The Vanishing

Soolin Kelter steps into the box knowing full well this trick could swallow her whole. Steven St. Croix snaps the lid shut, mutters the spell, and suddenly the boards give way to another place. Her clothes are already gone when she lands on her knees, black hair hanging over her face like a curtain. Something hard and heavy finds the cleft of her ass before she can stand, driving straight in—no warning, no mercy. She gasps, takes it deep, and the pain flares bright enough to turn into need. Hands that aren’t human grip her hips; wrists meet cuffs that bite until she stops struggling. The cock keeps pounding her tight hole, long strokes that stretch and own her, each thrust louder than the last. Every slap of flesh drags a fresh whimper out of her throat. She comes shaking, drooling, black strands plastered to her open mouth, lost in the nowhere the magician sent her and begging for the next vanishing act before this one even ends.