Memories: Kira Noir and King Noir

Loss cuts deep, and Kira feels it every time she closes her eyes. King’s name still sits on her tongue. She pictures his hands—big, dark, sure—gripping her waist like he owns it. In the memory she’s already on her knees, tits heavy and bare, nipples tight from the cool air and the sting of his belt. He’s huge, thick and dark, pressing against her lips until she opens wide and takes him down her throat. She gags, eyes wet, but keeps going because that’s what he likes, and right now the memory is the only thing that fills her. He flips her, cuffs snap around her wrists, wood creaks as he bends her over the bench. Every slap lands hot across her ass; every thrust drives her forward, tits swinging, cunt stretching around that heavy cock until she’s shaking and slick down her thighs. She comes hard in the flashback, cunt pulsing, body jerking against the restraints. Alone on her bed now, Kira’s fingers move faster, chasing that same tight, dizzy high, letting the echo of King’s voice push her over again.