You can't help but notice that Morrigan is sneaking glances at you as you change. You feel your heart pound in your throat, and stop the expansion. As you wait for her to ask a question, you watch your reflection in the mirror. The comforting weight of the girls pull at your shoulders, and the growing ache at the base of your spine tells you just what a pain large breasts can be, literally.
Morrigan continues to slyly observe you. You have to restrain an 'aha', as you realise why. You aren't pulling the girl, this voluptuous boy toy from your own imagination. But a drunken confessional session with Morrigan. You are making yourself over into her dream partner. A submissive girly girl to accept her control, her authority...
As you look at the beauty staring back from the mirror, you see her half open mouth, expressing confusion and innocence. Your eyes are wide and just as lacking in guile. Behind you, Morrigan steps away from the door, and struts over to stand behind you. Softly she lifts your mane of hair aside and kisses you on the back of your neck. The short hairs raise, as you feel your cheeks colour, you start to pant your own arousal impossible to hide.
"We can have some privacy now."
With a surprising strength, she grips the back of your neck, a shrill giggling yelp bursts from your lips, and you are tossed across the room. You land on the bed, your breasts sloshing wildly back and forth, as you struggle to catch up with what's going on.
You look back across to Morrigan, who is advancing, a malicious, sexual leer on her face. She leaps onto the bed, her legs straddling you.
Knotting her fist in your hair, she pulls, lifting your head from the mattress.
"You. are. my. girl." she pronounces each word as a deliberate claim.
Even as you struggle to work out what to say, you feel a ball slip between your teeth. With a proficiency that scared and turned you on, she secured the ball... ball-gag in place.
In seconds, she had you handcuffed to the frame of the bed. You can only look across the room to the orb, sitting dull and inert on the table. It might as well be on the far side of the moon.
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