The lights in Castorice’s chamber were cranked so high you’d think the sun eloped with a lightbulb factory. Just two beings and one very alert “bat” standing at full attention like a soldier who heard “ten-hut.” The Trailblazer was leakin’ more nervous energy than a shaken soda, but his gear? Locked, loaded, and ready to breach.
Castorice, cool as a frozen cucumber in January, leaned in close. Her voice hit that buttery ASMR zone, soft as church mice whispering hymns. Her voice is alluring like honey poured over slow jazz.
“You’re gonna make me… donate the whole bloodline,” he wheezed, gripping the sheets like they owed him money.
And then, boom. He gave her the full power cumshot. Castorice just smiled.
With a sultry voice, she wiped clean his bat…
