The house was dead quiet. A stillness had settled in around midnight, thick and padded like a wool bnket—too warm, too suffocating. The only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional creak of old wood beneath shifting walls.

  Mikel y on his back, sheets tangled around his legs, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His phone screen glowed against the dark, muted porn pying out in silent loops. It wasn’t working. Not tonight. Not with her in the house.

  Tess with her loose tank tops, no bra, her pierced nipples daring gravity to pull harder. Tess with her sweat-slick smirk in that clipboard selfie. Tess leaning across the table with her tits half out like it was a dare.

  And Tess, who smirked when he looked and didn’t flinch when he said so. She hadn’t said stop. She hadn’t said no. She’d said nothing. Except: “If you’re gonna stare, at least leave the door open next time.”

  His cock throbbed under the covers. Mikel exhaled through his nose, set the phone down on the nightstand, and swung his legs off the bed. It was her fault. Every look. Every step. Every soft little stretch with her ass pointed just enough to catch his eye. She’d been poking at him since the moment she arrived. This wasn’t his fault. This was hers. She wanted it.

  He got out of bed and quietly left his room moving down the hall, He moved barefoot, quietly. No lights. Just the thin blue wash of moonlight through the blinds, and the faint trace of citrus-sweet perfume left behind in the corridor.

  Tess’s door was closed—but not all the way. It had a soft gap, like she never bothered to click it shut. Like it wasn’t a boundary. He pushed it open with two fingers. The room was dark. Air warm.

  She y on her side facing away, sheets bunched low around her waist. That same thin tank top stretched over her back, hugging the line of her ribs. One bare leg draped out, foot twitching slightly in sleep.

  She didn’t stir. Or… didn’t seem to. Mikel stepped inside. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. He just watched her—that small, pale frame breathing slow and steady, nipples faint under the shirt even now, nipples he knew were pierced, even though she hadn’t said a word about it. She had to know what she was doing.

  Mikel hovered for a beat, crouched by the bed, staring at her shoulder, the loose strap of her tank top slipping slightly to one side. Her skin was pale in the low light, smooth and warm where it met the cling of thin cotton. Her hair was messy, half spilling across the pillow.

  She looked like she was really asleep. Or wanted him to think so. That thought made something shift in his chest—shame, maybe. Or want. He leaned in closer. His fingers brushed her side again. No flinch. No sound.

  He reached further, slow and cautious at first, until his hand came to rest on the gentle rise of her chest. No bra. Just thin fabric. He could feel the shape of her breast beneath it—small, firm, just enough to cup in his palm. Her nipple pressed against his palm, stiff beneath the cotton and cold metal of the ring that pierced it.

  He swallowed hard. Still no movement. So he squeezed. Gently at first. Then again, firmer. Letting his thumb graze over the nipple, rolling it, feeling the way the piercing caught slightly on the fabric as he teased. His cock throbbed, hard and aching in his shorts.

  She didn’t stop him. Didn’t stir. He shifted, rising slowly from his crouch to a kneel on the bed. Careful. Watching. Still, she didn’t move. He leaned over her, one knee sinking into the mattress beside her thigh. His cock hung heavy in his shorts, and he pressed forward—letting it rest against her leg through the thin fabric. Her skin was warm. Soft. It felt right.

  He started to rock—just slightly. Slow, deliberate pressure, dragging the head of his cock along her upper thigh through the cotton. His hand slipped under her tank top, now fully on her bare breast, thumb grazing metal and soft flesh, teasing until her nipple was stiff under his touch.

  She shifted—barely. A soft breath. But still… she didn’t wake. Didn’t stop him. Didn’t say a word. And in his mind, that meant everything. Mikel’s breath caught in his throat.

  Her skin was hot under his hand, the curve of her breast lingering in his palm even after he pulled back. He slid his fingers down her stomach, the soft skin giving way to the waistband of her shorts—low, barely hanging on her hips.

  He hesitated. Then eased his hand lower, under the fabric. She was warm there. Soft. Slicker than he expected. Not shaved—but close. Trimmed, tidy. Real.

  His fingers found the swell of her pussy lips, and his breath hitched. Puffy. Full. Not like the porn he watched or the fantasies he’d spiraled through. This wasn’t smooth pstic. It was heat. Skin. Wetness.

  He dragged his fingers along her slit—slow, barely parting her. She was damp. Aroused? Already wet? He didn’t know. But he told himself he did. She wanted this. She had to.

  His cock throbbed in his hand, and he freed it—pushed his shorts down just enough to wrap his fist around the shaft, already aching. He started to stroke slowly, tip pressing lightly against her thigh as he rutted softly into her skin. The texture of her upper thigh—soft, warm, unmoving—was almost too much.

  His fingers traced lower again, sliding between the lips of her pussy, finding slick heat and softness that made his pulse pound in his ears. She was so fucking soft. He’d dreamed of this. Jerked off to the idea of it. Thought about her body every hour since she arrived. But this? This was real. And while he focused, breathing heavier now, hips rolling slightly against her, he missed the slight curl of her lips.

  Just a flicker. A private little grin, tucked in the shadows of the pillow. She was awake. She was letting him. And he didn’t even know he’d already lost the game.

  His hand moved slowly, fingers trailing the seam of her folds, feeling the heat—god, the heat—slick and soft and everything he’d been craving for days. She was warm and puffy, her lips parting just slightly as he slid two fingers down her slit.

  He pushed his hips forward again, the tip of his cock dragging through that wet cleft, sliding along the softness of her pussy, feeling the way it hugged the underside of his shaft. Too good. Too hot. Too close. His grip on her thigh tightened. He shifted forward again, slower this time, lining himself up almost on instinct.

  And that’s when she moved. A soft noise—a moan, low in her throat. Half-asleep. Sensual without meaning to be. She shifted her hips forward. Closed her legs.

  Mikel froze. His cock bumped her thigh, missing the mark by inches as her thighs pressed together. His heart kicked against his ribs. Had she woken up? Did she know? But she didn’t lift her head. Didn’t look at him. She just… rolled.

  Half onto her back, half toward the edge of the bed. One arm above her pillow, her head tilted slightly to the side, her lips now only inches from where he knelt.

  His cock throbbed hard, tip glistening, breath shallow.

  She y there, one leg now curled, knees angled away from him. Her breasts rose and fell beneath the tank top. Her mouth was slightly open, breath steady. Still sleeping—or pretending to be.

  He looked down at her face. That mouth. So close now. So fucking close. He hadn’t come this far to stop. He didn’t move at first. Just knelt there beside her, cock twitching in his grip, breath barely held in his chest. Her face was so still. Peaceful. Her lips parted slightly as she exhaled again, soft and unaware. At least… that’s what he told himself.

  He leaned in slowly, angling his hips until the thick, flushed head of his cock gently pressed against the curve of her lips. Still nothing.

  His fingers moved to her jaw—light, almost reverent. He held her chin, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as he tilted her head just enough. Then, with his other hand, he stroked himself once… twice… and guided the tip forward.

  Her lips gave easily. A gentle parting. He nudged himself inside. Just the tip. His cock slipped past the warmth of her lips, and he exhaled, shaky and strained, one hand still cupping her jaw as he began to jerk off in slow, steady strokes. Her mouth cradled him perfectly—soft, wet, just open enough to wrap around the head.

  She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t wake. But Tess felt everything. She felt the heat of him pulsing against her tongue. The slick trail of pre-cum smearing her inner lip. The way his breathing hitched with every slow stroke of his fist, cock dragging gently in and out of her mouth like he was savoring the moment too much to risk pushing deeper. And behind her closed eyes—she smiled.

  Not outwardly. Not enough to be caught. Just a flicker. A tension at the corner of her mouth that she locked in pce. He thought he was getting away with it. That was what made it so good.

  She fought the urge to suck, to grab his hips, to show him just how much she liked this. But that would ruin the game. And she was winning. So she stayed still. Letting him fuck the illusion just as much as her lips. Her lips were so warm, so soft around him.

  He thrust gently—not deep, just enough to feel the head of his cock glide in and out, slow and steady, his fist stroking the shaft while her mouth cradled him like a dream. It was too much. Too wet. Too hot. Too perfect.

  He grunted under his breath, jaw clenched, hips twitching as the orgasm hit hard and fast. His cock pulsed against her tongue, and he didn’t stop. Didn’t even try to pull out.

  He just came in her mouth, thick ropes spilling onto her tongue, across her lips, dribbling down the corner of her mouth and over her chin as his strokes slowed but didn’t stop. He breathed heavy through his nose, sweat cooling across his forehead, eyes locked on her sck face as his cock twitched one st time.

  She didn’t stir. Didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t swallow. Just y there—mouth open, breath shallow, cum sliding out like she hadn’t even noticed. His heart jumped, he started to panic. He slipped off the bed fast, eyes darting around. Fuck. He grabbed a pillowcase from the floor, quickly wiped at the mess on her chin, then carefully turned her head to the side, trying to get gravity to help.

  Cum still clung to her lips. So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached out and gently cupped her throat, fingers brushing the soft hollow beneath her jaw. He rubbed in slow circles—hesitant, coaxing—like he’d read somewhere that it helped. And then… she swallowed.

  A subtle, slow movement. One breath. Then another. He froze, watching her. But her expression didn’t change. Not even a twitch. He backed away, quickly. Pulled his shorts up. Tossed the pillowcase toward the undry pile. His heart was pounding now, a thousand thoughts racing behind his eyes.

  Meanwhile, Tess kept still. Barely. She could feel the tension rolling off him. The way he shuffled in frantic silence. The heat of his guilt. His fear. His need to believe she didn’t know.

  She wanted to ugh so badly her chest ached. But instead, she swallowed once more—silent, clean—and let that smug little smile curl unseen across her lips.

  The door clicked shut behind him. Footsteps padded back down the hall, soft and retreating. Only then did Tess open her eyes. Slow. Calm. Predatory. She blinked once at the ceiling, then licked her lips—catching the st, faint taste of him from the corner of her mouth. Still warm. Still heavy on her tongue.

  A low sigh escaped her throat—satisfied, zy, smug. Her hand slid under the bnket. Fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her shorts, finding slick heat already there, her pussy wet and aching from holding still for so long. She bit her lip, just barely, stifling the urge to ugh.

  You really thought you got away with it, didn’t you?

  She rubbed slow circles over her clit, then slid two fingers lower, sinking into herself easily, hips rocking in a slow, subtle rhythm as she recalled every second of his breathing, his panic, the pressure of his cock twitching in her mouth.

  He was so easy to read. So easy to wind up. And now? So fucking easy to enjoy. She came quietly, teeth clenched, hips lifting once off the mattress. No sound but breath and the faint creak of the bedsprings. Then she smiled. Wide and content. And finally let herself sleep.

  Back in his room he shut the door behind him and locked it with a soft click. The light stayed off. He stood in the dark for a long moment. Breathing Thinking to himself. She didn’t stop you. She moved. She helped. She wanted it. She didn’t say no.

  He stripped quickly, climbed into bed, the sheets suddenly cold against his still-warm skin. The scent of her was still on his hands. On his cock. In his mind. It wouldn’t go away. But the guilt didn’t win. The justification did.

  He whispered it to himself, soft but certain. She wanted it. She was asking for it. She didn’t stop me, she wound me up, it’s her fault.” His heart finally slowed. His eyes shut. And eventually, he slept. Still clinging to the lie like it was a life raft.

  Observation Wing – Control Room Log, 03:16 A.M.

  The control room was quiet, cold, and clinical—lit only by the pale glow of monitors, keyboards, and biometric readouts. Row after row of screens showed every angle of the house: infrared overys, audio cues, behavior models. To an outsider, it looked like a b. Sterile. Scientific.

  To those who worked there, it was a marketpce.

  Subject 001 – Mikel

  Category Fg: Boundary Breach (Level 2 – Oral Penetration)

  Time Logged: 03:12 A.M.

  Initiator: Subject 001

  Recipient: Subject 003 – Brennan, Tess

  Consent Level: Passive compliance / Pretended unconsciousness

  Stop-Signal: None

  Program Viotion Status: Not triggered

  After-Event Response: Subject 003 engaged in self-stimution (Fgged: Bonus Viewer Material)

  “Three days,” murmured a woman seated near the data core, stylus tapping against her knee. “We logged full oral by day three.”

  A man at the adjacent station leaned forward, dragging two fingers across a touchscreen. He pulled up heatmaps of Subject 003’s body during the event.

  “Expected range was day five. He accelerated by forty-eight hours.”

  The woman nodded. “Tess escated it.”

  “Do we categorize it?”

  A pause. The woman tapped a few fields on her screen, voice ft. “Subjective viotion. Passive recipient.” She gnced at the biometric data. “She was awake. No resistance. No disengagement.”

  “So… technically not rape?”

  “Technically not actionable.” Another tap. “Viewers will call it what they want.”

  He sat back. “And they’ll pay for it either way.”

  Above them, a wall-length screen showed real-time subscriber reactions. Comments streamed in.

  “Did he just cum in her mouth while she slept?”

  “Tess is a fucking queen—look at her. Didn’t flinch.”

  “No way she was asleep. She let him. God, this is better than phase one.”

  Viewership spiked another 11% during the timestamped window. The woman pulled up a billing screen. Hundreds of names, accounts, token unlocks. Live voyeur sessions. Tiered subscriptions. Premium repys.

  Beneath it all: “Human Behavioral Rehabilitation Initiative – Government Co-Sponsored Research Pilot (GSRP-09-A)”

  She smiled faintly. “Therapy.”

  The man gave a dry ugh. “More like theater.”

  Behind them, another staffer muted her headset mic and turned from her station.

  “Phase Two projections have begun. If we want deeper trauma responses, we’ll need to reassign Maya. She’s too stable.”

  “Maya’s a sleeper case,” the woman said. “She breaks when she sees someone else break first. That’ll be soon.”

  “And Mikel?”

  She gnced toward his live feed—Subject 001, curled in bed, whispering to himself in the dark.

  “She wanted it.”

  “She didn’t stop me.”

  She logged it.

  Subject 001 – Self-verbalization, guilt loop (x4)

  Cognitive dissonance indicators confirmed

  “Perfect,” she said. “That’s the first fracture.”

  The man leaned forward again, watching Tess shift slowly under the covers, licking her lips once before rolling onto her side. “She knows we’re watching?”

  “She suspects,” the woman said. “But not the scale. Not the depth. Not what they’re really paying for.”

  A new comment hit the live feed: “Can we get a better camera in her room? The angle missed the smile.” The woman fgged it for follow-up. Sooner or ter, every subject cracked. And when they did? The real subscriptions kicked in.