"I heard... talking," Elena said, stepping cautiously into the room. "And... moaning?"
She looked around, expecting to see Alex hiding a girl. But what greeted her was just Alex.
He was curled up in a fetal position on the bed, his face buried in the pillow, shivering.
He looked small and miserable, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead.
Elena narrowed her eyes, scanning the corners of the room. Nothing. The window was closed. The closet was shut.
She walked over to the bed and looked down at him.
Alex lay perfectly still, feigning sleep, though his heart was pounding so loud he was sure she could hear it.
He kept his breathing shallow, praying she wouldn't notice the massive tent in his blanket.
Elena sniffed the air. The room smelled intensely of sweat, fever... and that strange, sweet floral scent she had smelled on him earlier.
But there was no one else there.
"Huh?" Elena frowned, rubbing her forehead. "Is it just my imagination?"
She stood there for another moment, watching his chest rise and fall.
"Must be the stress from work," she muttered to herself, backing out of the room.
She took one last look at Alex's flushed, pretty face, feeling a strange flutter in her stomach, before shaking her head and closing the door softly.
"I must be imagining," she whispered.
The door clicked shut, sealing the room in silence once more.
Alex held his breath for another ten seconds, waiting for the sound of Elena's footsteps to fade down the hallway.
Only when he heard the distant creak of her bedroom door closing did he finally let out a ragged, trembling exhale.
"Safe..." he whispered, his body sagging into the mattress.
"Safe? Is that what you call it?" The Empress's voice slithered back into his mind, no longer an external projection but an internal whisper dripping with amusement. "I felt your heart stop, were you afraid she'd join in? Or were you afraid she'd see how eager you were to fuck?"
"Shut up," Alex groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. "You almost got me killed. If she saw you..."
"She can't see me unless I want her to," the Empress corrected lazily. "But she definitely saw that."
Alex didn't need to look down to know what she meant. The tent in his quilt was still standing proud, a humiliating testament to what had just happened.
The ache on his dick was a throbbing, needy pulse that refused to die down.
"Go away," Alex muttered, shifting his legs.
Bad idea. The movement caused the rough fabric of his sweatpants to rub against his feverish skin.
"Itch..." Alex hissed, his eyes snapping open.
He couldn't take it anymore. His trembling hand moved to the waistband of his sweatpants.
He shoved the fabric down past his hips, freeing his erection into the cool air of the room.
It bounced once, heavy and angry, leaking clear fluid that glistened on the dark, swollen head.
He wrapped his fingers around the shaft.
"Hah...!" Alex's hand trembled as it closed around his throbbing cock, the skin fever-hot and hypersensitive from whatever transformation the Empress had triggered in his body.
The dry, flaking patches along his thighs and lower abdomen stung as his fingers brushed them, but the ache in his shaft overpowered everything else.
He was leaking profusely now, clear precum drooling down the swollen head and slicking his palm.
"Haa… fuck…" he whimpered, biting down on his lip again as he gave his length a slow, experimental stroke.
The friction was electric, too much and not enough. His skin felt raw, like every nerve ending had been stripped and dipped in molten pleasure.
The itching intensified wherever the dry flakes met the movement of his hand, but he couldn't stop.
He pumped faster, hips jerking up into his fist, the wet schlick-schlick of precum-coated skin filling the quiet room.
The Empress's laughter echoed inside his skull, low and mocking. "Pathetic. Look at you rutting into your own hand like a desperate animal. Does it hurt, vessel? That pretty skin peeling away while your cock begs for more?"
Alex's breath hitched. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, thumb pressing firmly over the sensitive slit, smearing the leaking fluid.
His balls drew tight, heavy and aching.
Every brush of fabric against his thighs made him flinch, the sweatpants still bunched around his knees felt like sandpaper on his shedding skin.
He spread his legs wider, toes curling, chasing relief that only seemed to make the fever burn hotter.
Precum dripped onto his stomach in thick strings. He was close already, embarrassingly close, the pressure coiling tight at the base of his spine.
"Nhg—ahh…!" His moans grew louder, broken and needy, despite how hard he tried to muffle them against his arm.
Click.
The bedroom door swung open.
Elena stood there in the doorway, bathrobe loosely tied, damp hair clinging to her neck.
Her eyes locked immediately onto the scene: Alex on the bed, pants shoved down, hand frantically wrapped around his glistening, rock-hard cock mid-stroke.
His face was flushed crimson, eyes wide with shock and lingering arousal.
For a heartbeat, silence hung thick in the air.
"Hehee…" Elena's lips curved into a wicked little smile, her voice soft but filled with satisfaction. "I knew it."
"E-Elena!" Alex cried again. He tried to scramble backward, moving his hand away and desperately attempting to cover himself with the blanket.
But she was faster. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click that sounded deafening.
"Just what?" she cut him off, stalking toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps.
Her gaze dropped shamelessly to the way his erection twitched in the open air, still angrily flushed and dripping, the wet spot on his stomach shining under the dim light.
"Just playing with yourself? Thinking about me?"
The scent of her, fresh soap, warm damp skin, and something sweeter, flooded the room, mixing with his own musk and the lingering floral phantom of the Empress.
Alex's cock jumped visibly at her words, betraying him completely.
"My poor little bro," Elena cooed, her voice dropping into a sultry whisper that sent shivers racing down his spine.
She reached the edge of the bed and grabbed the blanket he was clutching with weak fingers, pulling it clean off and tossing it aside.
He was fully exposed now, sweaty, cock bobbing helplessly against his stomach.
"You look so desperate. So pent up." She licked her lips slowly, eyes gleaming with open hunger as she drank in every inch of him, the way his chest heaved, the tears of humiliation and need pricking at the corners of his eyes, the raw, sensitive patches of skin that made him twitch at the slightest breeze.
Alex tried to curl up, to hide, but his body wouldn't obey. His erection stood proud and leaking, aching worse now under her stare.
"Do you need my help you little virgin?" Elena purred.
She climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs, mirroring the position the Empress had taken earlier.
The bathrobe slipped open slightly, revealing the smooth curve of her breasts and the hint of bare thigh. "Come on, Alex… beg me."
Her hand hovered just above his cock, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her palm.
She hasn't touched him yet. Just waited, watching him squirm, that teasing smile never leaving her face.
"Please…" The word slipped out before he could stop it, voice hoarse and broken.
His hips bucked up involuntarily, chasing her hand.
The itching on his skin had become a maddening backdrop to the throbbing need between his legs. "Elena… please, I can't—it's too much…"
"Good boy. Now the real fun begins." The Empress's voice slithered through his mind again, laced with dark delight:
Elena's fingers finally brushed the underside of his shaft, with light, teasing, barely there.
The contact on his hypersensitive, fevered skin made him cry out, back arching sharply off the bed.
"That's it," she whispered, wrapping her hand around him properly now, giving one slow, firm stroke that made his toes curl and fresh precum spill over her knuckles. "Let big sis take care of you."
Her grip tightened, thumb swirling over the slick head, spreading the mess while her other hand trailed over the flaky, itching patches on his hip, nails scraping lightly and turning the discomfort into something filthy and addictive.