The Seven Secrets of Mr. Magpie
a seven part story by Corrupting Power
Part Five — Silver
So, by this point, I think we can agree I’m not a complete idiot. I’d recognized there was a pattern in how long things were in between their occurrences and it was descending. That meant I should expect the fifth gift or secret or whatever to be springing up sometime in August of 2017.
There was something strange about knowing what the timeframe was. Like, having no indication it was coming was part of the fun of it before then, but now that I knew I had four months before it came back around, there wasn’t any pressure or anticipation of things going off in the middle of it.
That wasn’t too bad, and it had let me back off driving for Uber, because I’d been starting to go crazy with that shit. There’s only so many dumb fucking twenty-somethings any one person can be expected to tolerate, and during the summer, they tend to get even crazier than usual. Not entirely sure what that was all about, but there were times the previous summer where they’d get into the car after finishing their night at the bar and begin doing everything shy of having actual sex in the back of my vehicle. And we were repeatedly told not to rate customers less than five stars unless it was absolutely necessary.
The deciding factor was when they even called me up to ask me about why I’d rated a customer one-star. I informed them that she’d been giving the guy a handjob in the back of my car despite me telling them to stop.
You know what their reply was?
They asked me if I had recorded footage of them doing it.
When I told them that I hadn’t, they informed me it would be my word versus hers and that they typically believed riders more than they did drivers. That was the sort of thing that was typical of the company, at least back in in 2017. They told me that if I didn’t have footage, they were just going to reverse my rating. But they weren’t going to reverse the 1-star rating that the passenger had given me. Because I got so many ratings in a night, they felt that a single 1-star rating on my record wouldn’t be anywhere near as impactful as my 1-star rating of them.
I informed them it was likely to affect how much driving I did for them moving forward. They said they understood that and hoped I would reconsider, since I’d done such excellent work for them over the past few years. I said that I’d have to have a long think about it, and they’d be able to tell what my decision was based on my activity moving forward.
So after that phone call, I decided I was going to start hustling even harder to avoid having to drive for that shitty company ever again. That meant I needed to up my portfolio, start hustling for new clients and just in general up my game professionally.
That was going to come to figure in a lot of things for the tail end of my tale, but I didn’t realize that. It would actually play into more things than I thought it possibly could. But let’s not get ahead of myself.
I found it odd, but once I started pushing to get things done and to find new gigs, I started seeing that there was a need for people with my skillset again. And that was nice to see, because I very quickly picked up that I shouldn’t be mentioning rates or taking on large scale gigs.
In fact, more than a couple of times I was talking about picking up short term work and people were asking me if I’d considered going back to work on a full-time basis to which I responded yeah, of course, but I’d need a reasonable salary and a bit of actual stability.
That always seemed to be the sticking point.
And always they had the same story.
They hadn’t quite found funding yet. They were working other jobs on the side and needed someone who could do the same. They weren’t ready yet to pay anyone salaries, because nobody had any money.
It was a refrain he kept hearing over and over and over again.
“We’d love to have you join us. We can’t pay you anything.”
And as much fun as a lot of these projects sounded, none of them paid the bills. And I have bills to pay, y’know? The house may be paid for, but I still had to pay utilities, phone, internet, food, the whole lot. And the cost of living in the Bay Area isn’t anything cheap.
On the plus side, I was getting a load of leads for contract gigs, and that wasn’t terrible. I hadn’t really been pulling my weight in doing outreach to search for work, and I guess that’s on me. The work had been there during the dry spells, I think, but it had been harder to find.
Mrs. Choi’s house also finally had the “for sale” sign adjusted after years on the market to a “sale pending” sign. The real estate market, especially in the Bay, had been more than a little rocky, but I think Mrs. Choi hadn’t been willing to lower her price even a penny, so the house had remained on the market for what felt like the longest time ever.
While I’d been sleeping, I’d gotten a phone call which had gone straight to voicemail from an unknown number. It came from an unknown number, but I recognized the voice from the very first syllable. It was Mrs. Choi.
“My dear Mr. Magpie! My house is being sold, so my granddaughter Cori will be coming by relatively soon to do an inspection. I want her to come by and see you, for her to say hello! It’s been years since you two have seen each other, so be sure to welcome her when she stops by!”
It had been years since I’d seen Cori—she’d been a high school student the last time she’d come by, and that had been at least three or four years ago, but she’d seemed nice enough. A bit hyperactive, but super friendly and kind. She’d been fascinated by watching me work, how I’d built a digital model, got it rigged up and could make it move around my screen in such a short period of time. It wasn’t well textured, but she’d always assumed that making videogames was something being done by nameless, faceless drones in an office park somewhere.
I made a note that I was going to have to ask her for her grandmother’s new address, putting it on a post-it note on my fridge. It was up a surprisingly bit longer than I thought it would be.
During my downtime, I did a little bit of searching to see if I could find anything more about Madi, Saffron and Alistair, but that came back dry. I also got a card in the mail from overseas with something that absolutely blew my mind. It was a baby announcement, from Freya. And in looking at the picture, I knew why she’d sent it to me in a heartbeat. Between Freya and Christof, there was no way they’d produced a kid with such dark hair.
That was my kid in the picture.
During the morning after, right before Freya had left, we’d had a talk about what to do if, against insanely overwhelming odds, she had gotten pregnant from our encounter. I’d told her that as long as Christof was cool with it—as she’d claimed he was—then the two of them could just raise it as their own, and they didn’t ever need to bring me up. I’d like to keep tabs on the kid, so if they could just send me a picture once a year, that’d be more than plenty.
I’d never really planned on being a parent, and the idea of having a kid was more than a little terrifying to me. But the idea of my lineage not dying out when I died? That was kind of a nice thought to have. I didn’t want to interfere with Freya’s life, so I wanted them to basically not worry about me getting in the way of anything.
This, it seemed, was the announcement that I had indeed fathered a child with Freya, and that she and Christof were going to raise it in Denmark without the kid having any knowledge that his father wasn’t his biological father. If the two of them were happy with it, then who the hell was I to tell them otherwise? Who was anybody to tell them they shouldn’t have had it?
Just last year, I found out that as part of Christof winning, he got the right to father a child with his high school sweetheart Lara. Lara and her partner, Abigail, had been talking about adopting a kid or going through IVF, but had come to an accord that if Christof in his farewell to singledom night could get Lara pregnant, the two women would keep that child. The two couples had briefly entertained the idea of swapping the children at birth, but in the end, the mothers felt they would be too attached to the children they had carried within them for nine months to let them go, and so Christof’s child stayed with Lara and Abigail, and my child stayed with Freya and Christof.
The photo also included the child’s name.
Krage Schumann.
Schumann was, of course, Freya and Christof’s last name, and Krage I’d learn quickly was Dutch for crow.
He really was an adorable baby. Every year they send me a picture, and that’s always nice to get. I also get a yearly phone call from Freya, usually in the middle of the night, to talk about what’s going on in both my life and hers, and for them to give me little updates on how Krage’s growing up.
One of the things about working in the games industry is that there are loads of mixers going on, some on a monthly basis and some on a quarterly basis, where loads of small and indie game developers from around the Bay Area (as well as a handful of larger ones) have a cocktail party that doubles as both exposure for the developers as well as a chance for them to get free focus testing.
GameMix, GameDevJam, GameScramble, Cindy’s Indies, NoBudgetParties... the list goes on and on and on. I’ve got a standing invite to most of them, but there’s only so many nights out seeing the same odd indie titles that I can manage. But it’s good networking and so I try to get to each one of the parties at least once a season.
That was true for all of them except GameScramble, which was held at a games incubator in downtown San Francisco. You’re probably not familiar with the idea of a games incubator, so let me try and break it down for you. It’s like a co-location, where a bunch of tiny game developers (studios with usually only 1-2 people in them) share office space and bounce off each other for ideas and assistance. Everybody pays a small share into the rent, power and internet, and everybody has a workspace that isn’t their own home. There were a number of attempts to try and do this (before the pandemic anyway) with a company called WeWork being the biggest and most spectacular failure. Others have seemed to get it working okay, though.
I hadn’t been to GameScramble in a couple of years, because there were a number of developers there that I just didn’t care for. The last time I’d been there, one of the game devs there told me that by having a love of giant mechs, I was engaging in cultural appropriation of Asian culture, and that I should be ashamed of myself. Yeah, I wanted to punch the kid in the face too.
At some point, things just become genres unto themselves, as I’d tried to explain to the kid. Edgar Allan Poe had invented the modern mystery story, so did that mean that Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, or all the great Agatha Christie murder mysteries, were all those also cultural appropriation?
The whole thing had devolved over the course of the evening, and battle lines were drawn. Some people accused me of trying to drive a wedge between two groups at GameScramble, but I’d pointed out to them that I’d just been defending myself and my portfolio.
They continued to invite me to events after that, but I felt it better for both them and me if I didn’t take them up on it.
But enough time had passed that I felt like I should probably give them another go, so I’d schlepped my way into downtown San Francisco on a Thursday night for the autumn GameScramble event. I remember hoping like hell it wasn’t going to bite me in the ass. And whatever I expected to come of that evening, what actually happened was way stranger.
The thing about all of these game incubators is that they’re generally above or in back of something else, so you almost feel like you’re going to a speakeasy to get to one of them, through some back alleyway and up a set of stairs that spirals into seemingly nowhere only to open up into this weird hidden loft area, half the time in the shadow of the freeway overpasses. You almost feel like someone’s going to offer you a Sidecar on your way in and ask if you need any reefer or molly. It’s such a weird vibe.
There were about a dozen indie developers working out of the GameScramble offices, and while it was nice to network and press the flesh, many of the games were the sorts of things that just held zero interest to me—precision side-scrollers with elaborate sequences, point-and-click adventures that often told a deeply personal story to the creator that they hadn’t bothered to make accessible (or even comprehensible) to anyone else, some weird mish-mash of game genres that didn’t seem to have any unifying theme, and always, always, always at least one creator who spent all night bitching to everyone trying his game that “you just don’t get it,” and always saw that as a failure of the audience and not of himself as a creator.
Just after walking into the place, someone I’d never met handed me a drink and asked me to come try their “latest masterpiece” (spoiler alert: it wasn’t) and we were off to the races.
About an hour into the night, I’d tried a handful of games that were still far too ripe to be getting any useful feedback and was just about to head out of the joint when a familiar face wandered up to me, and I let out a deep whistle of admiration.
“Well, goddamn, Rose Winslow!” I said as she strolled up towards me with a sly smile on her face. Rose was the older sister of a guy I’d worked with for a couple of years, and I’d always said that if she was ever single, he should try and set me up with her, which he never did or she was never single, I could never really figure out which.
She was a 6′6″ brunette who worked as a venture capitalist investor for startups in the Valley. Rose had a striking beauty to her, something that just stood out in the center of the room, and lots of people joked that she could’ve been a model if she’d been a bit stupider. But she was far too smart for that kind of thing, and instead she used her beauty to put people at ease who really should’ve known better than to underestimate her. Thin and slender, as gorgeous as she was, I’d often joked around that she needed to eat more, but she’d always taken it as good-natured ribbing.
Tonight, she was dressed like she wanted everyone to look at her as soon as she entered, a short red dress that was low on top, short on bottom and dangerously tight all around, so much so that I was pretty certain she wasn’t wearing a bra or panties beneath it. Of course, being as tall as she was, short on bottom meant it came down to almost her knees, simply so she wasn’t flashing everyone everywhere she went.
Rose couldn’t have been in the room long, because the entire vibe changed when she entered. Rose worked for IllumEyeNation, a local investment firm that had a great track record of knowing when to get in, when to get out, when to flip and how to pick the perfect things to be angel investors for. She’d gotten a reputation as something of a kingmaker in the indie games space, with their last major investment having gone to a games studio made up of complete first-timers that had gone on to win multiple Game of the Year awards with their first title. Every single person wanted to say hello to her, to get her attention on their project for just a few seconds in the hope that she would pluck them from obscurity and fund the living shit out of their pipe dreams.
But as it turned out, she wasn’t there for them.
“Heya Raf,” she said to me with a big smile, bending down and wrapping her arms around me to give me a welcoming hug as well as a kiss on each of my cheeks. “I normally don’t come to these things, but my girl Bonnie sent me a text message when she spotted you arriving, because lord knows, nobody’s seen you in a good long while.”
“You came to see me?” I laughed. “I can’t imagine why, Rose. I ain’t got shit to sell.”
“C’mon, let’s go outside and down to Crepes A-GoGo where we can hear each other talk,” she said, pulling me from the crowd and leading us towards the stairs, having to politely excuse herself at least half a dozen times before we even made it to the stairwell.
There was something kind and warm about her touch, as she held my hand in hers. We hadn’t really ever known each other all that well, but there was a familiarity in the way that she was treating me that I have to admit I didn’t hate.
We wove our way down the stairwell, past a number of people trying to hand her their business cards, and out onto the street, heading down the block towards a crepes truck that was open until 2:30 am any given night, offering food for people after the bars closed.
As we were walking down the street, I tried to remind myself Rose had always used her beauty as a weapon and a tool, and that if she’d come looking for me, I had to have my guard up, because it was entirely possible that she was going to leave me without my shirt or a prayer to my name.
“So what’s it been? Three, four years?” I asked her.
“Something like that,” she agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since that last night of hard drinking the day Arcadia Games shut down.”
“How is Marc anyway?” I asked, not really wanting the answer to the question, because her brother and I hadn’t often seen eye-to-eye on a number of things.
“He’s actually the reason I came out to find you tonight,” she said to me with a smile, her long slender fingers wrapped around my forearm. “He’s got a new project he’s working on, and he needs an art director. I was thinking maybe that could be you.”
Two things you need to realize at this point. Number one, I’d never been a director before and the idea of being in charge of a team of artists made me more than a little bit nervous. Number two, her brother Marc could be a real pain-in-the-ass to work with for a lot of reasons, and though we’d been co-workers before, we’d always had a producer liaisoning between us, making sure we didn’t kill each other, because Marc wasn’t real respectful of deadlines.
To make a videogame, you really only need three things, and in the very indie studios, one person can often do two or three of these things. You need a programmer, you need a game designer and you need an artist. There’s lots of other things around that are helpful (a producer, for one, who is often doing little more than arbitrating between bickering parties), but at the absolute base of making a game, that’s all you need.
Marc was a game designer who’d never met an idea too late to integrate into whatever it was he was working on. Back at Arcadia, we used to jokingly call him CK, which was short for Creeper King. Feature Creep is when you’re deep into a project and suddenly you have a great idea that you think you can add into the project. Because you’re adding something (a feature) along the way, the amount of time it takes to do anything goes up and your expected done date gets pushed out. Feature Creep is the number one reason that games don’t get finished, because some designer gets a wild hair up his ass and keeps trying to add feature after feature. Marc Winslow did this so much that at one point, the executive producer on our project just stuck up a Post-It Note on his office door that said ‘Whatever it is, Marc, the answer is no.’
Now, don’t get me wrong—Marc was also a great game designer. He had a knack for coming up with interesting game designs that straddled between things people already knew and things they’d never tried before, and he understood that fun was the most important thing to have. I’d sort of wondered where he’d ended up, because I figured someone somewhere would’ve scooped him up early.
“Me? An art director?” I laughed. “I mean, I haven’t done that yet, and I’m not sure you want me first timing it with your brother. How big is his team?”
“Right now? Just two. Him and his programmer,” she said to me as we got in line at the crepes place, half a dozen drunk or stoned kids ahead of us. “They’re at the point now where they can’t do things with placeholder art anymore, and it’s time for them to get serious.”
“I dunno, Rose,” I said. “Without a producer around, that means either Marc or the programmer is doing double duty as the producer. Marc needs a producer to keep guard rails up on him, otherwise you know him, he’s going to keep having ‘just one more thing’ that he absolutely has to add that’s going to keep his project forever away from shipping.”
“I get it, Raf, believe me I do,” she said as she let go of my arm and moved to rub her hand against the back of my neck. “That’s one of the reasons I want you. You know how to tell my brother no in such a way that he listens to you some of the time.”
“Some being the key word there, Rose,” I chuckled. “He’s still going to try and ignore me a whole bunch.”
“And I know that their lead programmer, GG, will back you up all times you’re going to need it to stand up to Marc, so all you have to do is be willing to be you and have an argument with him every now and then,” she said.
I thought it over while she placed her order and then I placed mine, then went to stand over in the waiting area. Eventually, I decided to ask the sorts of questions that would show I was taking the whole thing seriously—were they funded, would there be a salary, would I have stock in the company—all the business shit I literally hate thinking about more than anything else.
Rose was ready for me and had answers that made everything sound more and more appealing. They were funded for the next two years, the salary was reasonable without being comfortable, I would get 30% ownership of the company with Marc having 30%, GG having 30% and Rose herself owning the remaining 10%.
But I kept coming back in my head to idea of just how frustrating it would be to be constantly telling Marc no. That was complicated by the fact that Rose didn’t really want to tell me what had happened to the previous artist on the project, because during my questioning, I’d been able to figure out that there was an art director before me, and that they had left the project.
“I dunno, Rose,” I said with a sigh, as we picked up our crepes from the counter. “Marc’s a fantastic designer and all, but I’m not kidding when I’m telling you that I don’t know if he’s ever said no to anything in his entire life. Even with the money, I’m pretty leery about this whole thing.”
“Tell you what,” she said to me as we walked away from the crepes place, heading more towards downtown San Francisco. “I’ll even throw a sweetener into the deal, something that ought to make this whole thing impossible to pass up.”
“What’s that?” I laughed.
“Me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know what a pain in the ass my kid brother can be, okay? It’s not like I’m oblivious to his inability to finish shit. Marc is always the guy who has too many ideas and not enough follow through, but I think he’s got a pretty solid game design on his hands here, the monitization hook looks solid, and as long as he’s first to market, I think there’s a pretty compelling chance the game will do really well. But without someone to tell him no, he’s gonna keep delaying. So if you come in, kick ass like you always do and also sort of double as producer, you guys can pull that off.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but this doesn’t explain what you just said.”
She laughed, and it was nice to hear a warm mature laugh for once, something worldly and learned. “Marc’s only going to cede authority to you if there’s some real consequences for him. Well, I’m in an open relationship with a very understanding partner, so every time Marc comes to you with a feature he wants to add that isn’t in his initial design document, you get to fuck me.”
“I—”
“I’m not finished,” she said as we kept walking through the almost empty late-night streets of downtown San Francisco. “On top of that, the day after you fuck me, I’m going to call up Marc, invite him out for lunch, and then I’m going to tell him in graphic detail how you fucked me, and that it was because he couldn’t keep his feature creep in check, and that if he keeps adding features, you’re gonna keep fucking me and I’m gonna keep telling him all about it. That’ll scare him shitless and should get him to keep it all in check.”
“I mean, you’re joking, right?”
“Raf,” she said with a shy smile. “I’ve been walking you back to my apartment for the last fifteen minutes because I knew you wouldn’t believe me without a demonstration. My partner’s out of town for the week, so you can crash the night and we can fuck until dawn if you want. But believe me when I tell you, I’m tired of having to always protect Marc from himself, and I’m down to desperate measures. I really have to make this one work.”
“What happened to his previous art director?” I finally said, stopping in my walk. “No way he got this far without someone doing some art.”
She sighed, looking up towards the night sky before looking back down at me. “They broke up. They were dating, and she finally had it with his shit, both personally and professionally, and she just got up and left both him and the company. That was three months ago, and he’s been dragging his fucking feet all over the place since then, and I can’t fucking have that. I invested a good amount of my own capital into his studio, so I need him to pull his head out of his ass and get back to work.”
“What if I don’t like the art direction the project’s currently going in?”
“You will have final say on all things art, Raf. What you say goes.” She stepped in close to me and put her hand between my shoulderblades. “I’m down on my knees figuratively and can be literally, if that’s what’ll get you to give this a shot. I always thought you were kind of cute anyway. But Marc respects the shit out of you, even with how much you guys fought. I’ve been trying to track you down since Maria left him, but you aren’t exactly an easy guy to find. C’mon. Why don’t we go upstairs and I can convince you to give my brother one last shot, okay?”
I glanced up and noticed the building we were standing outside was Silverstone Tower. Silver indeed. I turned my head back down a few notches, still looking up at her face towering over me, seeing that utterly uncertain expression she wore. She was genuinely terrified that I might tell her no. “You don’t have—”
I was going to say more, but Rose basically assaulted my mouth with her own, her hands clinging to me like she was trying to ensure I couldn’t pull away while her tongue staked its claim over portions of the inside of my mouth. Not that I really wanted to withdraw, mind you. Rose was easily one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met, and the fact that she was so wantonly pressing herself against me was removing any other thoughts from my brain rather quickly.
“I always kinda wanted to fuck you before, Raf,” she cooed at me. “So don’t think of this as you taking advantage of me, but us each getting something we want out of the deal. You willing to accept my offer?”
“You really think it’ll keep Marc in check?”
“Isn’t it worth at least trying once so you can find out?” she said as her hand reached down and started fondling my cock through my jeans. “Although you feel hard enough that maybe it’ll be three or four times before dawn...”
“Well, we certainly shouldn’t do it in front of the building,” I laughed. In the middle of the sentence, she pulled me into the lobby and over to the elevators, waving her keycard in front of them to let the elevator open. She shoved me into the elevator forcefully and jammed her lips back against mine as the elevator started to move. I was thankful the elevator moved as fast as it did, because if it taken much longer, I think Rose might’ve just fished my dick out somewhere along the way.
As it stood, we barely made it into her apartment and got the door closed behind us before Rose was yanking my shirt up and over my head. I reached down to unbutton my jeans and she just yanked her dress up and over her head, casting it aside, revealing I’d been correct in my assessment that she didn’t have a stitch on beneath it. She was elegantly slender, with small breasts that still managed to look remarkably generous on her tall frame. Rose looked like a glamour model, the kind of woman almost too pretty to be real. But as in control as she normally appeared, there was a sense of urgent eagerness to her that I don’t think I’d ever seen before. Her skin was a lovely shade of dark marble with pink nipples the shade of her namesake. She also had a patch of fine black hair above her pussy, well-trimmed and maintained. I didn’t get much of a chance to look, though, as she pulled me through her apartment straight into the bedroom, my pants unzipped but not pushed down.
Once we were close to the bed, she practically frisbee tossed me onto the bed and then yanked off my jeans and boxers, my cock springing free. “Good fucking Christ,” she muttered beneath her breath. “If I knew you had such a monster on you, I’d have given you a roll in the hay just to try it on for size.”
I’d like to say I had a witty and charismatic response ready and at the snap of a wrist, but whatever words I might have been about to say vacated my head when she suddenly engorged herself on my cock, sliding her face all the way down until her lips were around the base of it and my balls were wedged up against her chin. It was clearly a strain on her because I could feel her groaning along the length of my shaft, her throat giving spasms as she was working to suppress her gag reflex.
“Jesus God,” she said, gasping heavily for breath. “I so very much want to suck the shit outta your dick until you’re cumming down my throat, but I just can’t wait any fucking more. I need this beast tearing me open.”
Without so much as a second to catch my breath, Rose had climbed atop me, gotten my cock lined up with her pussy and forced herself all the way down it. I hadn’t really thought of myself as big, but considering how fucking snug Rose’s snatch was around my dick, I felt like a goddamn porn star, especially as I felt her start clenching in rhythmic spasms around my cock once she had it lodged up inside of her.
“FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK...” she started hissing out in quick, fierce blurts. “Oh you motherfucker, that feels so fucking goddamn fat in my tiny little cunt...” She had finely manicured nails a shade not unlike that of her nipples and dragged them over my chest like tiny claws. “I’m totally on the pill, so you better flood my fucking guts tonight, you hear me?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said as my hands grazed along her hips.
“God, I hope my fucking brother fucks this up at least once more, because you fill my aching pussy like no other dick before you, Raf,” she purred at me.
“You don’t need to lay it on so thick, Rose,” I chuckled back at her.
She looked mildly offended and leaned down to connect our lips once more, her tongue pushing into my mouth with a bit more sensuality than before. “You can’t feel how tight I am around you, Raf? I’ve never felt so fucking full... Fuck me, c’mon, fuck me... shove that killer dick right up into my fucking guts... poke my fucking lungs out...”
I would’ve loved to say I was driving things, but I think the only thing I was driving was the ghost out of Rose, as she continued to howl and sputter. Somewhere along the way, the words had turned into purely filthy sounds and whimpers, and more than a couple of times, I felt her clench down hard on top of my cock, as I think she started having chain orgasms somewhere in the middle of it. She had all the control of the tempo and force, and she knew exactly how to keep me from going off too fast while still getting her kicks off.
After what had to be her fifth or sixth orgasm, though, she almost looked a little embarrassed, like a kid caught with her hand inside the cookie jar, and yet, also completely unapologetic about it. She licked her lips, leaning her face down next to mine.
“God, I’ve been such a bitch, keeping you right on the edge for so damn long, haven’t I? Maybe you can bend me over the bed and spank me to punish me next, but I need to feel you cumming inside of me... nobody’s cum in my cunt for so fucking long... lemme feel it... lemme feel that hot load just boiling over inside of me.... C’mon Raf... fill your girl up... Please? Pour it into my sweet, tight pussy and make me swell... drench my womb with it... cum in my hot little twat.... fucking cum in me, you bastard! Cum with meeeeeeeeeee!”
Now I gotta tell you, that was the hardest I’d ever cum in my fucking life. Like George Carlin once said, “I lost ideas in there, man...” Honestly, I felt like three pounds lighter after that orgasm, and I could feel my cum leaking out of her and back down onto me, as she burst into a contagious fit of giggles, the sexual release of it almost breaking some unspoken tension between us.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, I needed that,” she said, her body almost limp on top of mine. “But you better enjoy every chance you have tonight.”
Before morning, I’d come at least three more times, and I’d lost count of Rose’s orgasms.
And I had myself a new gig.