he slipped into her without pause to his hilt, his balls resting heavily on the cool metal edge of the recliner’s frame. A low groan escaped him as her inner walls, still fluttering from the electric cock, clenched around his invading flesh. The contact was jarring�warm, living hardness surrounded by the cold, humming machinery below. The clit stimulator intensified instantly, its vibration syncing with the Qatari's shallow thrusts, sending electric skitters across her hypersensitive nub. The breast suction pulsed, pulling deeper, making her gasp. He felt like an extension of the machine, his movements precise, mechanical almost, driven by the dial Charles controlled. Her hips lifted involuntarily, seeking friction against the metal beneath her ass, the vibration and the man merging into one overwhelming sensation. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pushed deeper, her wetness slicking the chrome framework. His rhythm faltered as the voltage spiked across her clit, her body clamping down, milking him. He shuddered, a strangled cry escaping him as he spilled inside her, his cock twitching against the humming wires beneath her skin. Charles noted the duration. Barely two minutes. "Next, " he commanded, his voice devoid of inflection. The Qatari slumped back, dazed, withdrawing with a slick sound. Teresa felt the emptiness, the sudden cool air against her inner thighs, mixed with the heat of his release.
Charles moved with efficient grace. He gestured to the Italian banker, a man whose earlier composure had dissolved into trembling eagerness. "Lie down, " Charles instructed, pointing to the recliner's exposed metal frame where Teresa's ass had hovered moments before. The banker obeyed, his suit jacket discarded, shirt half-unbuttoned, his erection straining against his trousers. Charles then lifted Teresa effortlessly, her body pliant and slick. The breast suction released with a soft *pop*, leaving her nipples swollen and throbbing. He positioned her directly above the prone banker, her knees bracketing his hips. With a single, deliberate motion, Charles lowered her onto the man's waiting cock. It slid into her pussy with shocking ease, the wetness from the Qatari's climax easing his passage, stretching her anew. He then refit the breast stimulators to her nipples. She cried out, a sharp sound muffled by the sudden fullness, the living heat a stark contrast to the chrome probe’s memory. The banker groaned beneath her, his hands instinctively grabbing her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her ass. Charles didn’t pause. "Mr. Tanaka, " he called to the Japanese investor standing rigidly near the bar. "Her other aperture requires demonstration." Tanaka approached, his movements stiff, eyes fixed on Teresa’s back. Charles bent her forward over the banker’s chest, her spine arching, presenting her ass, glistening and vulnerable. Tanaka’s fingers, cool and tentative, probed her entrance, slicking himself with her mixed fluids before pressing forward. The stretch was intense, burning, as he breached her tight ring. Teresa gasped, her body suspended between two cocks�the banker’s filling her pussy deeply, Tanaka’s invading her ass with slow, insistent pressure. The banker beneath her grunted, thrusting upwards as Tanaka pushed deeper. The dual penetration anchored her, pinned her between their bodies, a living bridge of flesh. She felt stretched impossibly wide, filled to bursting, every nerve ending screaming. The banker’s thrusts lifted her slightly, only for Tanaka’s deeper push to sink her back down. The conflicting rhythms sent waves of dizzying sensation through her core. Charles watched, his expression unreadable, then reached for the console. His fingers hovered over the dials controlling the clit stimulator and the breast interface.
Charles turned them on. Teresa’s world exploded. The tremors transferred from her clit�already vibrating at a low, maddening hum�into the deepest recesses of her pussy and ass. The sensation wasn’t isolated; it was a chain reaction. The vibrations skittered along her inner walls, where the banker’s cock pistoned, intensifying every ridge, every pulse of his vein against her sensitized flesh. Simultaneously, the tremor radiated into her ass, amplifying the slow, stretching friction of Tanaka’s intrusion, making each inch he claimed feel electric, impossibly intimate. The breast stimulators activated with a sharp, rhythmic suction-pull, their tremors radiating outwards in concentric waves that seized her entire torso, locking her ribs, making her gasp for air. Her spine arched violently, a bowstring pulled taut between the two men impaling her. Her muscles, caught in the electric storm, clenched and fluttered involuntarily around the invading lengths inside her�a frantic, exquisite massage transmitted directly through flesh to bone. She shook and quivered, a vessel resonating with pure sensation, sending involuntary messages to the muscles in her pussy and ass that were exquisite torture to both men. The banker cried out first, a guttural roar as her inner muscles rippled along his shaft in a sudden, powerful spasm, milking him uncontrollably. Tanaka gasped, his controlled thrusts faltering as the rhythmic clenching in her ass triggered his own climax deep within her; she felt the hot spill, the distinct, pulsing throb against her inner walls, adding a new layer of slick heat to the chaos. Their bodies shook and shivered inside her, the aftershocks of their releases mingling with the relentless machine-induced tremors that continued to wrack her frame.
Charles turned the machines off again. The sudden cessation was its own shockwave. The vibrations ceased, the suction released her nipples with twin, wet pops. The silence felt deafening. Teresa collapsed. Utterly boneless, she slumped forward onto the banker’s sweat-slicked chest. Her cheek pressed against his pounding heart, her own breathing ragged and shallow against his skin. The combined seed�warm, thick, a mingled offering from both her holes�began to seep out almost immediately. It trickled down the banker’s softening cock still nestled inside her, pooling warmly on his abdomen, and leaked around Tanaka’s withdrawing length, tracing a wet path down her inner thigh. Tanaka gently pulled himself free, a soft groan escaping him as her ass reluctantly released him. The banker shifted slightly beneath her, his softening cock slipping out of her with a slick, wet sound, leaving her gaping and empty, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat and fullness moments before. He looked dazed, spent, but his hand rose, trembling slightly, and he pressed a surprisingly tender kiss onto the tip of her nose. It was a silent acknowledgement, a thanks for the shared oblivion, a gesture incongruous amidst the sterile machinery and lingering scent of sex and ozone. Teresa, too shattered to react, simply blinked, her eyes unfocused.
"Enough rest, gentlemen, " Charles announced, his voice slicing through the heavy silence. He gestured sharply towards the suite’s main door. "The demonstration continues. Others are waiting." His tone brooked no argument. Tanaka and the banker exchanged a glance � a mixture of exhaustion, lingering awe, and a flicker of something like pity for the woman draped across him. They extricated themselves carefully, the banker sliding out from beneath Teresa, who rolled limply onto her side on the recliner frame, legs splayed, fluids smearing the cold metal.
Charles didn’t touch her directly. Instead, he adjusted the recliner mechanism with a series of smooth clicks, raising the backrest so Teresa was propped semi-upright. Her head lolled, eyes unfocused, but a faint tremor ran through her as the cool air touched her abused flesh. He efficiently reattached the breast stimulators, the cold gel making her gasp as the cups sealed onto her tender, dark-pink nipples. The clit stimulator, still slick with her essence, was repositioned with clinical precision, its electrodes humming faintly even before activation.
The two European investors approached. The first, a lean man with sharp cheekbones and hungry eyes, didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the recliner, straddling Teresa’s torso, his knees pinning her arms loosely to her sides. He faced her, his erection bobbing thick and veined inches from her slack mouth. The scent of him � salt and musk � filled her nostrils. The second European, older, with a nervous tic near his eye, hung back until Charles guided him firmly to stand beside Teresa’s hip. "Just a hand job, Klaus, " Charles murmured, his voice low but carrying. "Let her show you her appreciation." Klaus swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on Teresa’s glistening thigh. Charles then took Teresa’s limp right hand. He guided it down between her legs, fingers sliding through the mingled slickness coating her inner thighs and puffy labia � her own arousal, the banker’s seed, Tanaka’s release. He lifted her hand, coated in the pearly mess, and pressed her palm firmly around the base of Klaus’s stiffening cock. Her fingers, sticky and warm, instinctively curled around his shaft as Charles guided them into a loose grip.
Simultaneously, the first European leaned forward. With a possessive grunt, he pressed the swollen, leaking head of his cock against Teresa’s parted lips. The taste � bitter salt and pre-cum � jolted her senses. Her tongue instinctively flicked out, a reflexive caress against the sensitive slit. Above her, the African banker, a mountain of dark, gleaming muscle, positioned himself between her spread legs. His cock was a thick, obsidian pillar, the head broad and flushed. He gripped her hips, lifting them slightly, aligning himself. With a low groan of satisfaction, he pushed forward. The stretch was immense, breathtaking, as his girth forced her slick, swollen channel wide open. He bottomed out halfway, the sheer size preventing deeper entry, the ridge of his crown pressed firmly against her deepest point. He paused, breathing heavily, the heat of his body radiating onto her thighs. Charles, observing the tableau, reattached the breast stimulators with swift efficiency, the cold gel making Teresa flinch against the cock in her mouth. He gave a curt nod. With a soft click, the machines roared to life.
Her mouth came alive with the sound of her pushing forward, gagging reflexively before relaxing her throat muscles, shoving him deeper until his pubic bone pressed against her lips. She had him all inside her, resting her tear-streaked face on his trembling stomach, the coarse hair scratching her cheek. Her right hand, still slick with Klaus’s pre-cum and her own fluids, took off in a frantic flurry of motion, sliding along his slick shaft with desperate speed. The electric charges surging through her breasts and clit � a maddening combination of suction, vibration, and sharp, skittering needles � sent uncontrollable tremors up her arm. The jerky motion, too fast to see, blurred her hand into a piston, transforming it into a human fuck machine gripping Klaus. The African, poised to push deeper into her impossibly stretched pussy, felt her inner walls suddenly spasm around his cock as the intensified voltage detonated across her clit. Her hips lunged down violently, enveloping almost all of his gigantic cock in one savage thrust, burying him impossibly deep. Somewhere in the electric storm, she knew she wanted him all inside her, needed the brutal fullness, and in a second, his heavy balls were slapping wetly against her ass as he began to fuck her with deep, powerful strokes, each thrust driving her face harder onto the cock in her mouth and her hand faster on Klaus.
The suite dissolved into a symphony of gasps and groans. The European in her mouth bucked his hips, fucking her throat in short, desperate jerks. Klaus’s eyes rolled back, his cock pulsing violently in her spasming grip. The African slammed into her, his massive cock stretching her to the point of tearing, each deep stroke sending shockwaves through her electrified core. Her body became a conduit for sensation � the brutal invasion below, the choking fullness above, the frantic friction in her hand, and the relentless, maddening electricity burrowing into her nipples and clit. It wasn't separate; it fused. The African’s thick cock hammered against her g-spot, amplified tenfold by the electric current dancing on her clit. The cock in her throat triggered a gag reflex that somehow intensified the clenching around the African’s shaft. Klaus’s pre-cum slicking her hand mirrored the flood gushing from her own core onto the African’s pounding cock. The breast stimulators pulsed, pulling her nipples taut, the sensation radiating deep into her chest, syncing with the pounding rhythm of her heart and the pistoning cocks. She was being played, fucked, *conducted*, a living instrument of pure, debauched sensation orchestrated by the machines and the men. A guttural moan vibrated around the cock in her mouth, muffled but primal, the sound of a beast surrendering to the frenzy.
The electricity wasn't just stimulation anymore; it was *transformation*. It crackled through her nerve endings, bypassing thought, igniting a ravenous hunger deep in her gut. Her vision swam, the opulent suite blurring into streaks of light and shadow. Her focus narrowed to the textures: the coarse hair of the European’s groin against her nose, the slick, hot slide of Klaus’s shaft under her blurring palm, the overwhelming stretch and burn of the African’s girth pistoning into her core. The sensations didn't just register; they *demanded*. The cock in her mouth? She needed it deeper, the taste of salt and musk flooding her senses, her throat muscles working rhythmically, *sucking*, drawing him in further, her tongue exploring the pulsing vein underneath. The African’s thrusts? She met them, slamming her hips down onto his, craving the sharp bite of his pubic bone against her clit, the brutal fullness that pushed her limits. Her hand on Klaus? It became possessive, greedy, squeezing the base, thumb swirling over his leaking slit, demanding his release. The electric fire on her nipples and clit wasn't pain; it was fuel, a raw current that stripped away inhibition, leaving only a feral, cock-hungry drive. She *loved* the way the African’s sweat dripped onto her belly, loved the choked gasp from the European as she deep-throated him, loved the sticky mess coating her fingers. It was filthy, overwhelming, and utterly consuming.
Klaus shattered first. A strangled cry tore from his lips, eyes wide and unseeing. His cock, trapped in her frantic, vibrating grip, pulsed violently. A thick, hot rope of cum shot across her collarbone, landing with a wet splat just above the humming breast stimulator. The shock of it � the sudden heat, the primal scent � only intensified her frenzy. Before the first pearly streak could even begin its slow descent down her sternum, the second jet erupted, splattering her upper belly, thick and viscous, mingling with her sweat. The third spurt arced higher, painting a glistening stripe across the swell of her left breast, dangerously close to the suction cup. She didn’t flinch; her hand kept pumping, milking him dry, her knuckles white with the effort, feeling the last tremors course through his shaft as she wrung every drop onto her trembling skin. Cum pooled in the hollow of her throat, trickled into the valley between her breasts, a warm, sticky testament to her mechanical efficiency.
The African banker roared, a sound deep and guttural, vibrating through the bones of her pelvis. He slammed into her with a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt, his heavy balls slapping hard against her ass. His cock pulsed inside her, not just a release but an *explosion*. She felt it deep in her core, a detonation that radiated outwards � a shockwave that vibrated through her cervix, echoed up her spine, and rattled her teeth around the cock still lodged in her throat. It felt like being filled with molten lead, impossibly hot and heavy, stretching her inner walls beyond any previous limit, flooding the deepest, most secret recesses of her pussy. She felt the distinct, throbbing pulses against her G-spot, each one triggering involuntary convulsions that milked him, drawing his seed deeper, making him groan with savage satisfaction as he emptied himself completely inside her. The sheer volume was staggering; it felt like he was pouring a part of himself into her very foundation, claiming her womb with his heat.
His withdrawal was slow, deliberate, his softening cock dragging against her oversensitized flesh with an obscene, wet slide. A gush of his thick seed followed, spilling out onto the recliner beneath her, warm and copious, mingling with the other fluids already pooling there. Before the sensation of emptiness could fully register, the European investor in her mouth, driven wild by her sucking desperation and the sight of her being claimed so completely, seized her head. With rough hands on her temples, he fucked her throat in short, punishing jabs, the head of his cock slamming against her soft palate. He came with a strangled gasp, jets of bitter salt flooding her mouth, coating her tongue, dripping from her lips as he finally pulled free, leaving her gasping for air, her throat raw and burning, the taste of him thick and pungent.
Silence, thick and humid, settled over the suite, broken only by Teresa’s ragged breathing and the fading hum of the machines Charles had just powered down. She lay sprawled on the recliner, utterly spent, a canvas of debauchery. Multiple puddles of cum�opaque, pearlescent, and thick�cooled on the cold metal beneath her ass and thighs, mixing with the slick evidence of her own arousal that had flowed freely throughout the demonstration. Her skin was painted with streaks of Klaus’s release drying on her collarbone and belly, splatters from the European across her cheek and chin, the African’s profound spill still seeping warmly from her used, gaping pussy. Every muscle felt liquefied, her nerves singing a dull, overstimulated ache, yet a profound sense of satiation radiated from her core. She wouldn't have missed this experience for anything; it was a brutal, electric baptism into a new realm of sensation, a depth of surrender she hadn't known existed.
Footsteps echoed on the marble as the last client, adjusting his tie with shaky hands, exited the suite. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing Teresa in the aftermath. Charles approached, his polished Oxfords stepping carefully around the fluids staining the floor. He stopped beside the recliner, looking down at her. His expression held its usual controlled intensity, but his gaze traveled slowly over her ravaged form � the bruised indentations where the stimulators had clamped, the sticky trails on her skin, the raw, swollen state of her lips and pussy. He didn't speak immediately, simply absorbing the tableau of his daughter’s utter consumption. Then, quietly, he asked, "How are you, Teresa?"
Her eyes fluttered open. The overhead lights felt painfully bright after the sensory storm. Every nerve ending still hummed with the ghost of electricity and friction, a low thrum beneath the deeper ache in her muscles. Her throat was raw, scraped from the brutal throat-fucking, and her jaw ached from being stretched wide. Between her legs pulsed a deep, satisfying soreness, a testament to the sheer girth she’d been forced to accommodate. The various fluids cooling on her skin � the drying streaks of Klaus’s cum on her collarbone, the thicker spill of the African banker’s seed still seeping warmly from her core, the tacky residue of her own arousal � felt like a second skin, a sticky, intimate armor. She felt hollowed out, scraped raw, yet paradoxically *full*. Not just physically, though the phantom pressure of the men lingered, but emotionally saturated. A profound weariness settled into her bones, heavy and deep, pulling at her eyelids. She was exhausted beyond measure, a vessel drained by relentless, orchestrated ecstasy. Yet, beneath the fatigue, radiating from her very center, bloomed a sense of profound, almost sacred, *usefulness*. She hadn't just been used; she’d been *utilized* to perfection, a flawless instrument in her father’s symphony of power and persuasion. The ache was a badge; the mess, a consecration. She felt... wonderful. Used, but utterly, perfectly wonderful.
I do have some news, he said. "you're trending on the internet. The demonstration we did on you has been viewed by over 4 million people.You're a celebrity."
She remembered the machines humming on her naked body, and her humping, gyrating, moaning and gasping under their power. How nice to be a naked depraved celebrity.
We're staying here the weekend so pick a bedroom. We have 4 more demonstrations next week with 16 new investors. Rest up, it'll be a busy week.