Mummies and their Badboys의 모든 챕터: 챕터 91 - 챕터 98

Empty Bay, Full Mouth🫦💧“On your knees. Door stays locked.”Cole dropped without a word. Twenty-five. Dark hair pushed back from a twelve-hour shift. The surgical-tech scrubs hung loose at the collar. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. He had a record for fighting and a suspended license that should have kept him off the floor. I signed the waiver anyway. People with his hands were useful when the trauma bay ran hot and the attendings needed someone who didn’t flinch.I leaned back against the locked door of the empty on-call room, the hem of my scrub top already lifted. The only light came from the red exit sign and the thin strip under the door. Outside, the hospital hummed its usual after-midnight noise, distant monitor alarms, the squeak of a gurney, the low murmur of the night charge nurse two halls over. Inside, the air was cool and carried the faint bite of antiseptic.“Mouth only,” I said. “You do not touch yourself. You do not rush. You make it last until I say other

Three A.M. Stairwell💦💧Cole covered the distance in four silent steps.He locked an arm around the man’s throat and dragged him backward into the blind behind the linen carts before a shout could form. The camera bag hit the linoleum with a soft thud. I stepped out, picked it up, and opened it under the low service light. Another recorder. A spare lens. A folded printout of stills from the on-call room, my hand in Cole’s hair, his mouth between my thighs, the timestamp from the night before.Marcus Hale. Medium height. Dark jacket. The same careful face that had walked the hospital once last spring under the pretext of advising on after-hours security audits. He had stayed until the last trauma bay went quiet. He had always been polite.Cole eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.“You’re done,” I said. “The on-site units are gone. The SIMs are gone. You will delete every off-site copy while we watch. Then you will sign a statement that you conducted illegal surveillance

Muted and On Your Knees🫦💧“On your knees under the console.”Ash dropped without a word. Twenty-five. Dark hair still damp from the late session. The black hoodie hung open over a faded band shirt. A thin scar cut through his left eyebrow. He had a record for boosting gear and a reputation for hands that could fix a board or break a jaw depending on the night. I hired him anyway. People with his ears were useful when the mix needed to stay clean and the clients needed to stay out of the control room after midnight.I leaned back in the producer’s chair, the hem of my skirt already lifted. The only light came from the soft blue of the monitor screens and the red glow of the recording light that I had left on for the atmosphere. Outside the double glass, the live room was dark and empty. The last of the session players had left an hour ago. The building’s night system hummed through the walls.“Mouth only,” I said. “You do not touch yourself. You do not rush. You make it last until I

Three A.M. Side Entrance💦💧Ash covered the distance in four silent steps.He locked an arm around the man’s throat and dragged him backward into the blind behind the flight cases before a shout could form. The camera bag hit the carpet with a soft thud. I stepped out, picked it up, and opened it under the low hallway light. Another recorder. A spare lens. A folded printout of stills from the control room, my hand in Ash’s hair, his mouth between my thighs, the timestamp from the night before.Marcus Hale. Medium height. Dark jacket. The same careful face that had walked the studio once last spring under the pretext of advising on after-hours monitoring systems. He had stayed until the last session light went dark. He had always been polite.Ash eased the pressure just enough for him to breathe.“You’re done,” I said. “The on-site units are gone. The SIMs are gone. You will delete every off-site copy while we watch. Then you will sign a statement that you conducted illegal surveillan