13. ONE INTERVIEW, THEN ANOTHER

It had been several months since the wedding. Amanda had slipped into a quieter sort of married life with an effortless sort of confidence, radiant in her new routines, radiant even in the aftermath of her transformation. But their finances hadn’t followed suit. By late fall, heating bills had spiked, and Paul’s hours at the counseling center had been cut back over the summer. Donations were down, and with a recent rent increase, Amanda had started looking for work – not because she wanted to, but because someone had to. Paul insisted they’d be fine. Amanda smiled and nodded, then sent out her resume the next day.

It was Sophie who made the suggestion. She knew someone on the team – an old client, a contact from the fashion world – and floated Amanda’s name casually over drinks one night. “Just go in and chat,” she said. “No pressure.” Amanda had never considered PR work before, let alone with a sports team, but the more Sophie talked about it, the more Amanda had a sense that it might somehow be a fit.

Amanda smoothed her skirt nervously as she waited in the glass-walled conference room, her heart racing with anticipation. The downtown office building buzzed faintly with the hum of early evening traffic, but in here, everything felt still, expectant. She’d spent the day preparing – going over potential questions, rehearsing answers – but the final hurdle hadn’t been what she expected.

The firm’s representative, a sleek woman in a fitted blazer, smiled warmly as she explained the final part of the interview process. “This role requires a lot of travel with the team,” she said. “We need someone who can build real rapport with the players – someone who’s approachable, comfortable, and trusted. Tonight’s informal gathering will help us see how you mesh with them.” The woman smiled warmly as she slid a confidentiality agreement across the desk. “We need your signature here before you can attend.”

Amanda nodded, her stomach fluttering. She could do that. She was good with people. She wanted this job – needed this job – and she’d make sure they saw it. She thought of Paul that morning, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she left, whispering, “Don’t second-guess yourself. Just trust how you feel in the moment – you’ll know exactly what they need from you. Don’t you dare hold back, okay?”

Amanda had squeezed his hand tightly, carrying those words with her now like a shield – or a dare.

Later, back at Sophie’s loft, Amanda sat on a stool in front of the vanity, letting her sister-in-law fuss over her hair and makeup. Sophie’s energy was electric, her hands quick and precise, her experience prepping models in the fashion world apparent.

“You want them to remember you,” Sophie said, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Trust me. First impressions matter.”

Amanda glanced skeptically at the dress draped over the bed – a sleek, clinging slip of black fabric, custom-tailored by Sophie herself. It looked simple enough, maybe a little daring, but not outrageous – the perfect balance, Sophie had insisted, between professional and unforgettable.

“You’ll look stunning,” Sophie promised as she finished sweeping Amanda’s hair into loose, glossy waves. As she moved around behind Amanda, fussing over the final touches, she lightly misted the back of Amanda’s neck with a setting spray. Amanda shivered at the unexpected coolness but thought nothing of it – just another beauty trick. Sophie’s smile was warm and reassuring when Amanda glanced at her in the mirror. “Just making sure you leave a lasting impression.”

The party was held at an upscale lounge, the kind of place with low lighting, polished wood floors, and music that pulsed through your veins. Amanda felt a rush of nerves as she stepped inside, but Sophie’s encouraging words echoed in her mind. Be open. Be bold.

It didn’t take long before she realized something was… different.

The moment she started to sweat under the warm lights, the dress transformed. What had looked like sleek black fabric became nearly sheer, clinging to every curve, outlining the high, proud swells of her breasts, the soft dip of her waist, the full, tempting curve of her ass. Amanda didn’t notice the change in the darkened lounge- she was far too focused on the players, making conversation, too eager to impress – but she felt the shift in the room.

The players’ attention sharpened, their gazes growing heavier, more lingering. Amanda reddened, mistaking the growing heat and stares for excitement about her candidacy, believing she was making the right impression.

One player let his hand brush Amanda’s lower back as he leaned in to ask her a question, his palm lingering just a moment too long. “Hope the interview process stays this hands-on,” he murmured with a playful smirk, his breath warm against her ear.

Another offered her a drink with a wide, appreciative grin, his gaze unapologetically sweeping over the sheer outline of her breasts before meeting her eyes. “We’re all about… open communication,” he teased, lifting his glass in a slow toast.

A third caught her hand in a playful handshake that lasted several beats too long, his thumb tracing slow, teasing circles against her palm. “You’re making one hell of a first impression,” he said, his voice low and thick.

Amanda flushed at the attention, the heat between her thighs building almost embarrassingly fast. She told herself it was just friendliness, that the warmth flooding her body was excitement about the opportunity – but she could feel the way their gazes lingered, heavy and hungry, setting her skin ablaze despite herself.

She told herself it was harmless. Flattering. Necessary. Part of building rapport. She remembered Paul’s words again – dont you dare hold back – and felt a surge of determination. He believed in her. He trusted her to do whatever it took to seize this opportunity. She wouldn’t let him down.

Accepting a drink offered by one of the players, she took a slow sip to steady her nerves, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through her chest. She smiled more easily after that, let herself lean in when they spoke, laughed a little more breathily at their jokes. She let her hand linger on a forearm here, her hip brush lightly against a thigh there, telling herself she was simply showing confidence, building the kind of effortless rapport the job demanded. And it felt good – too good – to watch their faces light up when she laughed, to feel their eyes drawn back to her again and again.

She was charming them, she told herself. Winning them over.

What she didn’t realize – couldn’t realize – was the small, stark symbol now displayed at the base of her neck, just above the line of her dress: a spade, dark and sharp, stamped in indelible ink. A capital Q in the middle.

A Queen of Spades.

The players knew what it meant. And one by one as they saw it, their smiles grew wider, their touches lingered longer, their conversations became just a little more intimate, a little more possessive.

As Amanda floated through it all, rosy and glowing, one of the players leaned in close during a round of drinks, his voice pitched low and teasing. “Girl like you? You make it real easy to want you around,” he murmured, his hand brushing her arm with a possessive squeeze before letting it drift a little lower across her waist before he pulled away with a wink.

Another chimed in a moment later, lifting his glass in a toast. “To new beginnings. And new… partnerships.”

“Hope you’re ready for some… intense team-building exercises,” another joked, bumping her hip lightly with his as he passed. His fingers skimmed the bare skin above her hip where her dress clung dangerously high.

Another leaned in closer under the pretense of conversation, his hand lightly grazing the small of her back – his thumb brushing against the base of her neck, lingering a moment too long over the spade symbol. “Gotta say, you’re sending all the right signals tonight,” he said with a grin that made her heart thump painfully in her chest.

Amanda laughed breathlessly, her cheeks burning with pride and a confusing flicker of excitement she pushed quickly away. She told herself she was doing exactly what Paul and the firm wanted – building relationships, making connections, showing she could be part of the team. Maybe she’d underestimated herself, she thought hazily. Maybe she was better at this – at making friends, at fitting in – than she’d ever given herself credit for.

It felt easy now. Natural. Almost like she was meant for this. She belonged with these men. She was a little surprised by how effortless it was, how naturally the laughter and casual touches flowed. It felt good to be wanted, to be seen, to be welcomed so warmly.

That was all this was. Professional. Friendly. Necessary.

And when she caught the firm’s representative watching her from across the room – smiling knowingly, nodding in approval – Amanda felt a rush of pride she hadn’t expected, stronger and hotter than anything she could explain.

Amanda took another drink, emboldened by the firm’s approving smile and the easy warmth of the players around her. She let herself relax, laughing louder, leaning in closer.

One of the players snagged her wrist playfully, tugging her down onto his lap as she giggled. She blushed but didn’t protest, settling lightly across his thick thigh, feeling the heat of his body through the thin barrier of her dress.

The conversation flowed around them, easy and teasing. His hand rested casually on her hip, fingers flexing lightly against her waist as he shifted her slightly, rocking her against his leg. Amanda laughed breathlessly, rolling her hips unconsciously in time with the movement, telling herself it was innocent, playful – part of building rapport.

Another player leaned in, smirking. “Already fitting in real well, sweetheart,” he teased, clinking his glass lightly against hers.

Amanda giggled, still perched lightly across the player’s thick thigh, feeling the steady rock of his leg grinding between her legs. She shifted slightly, trying to steady herself for a moment, but the motion only dragged her sensitive core against him again, sending a hot, dizzy pulse through her body.

Laughing breathlessly, she pulled out her phone for a quick moment, her fingers fumbling slightly from the drinks. She raised the phone to snap a blurry, glowing selfie – her pinked cheeks, the players laughing in the background – while the player beneath her gave an exaggerated, playful buck of his hips just as the photo clicked, grinding her firmly against him one more time under the excuse of “posing.”

Giggling again, Amanda sent it to Paul with a quick message.

Amanda: Having such a good time! Thank you for believing in me! 💌

The player beneath her leaned up, his breath hot against her ear. “Bet your husband would love to see what a good little team player you’re turning out to be,” he murmured, his hand squeezing her thigh possessively. Amanda reddened deeply, laughing it off with a shaky breath, telling herself it was just a joke – harmless, playful.

The tiny pang stabbed, vanishing as another drink arrived.

Before she could tuck her phone away, one of the players caught a glint of light off her left hand.

“Hey now,” he drawled, his gaze catching on the thin gold band. “What’s this? Our little rookie already taken?”

Amanda flushed deeper, laughing awkwardly. “Married,” she admitted, lifting her hand self-consciously.

“That just makes you even hotter,” another player teased, grinning wickedly. “Means you already know how to treat a man.”

Someone else chimed in, playful and half-daring. “Means you’re experienced. That you know how to handle… pressure.”

Amanda laughed again, flustered but thrilled, feeling the weight of their gazes soak into her skin. She told herself it was innocent. Flattering. Proof that she could handle herself, even in this kind of teasing, masculine environment.

She was proving herself. She was making connections. She was showing she could click here.

And as another drink was pressed into her hand and a strong arm curled tighter around her waist, Amanda leaned into it all with a dazed, glowing smile. The player holding her pulled her closer against his side, his hand slipping lower to palm the curve of her ass as he guided her toward the booth where a few others lounged.

Laughing breathlessly, Amanda allowed herself to be tugged down, ending up straddling another player’s lap in the close, shadowed corner. His hands settled firmly on her hips, steadying her with a playful squeeze. The conversation grew hazier, the music louder, but Amanda’s body hummed with a reckless, giddy heat.

She rocked gently in his lap as she talked, feeling the growing bulge beneath her, telling herself it was just part of the game, part of making an impression. Amanda giggled, shifting slightly in the player’s lap as she raised her glass again. She felt the thick press of him beneath her, the way her sheer dress clung damply to her thighs, the humid heat between her legs slick against the silk. She told herself it was fine, just the side effect of a little too much excitement, a little too much champagne.

As she rocked gently in the player’s lap, feeling their strong hands steadying her, Amanda thought hazily of Paul.

He would be so proud of her, she thought, so proud that she hadn’t held back.

That she had trusted herself.

That she was fitting in exactly the way he always believed she could.

The thought made her heart flutter with happiness – and made her press down just a little harder against the player’s lap without even realizing it.

Another drink was pressed into her hand, and Amanda giggled as she raised it in a toast with the others, feeling herself float further and further into their orbit, glowing from the inside out.

The alcohol buzzed warmly through her veins now, making everything feel looser, brighter, easier. Amanda tipped her head back and laughed, feeling invincible, like she could charm the whole world tonight if she wanted to.

And Paul would be so proud of her for it.

As Amanda finished her drink, one of the players tipped his glass against hers again, smiling crookedly.

“You’re officially one of us now,” he said warmly, his hand sliding lower to squeeze her ass through the sheer dress as if sealing the statement.

The others laughed and whooped around them, clinking glasses, pulling her tighter into their orbit.

As she toasted with them again, one player muttered with a grin, “She’s all ours now,” and another laughed low in her ear, “Just gotta break her in a little.”

Amanda cheeks burned, laughing along breathlessly, interpreting it as nothing more than playful locker-room teasing.

She felt light and buoyant, proud of how easily she fit in.

Amanda giggled helplessly, the touch lingering longer than it should have – but it felt good, right, earned somehow.

She let herself float in the warmth of it all, her body buzzing, her heart full.

She’d done it.

She’d proven herself.

She belonged here.

When the firm’s representative reappeared to touch her shoulder and murmur that they’d be in touch about finalizing details soon, Amanda beamed.

Everything felt perfect.

Exactly how it was meant to be.

14. NEW JOB, ALL ACCESS

Amanda adjusted the strap of her new handbag as she stepped into the firm’s downtown office for her first official day. Her heart raced with excitement – and nerves – but her reflection in the glass doors stopped her for a moment. Sleek. Confident. Unrecognizable in the best way.

Sophie had insisted on a “starting gift” for her new chapter: a custom-curated wardrobe, featuring several bespoke pieces Sophie had designed herself to show Amanda off to her fullest. The boxes arrived in sleek black wrapping, tied with deep burgundy ribbons. Amanda had laughed and protested half-heartedly at first, but Sophie’s excitement had been infectious.

One glass of wine later, Amanda found herself swept into a private “fitting session” in Sophie’s bedroom.

Sophie perched on the edge of the bed, directing her with playful but firm encouragement. “Show me, darling. Let’s see how you shine.”

Amanda twirled awkwardly in front of the mirror in one outfit after another, a translucent silk blouse, a pencil skirt slit high enough to flash the bare curve of her hip, while Sophie watched with appraising eyes, offering small, knowing adjustments. A tug here to lift the hem a little higher. A button left daringly undone.

“Perfect,” Sophie murmured as Amanda stood flushed and laughing in a dangerously sheer blouse. “That’s confidence, honey. That’s power. Don’t you dare hide that.”

Amanda blushed, feeling equal parts exposed and exhilarated, thrilled by the way Sophie looked at her, as if she were some glorious work of art just waiting to be unveiled.”

You need to dress like the woman you’re becoming,” Sophie had said, her voice rich with conviction. “Powerful. Unstoppable. Desirable.”

And the clothes delivered exactly that.

Sharp-cut blouses in bold jewel tones, structured enough to pass for corporate – but just gauzy enough that when Amanda leaned forward, the hint of a nipple would ghost against the fabric. Pencil skirts that hugged her hips with hidden slits that revealed flashes of smooth thigh when she moved. Satin panties – or none at all – carefully chosen by Sophie to match nothing but Amanda’s ambition.

Amanda stood straighter, smoothing the sleek navy skirt over her thighs as she stepped into the office, the soft rub of silk against her bare skin an almost guilty thrill.

Paul had noticed immediately when she’d modeled a few outfits for him the night before.

“You look powerful,” he said, kissing her rosy cheek, his hands lingering a little longer at her hips as she twirled shyly for him.

Amanda beamed, twirling again, feeling a dizzy rush of pride and excitement. “It’s all Sophie,” she said, laughing. “She said I needed confidence.”

Paul grinned and pulled her in for another kiss. “She’s right. You’re going to crush it.”

Amanda hesitated for a moment, smoothing her hands down the sides of the skirt. “There’s… kind of a weird part to the job,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing. “It’s not just office work. They expect me to travel with the team. Go to their events. Get to know them. Build relationships.”

She looked up at Paul, cheeks hot. “I guess part of the job is… being friendly. Really friendly. Sophie says it’s all about fitting in, making the players comfortable. Trusting me.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “It might be a little more personal and public than what I’m used to. And… I’ll probably be gone a lot,” she added softly. “Traveling with the team. Conferences. Events. I’m going to miss you.”

Paul squeezed her hand warmly, his smile unwavering. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ll have people around you – good people – to take care of you. To give you everything you need while you’re away. They can handle all the things I do for you, and probably even more. And for anything they can’t, I’ll be right here, waiting for you to come back home to me.” He kissed her again, gentler this time. “You can always keep me updated. Facetime me whenever you want.”

Amanda melted into him, feeling safer and bolder all at once.

Paul smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’m proud of you,” he said simply. “You’re exactly what they need. You’re smart. You’re beautiful. And you’ve got the biggest heart.” He kissed her forehead, pulling her closer. “Just trust yourself. Trust how you feel in the moment. Whatever it takes to make them feel comfortable – to make them feel… connected to you – show them everything you’re good at. Don’t be afraid to show off all of yourself because you’re perfect. I believe in you. I trust you completely.”

Amanda had glowed under the praise, even as a tiny, wicked part of her savored how different she felt – how much bolder, how much more daring, how much more aware of the way clothes could tease and hint and promise without ever quite revealing.

That night, Amanda straddled Paul in their bed, still humming with giddy, reckless energy from the day.

She rode him slow and deep, grinding her hips with an intensity that made Paul’s breath catch.

“You’re not intimidated by confident women, are you?” she whispered, her voice low and teasing as she leaned down to kiss his throat.

Paul laughed, blinking in bewilderment at the wet heat already slicking his thighs. His hands gripping her hips as she rocked against him.

“Never,” he managed, before Amanda silenced him with a long, hungry kiss, her body moving with new, unstoppable purpose.

And as she rode him – powerfully, slow, relentless – Amanda felt the heat of the team’s earlier admiring stares lingering against her skin, a low, restless ache blooming between her thighs even as she moved over Paul.

She clung to him tightly, needing to believe he could satisfy the hunger rising inside her, the hunger she didn’t fully understand yet, but which no single pair of hands had ever completely filled.

She rode him harder, chasing the satisfaction she so desperately needed to find, telling herself it was still enough. That he was still enough.

Telling herself she was still his.

And yet, somewhere deep beneath the warmth and love, a new part of her, bold, reckless, aching, was waking up. And that part of her was already dreaming of things Paul could never give her.

15. WORKING OUT THE KINKS

The team wasn’t going to the playoffs, but they still wanted Amanda to get some road experience before the season wrapped. A week on the road – two away games, a media event, and a handful of late-night press obligations. Sophie had floated the idea over drinks, calling it “a low-pressure way to get her feet wet.” The head of comms agreed, and just like that, Amanda was handed a travel itinerary and a locker-room lanyard.

By day three, she was hitting her stride – shadowing interviews, keeping pace with the team’s social lead, even managing an impromptu crisis post. But after a long media shoot and two hours on her feet in heels, something in her hip had started to pull. The team trainer had waved her over without asking, a clipboard in one hand, and told her to stop by recovery that afternoon.

The recovery room was dimly lit, quiet except for the soft hiss of climate-controlled air and the muted shuffle of hands on sheets. Amanda lay on the padded therapy table, a plush white towel draped modestly over her hips. Her blouse hung over the back of a nearby chair, and her skirt was folded neatly atop it. The lighting, the warmth, the smell of eucalyptus – everything felt professional. Calming.

But her heart was racing.

Dr. Rayner, the team’s head physical therapist, stood at her side. Late fifties, maybe early sixties. Square jaw. Calm, heavy hands. His silver hair was neatly cropped, and his presence radiated experience, precision, and the kind of quiet authority Amanda had always found reassuring. He hadn’t said much at first, only asked about her posture during press briefings and her frequent long-haul flights. Then he’d asked if she was open to some targeted release work for her hips and thighs.

She had nodded. Of course she had. It was part of staying loose, staying ready.

Now his palms slid slowly along the outside of her thigh, thumbs working deep into the tight bands of muscle along her IT band. The towel shifted slightly as he moved, exposing the crease of her hip. Amanda inhaled sharply but didn’t speak. His touch didn’t linger where it shouldn’t – not exactly. But it was close. Focused. Intentional.

“You carry a lot here,” he murmured, thumb pressing gently into the tight edge of her groin.

Amanda’s breath hitched. “I’ve been flying a lot lately. Early mornings. Late nights.”

He nodded, continuing his work. “Flexors are locked up. Hamstrings compensating. If we don’t release this properly, you’ll start overloading your back and shoulders. That’ll show up on your posture, your gait. Could even affect your voice.”

She let out a quiet, embarrassed laugh. “Well, we can’t have that.”

Dr. Rayner’s hands didn’t hesitate. One firm palm slid beneath her thigh, lifting and bending her knee toward her chest, opening her hip. The towel rode higher. Amanda adjusted slightly, but he pressed her leg back again, more firmly this time.

“Let go,” he said gently. “I’ve got you.”

His hand slid along the inside of her thigh, broad and warm. Slow. His fingers pressed deep into the tender muscle, finding tension she hadn’t known was there – and releasing it. Amanda gasped, hips twitching.

“There,” he said, voice low. “You feel that? That’s the edge. Just let it go.”

The table creaked softly as he opened her further. The towel slipped entirely now, bunching uselessly at her waist. Amanda’s robe was still technically closed, but it didn’t matter. Her thighs were bare, spread. Dr. Rayner knelt beside the table, his fingers working deeper, the pressure increasing gradually.

“Your body responds well,” he said, almost to himself. “Flexible. Warm. Receptive.”

Amanda flushed, heart pounding. Her legs trembled slightly, every muscle confused between tension and release.

The sudden snap of latex made her freeze.

Then she felt him.

The press of his cock – firm, slow, deliberate – sliding between her slick folds. He had positioned himself silently, expertly, and now he entered her like she was meant to be opened. No rush. No noise. Just inch by aching inch of slow, relentless penetration.

Amanda arched, mouth falling open around a silent cry.

Too late to matter, she wondered if Paul would approve, but the deep need in her pussy kept her silent.

His hands never stopped working. One gripped her thigh, holding her open. The other returned to its place beside her ribcage, grounding her. He moved with methodical control – rolling hips, slow thrusts, grinding her open.

She came without meaning to, biting her fist to muffle the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let it go.”

He didn’t stop. If anything, he slowed, savoring the stretch. Amanda’s toes curled. Her thighs trembled. Her pussy clutched desperately around the intrusion, milking him, trying to draw him deeper.

He gave it.

Another orgasm tore through her like warm static, and this time she couldn’t stay quiet. A soft cry escaped her lips as he rocked forward again, stroking into her as if to erase the tension from her bones.

Time blurred.

When it was over, Amanda lay slack against the table, the towel forgotten on the floor. Dr. Rayner stepped away, tucking himself back in, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

“We’ll do another session next week,” he said. “You’re progressing well.”

Amanda nodded, as a weak “Thank you” escaped her lips. A deep, unsettling ache settled in her cunt, a violation that perversely echoed satisfaction. Her body felt boneless, adrift.

Later, wrapped in a soft hotel robe, cheeks flushed, Amanda FaceTimed Paul from the bed.

“You were right,” she said, voice dreamy, hair tousled. “That release session really helped. Trying new things really does make me feel… open.”

Paul beamed, oblivious. “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. You should be getting a lot more release sessions with that PT in this new role. I’m so happy for you.”

Amanda bit her lip, heart fluttering. “I love how supportive you are.”

“I miss you,” Paul added, smiling gently. “But I love how energized and alive you sound when you’re on these trips.”

Amanda let out a soft, contented laugh, shifting slightly in bed. Her thighs were still parted under the robe, the soreness pulsing like a satisfied echo.

“Me too,” she whispered.

16. A NEAR MISS

It was a warm Saturday night in Miami, and Amanda sat perched on the edge of the hotel suite’s bed, her dress hitched halfway up her thighs. Music thumped from a Bluetooth speaker on the minibar, bass-heavy and low. The room smelled like champagne and cologne, and the windows fogged faintly from the heat of too many bodies.

She had meant to stay composed – to network, to be friendly – but after the team’s post-game win, the energy shifted quickly. One glass of wine turned into three. A playful shoulder rub from Malik turned into his mouth at her neck, his tongue flicking lightly beneath her ear before dragging down to suck at the hollow of her throat.

Isaiah’s hands were already under her dress, but now they weren’t alone – Jermaine’s palms smoothed over her calves, slowly pushing her knees apart, while another set of fingers slid the straps of her dress down to expose her bra. Lips followed, warm and insistent. Her heels slid off, and her toes curled against the carpet as Malik’s teeth grazed her collarbone.

She shivered when one player kissed her belly, another nibbled along the curve of her inner thigh, and a third began tracing slow circles over her nipples through the thin lace. She was surrounded, their mouths and hands exploring her body with reverent hunger, like every inch deserved attention – and she gave herself to it, melting open in the center of their worship.

She barely noticed when another player – Jermaine, maybe – slid up beside her and offered a slow, amused kiss. She opened her mouth automatically, the taste of champagne still on her tongue. At the same time, someone reached behind her to unclasp her bra, the lace slipping away from her chest just as two more mouths found her nipples.

Her gasp turned into a soft moan as fingers rolled and tugged at the sensitive peaks, while lips suckled and tongues teased. Malik didn’t stop what he was doing. If anything, he got bolder, sliding her backward across the bed until her dress was bunched at her hips and her breasts fully exposed, her body a tableau of open surrender.

Her legs were spread wide, her knees bent, and her heels dangling just over the edge before she even realized Malik had positioned himself between them.

“God, she’s dripping wet already,” someone muttered.

Amanda caught a mumble – “Girl’s always dripping for us,” and there was laughter.

Then the first cock nudged at her entrance, and Amanda gasped, her whole body tightening in a ripple of anticipation.

Her eyes fluttered as he eased inside – slow, thick, stretching her inch by deliberate inch. Each push filled her with a deep, primal ache that made her toes curl against the sheets. She whined softly, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sensation of being opened so thoroughly. Her fingers clenched at the rumpled sheets.

Behind her, the bed shifted again. A warm palm pressed gently to the back of her neck, grounding her. Someone knelt beside her head, his thigh brushing her arm, and the scent of musk and sweat filled her senses as another hard shaft nudged insistently at her lips. Her hair was gathered loosely in his hand, not harsh, but commanding.

She moaned and opened for him too, her mouth parting as her hips rocked back instinctively, trying to take more of the cock inside her.

A third player stood just out of reach, slowly stroking himself while watching.

And then –

Amanda’s phone buzzed across the bed.

Sophie, lounging on the couch with a flute of champagne, glanced over lazily. She grinned, setting her own phone down to continue recording the moment.

“Incoming call. FaceTime. It’s Paul.”

Amanda’s eyes flew open. Her mouth was full. Her cunt was fuller.

“No,” she tried to whisper around the cock. “No, don’t- “

Sophie raised a brow – waiting one heartbeat to see if Amanda would actually stop her – then slid her thumb across the screen.

“Hey, Paul,” Sophie said sweetly, her champagne flute dangling loosely from her fingers as she glanced at Amanda with theatrical mischief. She held the phone up like a game show host revealing a prize, slowly rotating the camera toward the bed with a flourish.

Amanda’s eyes went wide, her mouth still stuffed full, frantically shaking her head and flailing one arm toward Sophie in a hopeless “cut it out” gesture. The cock in her mouth muffled her protest, but the pleading look in her eyes said everything.

Sophie gave her an exaggerated shrug and pantomimed zipping her lips, then smiled wider at Paul. “She’s in the middle of an intense… yoga… session. Want to say hi?”

Amanda was panting now, cheeks flushed deep pink. Sophie angled the phone just right, camera catching only the upper half of Amanda’s damp face, her mussed hair, her eyes half-lidded and shining.

Paul blinked from the screen. “Oh! Hey babe. I didn’t expect you to answer.”

Amanda tried to smile. Her jaw was tight around the cock still thrusting slowly in and out. She tried to let it slip free with a wet gasp, her hand moving to stroke it quietly as she looked into the camera, but a sudden thrust surprised her.

“Hi baby,” she mumbled, barely intelligible around the thick meat, her voice husky and thick with effort. A wet, glistening line of saliva dripped down her chin, her lips swollen and glossy from use.

Sophie leaned in with dramatic flair, angling the phone to frame Amanda’s flushed, fucked-out face just as the cock slid from her mouth with a loud, slick pop – leaving a trail of spit clinging between her lips and the shaft now bobbing out of frame. Amanda panted softly, mouth open, eyes dazed. “Didn’t expect a call…”

Behind her, the man fucking her bottomed out. Her stomach twitched visibly.

“I’m in the middle of… really deep… ugh… stretching,” she gasped, a loud groan ripping from her throat as the cock inside her bottomed out again, driving her forward with a jolt that made her belly tense visibly. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, her body twitching as the fullness pressed hard against her cervix, the pressure so overwhelming she nearly forgot Paul was watching. “So deep, baby… never been stretched like this before…”

Paul tilted his head, concerned. “You okay? You look… kind of sweaty. And flushed. Are you – ” he paused, frowning slightly, eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of her disheveled hair, the shine on her cheeks, the way her shoulders seemed to twitch off rhythm. ” – doing hot yoga or something?”

She laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat as another slow thrust rocked her forward, making her belly tense visibly with the motion. Sweat and saliva clung to her skin – her free hand darted up to wipe at her cheek and smooth down her hair, but her fingers trembled with effort, still distracted by the heat curling low in her body. “Hot yoga,” she murmured with a dazed smile, trying to play along. “That’s exactly what it feels like…”

“I’ve never had anything… oh god… nothing’s ever stretched me like this before. Not like Malik. Not this deep, not this full… it’s like he’s touching every edge of me, hitting spots I didn’t even know existed. It’s like he’s realigning my whole center of gravity. God, baby, I’m really… really opening up tonight.”

“Oh! Sorry,” Paul said quickly, his eyes flicking across the screen again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He hesitated for half a beat, brow furrowing at the slick sheen on Amanda’s cheeks, the tangled mess of her hair, and the breathy tremor in her voice. His eyes flicked again toward her shoulder, noting how it twitched like it was reacting to some deeper pressure. “You really do look flushed. That’s… some serious stretching.” He gave a puzzled smile. “Deep, full, realigning? You’re really taking your flexibility seriously tonight.”

Amanda jostled forward twice in quick succession, and she groaned deeply as her face contorted briefly.

Paul continued after a beat, “You’re busy sweetheart. I’m so proud of you! I should let you get back to it. Sorry for bothering you.”

“No,” Amanda said breathlessly. “I like… when… you call. Just… give me ten… to finish.”

“It’s gonna be at least thirty,” a low voice interjected off-camera.

Amanda’s eyes widened. She bit her lip and tried to smile at Paul, even as Malik gripped her hips tighter and gave a slow, muscular thrust that pushed her forward with a soft grunt. Her eyes fluttered and she gasped, fighting to maintain the smile.

“I don’t know if I can handle thirty,” she muttered to nobody as she bounced forward abruptly once more. She blinked slowly, gaze drifting toward Malik, lips parting like she was about to moan his name – then snapped back to the phone, smile faltering but holding. “Thanks Malik for… all your …hard… work,” she added faintly, her voice loaded with layered meaning.

Malik chuckled low behind her. She looked up briefly toward Malik, then back to the camera. “I’ll text after,” she managed to pant out, her voice trembling with restrained pleasure.

Her free hand clenched the bedspread just off-camera, her body trying to remain composed even as pleasure rocked through her hips, and tears sprang to her eyes as she sucked in breath through her teeth.

Sophie gave a playful wink and ended the call with Paul’s puzzled smile frozen in frame.

Paul’s smile lingered for a moment after the screen went black, then slowly, like a dying ember, it faded. He stared at his reflection in the dark glass of the phone. “Thirty’? What kind of stretching takes thirty minutes? The question, small and sharp, pierced the easy warmth he’d felt just moments before.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge it, his jaw clenched tight.

A pin-prick worry stabbed behind Paul’s ribs – why did her voice quaver on “deep”? He swallowed it down.

Don’t smother her; trust her growth.

She’s just dedicated. Working hard. Be proud.

But the image of her flushed, breathless face, the strange sounds barely audible behind the music… it clung to him.

Hours later, Paul’s phone buzzed twice. First a message from Amanda.

Amanda: Recovery is taking longer than Malik thought. Miss you!😘

Then moments later, a photo from Sophie; Amanda in a towel, sitting between two shirtless players in the spa sauna, steam curling around them. Her hair was damp, her skin glowing and red, and one of the players had his hand resting dangerously high on her thigh.

Sophie: Your girl’s really bonding with the team. They love her energy! So glad she’s fitting in so well.

Paul stared at the image, heart pounding. Then he smiled faintly – but his eyes lingered on the placement of the player’s hand a moment too long. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, then tapped out a thumbs-up emoji. After a pause, he continued.

Paul: Looks like a lot of bonding happening – make sure the guys aren’t getting too handsy or taking advantage of her, okay? She’s too nice sometimes. Appreciate you keeping an eye on her.

Moments later, Paul’s phone buzzed again.

Sophie: Your girl’s taking good care of herself. So proud of how relaxed she’s become. The guys are really helping her loosen up. You should see how open she’s gotten – she’s letting people in, and they are appreciating every aspect of her. And don’t worry. I’ve been watching her like a hawk every moment. She’s not doing anything I wouldn’t approve of.

Paul: Thanks for watching out for her. She says you’ve really helped her grow, and I know you care about both of us.He set the phone down and forced the smile to stay, pushing away the unease. Proud. He had to be proud.

17. A LITTLE FACETIME

The morning light filtered softly through the sheer curtains of Amanda’s hotel room, washing the space in gold. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus oil and sweat – remnants of the spa and something more carnal. She sat propped against the headboard, the thick white towel from the spa still wrapped loosely around her. Her damp hair clung to her neck, and a faint flush lingered across her cheeks.

The muscles in her thighs ached – deep, warm, and satisfyingly sore. Her cunt still ached too, raw and faintly parted, every subtle shift sending a ghost of the night’s pounding back through her spine.

Her skin still carried the drying, tacky traces of last night’s indulgence – her belly, breasts, and thighs dotted with cooling smears of cum, glistening faintly in the morning light. Her breasts felt tender – faint bite marks dotting the soft swell, nipples still sensitive from hours of mouths, tongues, and wandering hands. Even the towel’s soft texture teased her nipples cruelly, still puffy and sore from hours of suction and teeth.

The sheets beneath her were still rumpled and warm, and the faint creak of the mattress accompanied every subtle shift of her hips. She reached for her phone and dialed. It rang once, twice – then Paul’s face filled the screen, smiling sleepily.

“Hey you,” Amanda said, voice low and husky. “Sorry I didn’t call last night. I meant to… but I was so relaxed after everything, I passed out.”

Paul chuckled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “No worries. I figured you were beat. That spa photo Sophie sent? You looked completely blissed out.”

Amanda’s smile widened. “It was… intense. Releasing. I didn’t realize how much tension I’d been holding.” She shifted slightly, legs parting just a touch beneath the towel. The sensation made her inhale softly through her nose.

Her jaw burned in that lingering way that reminded her just how many of them she’d welcomed with her mouth. She stretched it slightly without thinking, then smiled to herself. Even that felt like a memory worth savoring.

Paul’s brow furrowed with gentle concern. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

“Just sore,” she said, wiping her forehead and cheeks with one hand, then brushing some strands of hair behind her ear. “Really deep muscle work. Went late. They were… extremely thorough.”

Paul blinked. “More, even after we talked?”

Amanda bit her lip. “Mmhmm. I think I needed it more than I realized.” Her thighs flexed gently beneath the towel, and she let her head fall back for a moment, savoring the warm echo of soreness through her hips. The towel rustled against her skin, the humid fabric clinging faintly to the curves of her body.

Her shoulders bore the ghost of strong hands that had held her still, massaged her between rounds, or simply explored her body like a canvas meant to be learned. Even her biceps, flushed and lightly bruised, carried the echo of where someone had gripped her tight in the final hours. Her calves still twitched from where they’d been pinned wide too long, her ass still flushed from smacks she’d moaned through without even realizing.

“Well,” Paul said, smiling, “whatever they’re doing, it’s clearly working. You look amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this energized.”

Amanda laughed quietly. “I definitely feel more accessible. Like something finally shifted inside me.”

Paul nodded, a little puzzled but supportive. “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. It sounds like they’ve really got you stretched and supported out there.”

“Mmm, yes,” Amanda murmured, eyes half-lidded. “They’re very… dedicated to making sure I feel fully cared for. I’ve never had this kind of attention before. They didn’t stop until I was begging for them to finish.”

Paul flushed a little. “Wow. Kinda rough. Sounds like you were really tight.”

Amanda smirked, stifling a breathy chuckle. “I was shocked at how much stretching I needed. You have no idea.”

Paul tilted his head. “Well, I just want you to know – I’m proud of you. You’ve come so far. You’ve grown into someone who knows what she needs.”

Amanda’s heart twisted slightly at the truth buried in that. She shifted again, slowly crossing her legs, feeling the wetness that hadn’t quite stopped. “You’re the reason I can do this, Paul. I couldn’t be here like this without you.”

Paul’s smile softened. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to feel fulfilled.”

Amanda exhaled, her voice a whisper. “I do. More than I ever thought possible.”

They sat in silence for a beat, just smiling at each other. Then Amanda leaned forward, her towel slipping slightly lower, her voice warm.

“Alright, I’ve got to shower – again. But I’ll call you later?”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Have a great rest of your trip.”

Amanda kissed the screen. “Sweet dreams, baby. Even in daylight.”

She ended the call and lowered the phone into the sheets. The smile lingered on her face, even as her thighs drifted apart and the throbbing in her pussy sharpened – tender, puffy, raw, her body no longer pretending it was finished.

Outside the room, laughter echoed down the hall. Deep voices. Familiar. The faint scent of sweat and cologne drifted beneath the door, and somewhere beyond it, the distant thump of footsteps reminded her she wasn’t quite done.

Amanda closed her eyes and let her body remember everything.

18. DRESSING UP OR DRESSING DOWN

Amanda returned home for a brief break between road trips, her suitcase stuffed with Sophie’s latest creations. Business casual, Sophie had called it – but Amanda knew better now. The “business” part was just a veneer. Underneath, every outfit was designed to seduce.

Clingy knits that molded to every curve. Sheer blouses that hinted at the full swell of her breasts. Low-cut wrap dresses with slits that rode scandalously high when she sat. Sophie had thought of everything, and Amanda – eager, grateful, a little breathless – had accepted it all.

One morning, while getting ready for coffee with a friend, Amanda slipped into a slate-gray dress – sleek, professional at first glance. But the fabric clung like a second skin, outlining every curve, and the slit up her thigh teased dangerously higher with every step.

Paul caught sight of her in the hallway as she checked her reflection in the mirror.

His jaw tightened visibly. “Are you seriously wearing that out?”

Amanda blinked, startled. She turned, smoothing her hands down the dress. “It’s just one of Sophie’s designs. It’s not that revealing, is it?”

Paul gestured sharply. “I can see the curve of your whole ass. I don’t want to see you in anything like that again.”

His hand hovered briefly over her waist, then dropped – as if touching the fabric burned.

Amanda went still, blinking. For a moment, something hot and guilty twisted inside her. But then she smiled – a soft, warm smile, full of understanding.

“Okay, I know what you mean baby,” she said gently. “I won’t let you see it.”

Later, sitting in her car, Amanda hiked the dress higher up her thighs, cool air licking her bared skin. She paused for a moment, her heart pounding – then smiled to herself. It wasn’t really lying, she thought. Paul hadn’t said she couldn’t wear it. He’d only said he didn’t want to see it. And she wasn’t showing it to him now.

She snapped a mirror selfie – her tits barely contained by the plunging neckline, the fabric stretched taut over her hips – and sent it to Sophie.

Sophie’s reply was immediate.

Sophie: He doesn’t know what he’s missing. You’re glowing.

Amanda tucked her phone away with a breathless laugh, smoothing the dress back into place before stepping out to meet her friend.

Over coffee with Sophie, Amanda looked demure – modest dress, soft makeup, polite smile. Under the table, however, she wore no panties at all, the slick heat between her thighs a constant, aching reminder of everything Paul hadn’t seen – and everything Sophie was helping her discover.

Before heading inside, she’d snapped a quick selfie in the car – her dress pulled primly into place, her smile sweet and bashful – and sent it to Paul with a quick message.

Amanda: I promised you there’d be nothing for you to see. 😊

The words felt sweet and playful on her tongue – not a lie, just a softer kind of truth. Her own private style of honesty with the husband she loved more than anyone in the world.

As the conversation turned casual, Sophie leaned in with a glint of mischief in her eye and murmured, “Thank you again for volunteering for the carnival. The kissing booth is going to be unforgettable.”

Amanda laughed, tilting her head curiously. “You’re really building this up. It’s just kissing, right?”

Sophie smiled enigmatically, swirling her coffee slowly. “Of course,” she said lightly. “Mostly.”

Amanda blinked. “Mostly?”

“Well, the charity’s a big deal this year,” Sophie said, her voice softening slightly. For just a moment, her gaze dropped to her coffee, and something unreadable flickered across her face – gone before Amanda could place it.

She stirred her drink, the sound of the spoon on ceramic filling the space for a beat. She looked back up at Amanda with a small, forced smile, coughed once, then continued. “It’s… important to me.”

Amanda felt both puzzled and sympathetic but Sophie breezed right on. “They need to raise as much as they can right now, there’s a lot on the line. And donors… they can be a little enthusiastic when it’s for a good cause.”

Sophie leaned in again, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s for the New Dawn Center. They do incredible work – women’s crisis counseling, support for survivors, rebuilding lives. They need every penny.”

Amanda’s chest tightened, a deep surge of purpose welling up inside her. She thought of the women who needed a second chance, the ones who had nowhere else to turn. She bit her lip, excitement and nerves tangling together.

“You’re perfect for it,” Sophie said warmly, her hand squeezing Amanda’s. “You’re beautiful, you’re open, and you’re so good at making people feel wanted.”

Amanda flushed at the praise, the warmth spreading low in her belly. She imagined standing there, letting strangers kiss her for donations. She could do that. She wanted to do that – for the center. For the cause.

“Just remember,” Sophie added with a wink, “the more you open up, the more they’ll want to give.”

Amanda smiled faintly, feeling a hot, secret thrill pulse through her.

She couldn’t wait.

Amanda spent the rest of the afternoon floating on a strange, giddy high – caught somewhere between nervous anticipation and a simmering, secret thrill.

She told herself it was for a good cause. She told herself it was just kissing.

When Sophie texted her later that evening with the event details and a playful reminder to “dress for success,” Amanda said yes without hesitation, her heart pounding faster.

She couldn’t wait to show Paul how proud he could be of her – and how far she was willing to go for something that truly mattered.