Lahat ng Kabanata ng YES! DADDIES: A HOT COMPILATION OF SHORT STORIES: Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

WINREY.I wake up aching.Not sore. Aching. There's a difference. Sore is what happens after a workout. This is what happens after six hours of being fucked by a god who made me come fifteen times and wrung every ounce of pleasure from my body until I couldn't remember my own name.My thighs are sticky. My pussy feels swollen and tender in a way that makes me clench just thinking about it. The silk sheets smell like sex and something sweeter underneath, honey mixed with incense and something else I can't name.Aphros is gone.A note sits on his pillow, written in gold ink that seems to shimmer.Training begins at noon. Wear the robe in the wardrobe. Nothing underneath. Main hall.—AThe clock reads eleven-fifteen.I drag myself to the shower, which turns out to be all marble with water pressure that feels like fingers massaging every sore muscle. I wash away the evidence of last night while my brain helpfully replays every filthy detail. His mouth. His cock. The way he made me squirt.

WINREY.I climb onto the bed and the pillows are so soft I sink into them. Luxuria follows, moving with that liquid grace, and settles beside me on her knees."We're going to take this slow," she says, one hand trailing up my thigh. "Women fuck differently than men. We savor. We explore. We make the journey as important as the destination."Her hand reaches my hip and she leans down to kiss me again. This time it's deeper, more demanding, her tongue sliding against mine while her hand roams over my body. She touches me everywhere except where I want it most, building anticipation until I'm squirming."Patience," she murmurs against my mouth. "You'll get what you need. But first I'm going to make you desperate for it."Her mouth moves to my neck, kissing and sucking, while her hands cup my breasts. Her thumbs brush over my nipples and I arch into the touch."Sensitive here," she observes. "Good. I can work with that."She lowers her head and takes one nipple into her mouth, sucking gen

WINREY.I sleep for eighteen hours straight.When I finally wake up, my body feels like it's been taken apart and reassembled wrong. Everything aches. My pussy is so sore I'm afraid to move. My muscles scream in protest when I try to sit up.There's a note on my pillow in iridescent ink that shifts colors as I read it.Rest today. You've earned it. Tomorrow at noon, come to the sanctum chamber. Wear the white robe. Bring an open mind.—EEcstasia.The god of shared ecstasy who promised to teach me how to fuck in groups.I spend the rest day soaking in baths, eating food that appears outside my door, and trying not to think about what "bring an open mind" means.The next morning I wake up nervous and aroused in equal measure.The white robe waiting in my wardrobe is sheer enough that I can see everything through it. The fabric feels like air against my skin, offering the illusion of coverage while hiding nothing.The sanctum chamber is on the top floor, through double doors that are al

SLEYA.The text from Diane comes through at noon on Tuesday.Costume fitting today. 3 PM. Studio six. Don't be late.I stare at the message and consider faking my own death.Costume fittings mean measurements. Measurements mean standing there in minimal clothing while someone catalogs every inch of your body. And if Tatrum is getting fitted at the same time, that means we're both going to be half-naked in the same room together.Perfect.I show up at 2:55 PM wearing leggings and a sports bra under my jacket because I'm not giving the costumer more of a show than necessary. When I walk into the studio, Tatrum is already there talking to a small man with silver hair who's surrounded by fabric samples and measuring tape.Tatrum is wearing dance pants and a white t-shirt that he'll probably have to remove for the measurements.Great."Ah, you're here," the costumer says, turning to me with a warm smile. "I'm Marcel. I'll be creating your performance costumes for the gala." He gestures to

SLEYA.Thursday arrives and I spend twenty minutes standing in front of my wardrobe telling myself what I wear to rehearsal doesn’t matter.Then I put on the high-waisted black shorts and the fitted cropped top that shows the line of my waist and tell myself that’s just practical dancewear.I’m lying to myself. But I do it anyway.Tatrum is already in the studio when I arrive, which I’m starting to realize is just something he does to get under my skin. He’s at the barre running through stretches and when I walk in his eyes do a slow sweep from my feet to my face that makes my skin prickle.He doesn’t say anything about what I’m wearing.Somehow that’s worse.“I’ve been thinking about the opening number,” he says, straightening. “I want to show you something.”He moves to the sound system and pulls up a track I don’t recognize immediately. Something modern layered over a classical waltz structure. Familiar bones with something darker and more urgent underneath.It’s perfect and I hat