You kneel there, trembling, Mr. Remero's grip tightening in your hair as he drags your face forward again—"Eyes up, slut," he growls, the musk of his thick cock filling your nose, the taste of him heavy on your tongue—when the door creaks open behind you. "Ah, Remero," comes a smooth, unfamiliar voice, "I see you've started without me." The carpet beneath your knees is already ruined, dark with your slick, but your stomach drops lower at the sound of that voice. You know what it means.

"Patience, Vexley," Remero chuckles, his free hand tracing cruel circles over your flushed cheek. "She's just warming up." The newcomer steps closer, his polished boots entering your blurred vision, and your throat tightens around Remero's cock as Vexley crouches beside you, his fingers sliding under your chin. "Mm," he hums, thumb pressing against your lower lip, "she does look desperate for it. Tell me, little toy—do you always drool this much?"