CHAPTER 187: JULIAN FALL I

Julian gulped—hard, throat bobbing like he was swallowing broken glass, the sound wet and ugly in the thick air. His scar twitched violent under the living room light, pale and jagged against his flushed, sweaty skin, pulling tight like it wanted to rip open.

The leash hung heavy around his neck—black leather, thick, studded with cold silver that bit deep into his flesh, leaving red welts already blooming. His knees ached bad from the crawl down the stairs—raw, scraped, red and shiny, dragging with every inch like sandpaper on wood.

He hesitated—frozen on all fours, hands trembling hard, fingers curling into the hardwood, nails scraping faint, breath hitching wet and broken, chest heaving.

Tears streaked his cheeks slow, mixing with sweat, dripping off his chin in fat drops that splashed soft on the floor below, pooling tiny and clear.

Amara’s eyes narrowed—sharp as knives, cruel as sin, lethal.

She sat regal in the leather armchair, legs spread wide and shameless, pussy glistening wet and swollen under the light, lips parted, clit hard and shining, cum still dripping faint and thick down her inner thighs, catching the golden sunlight in shiny trails.

The TV screamed loud in the background—anchors shouting over each other about Apex’s collapse, stock plummeting to nothing, execs in cuffs, offices empty—but it was just noise now. White noise. Static. The real show was here. Right in front of Devon. Right in front of him.

"Crawl," she snapped, voice cold as ice, sharp as a whip crack, echoing off the walls. "I said worship, you pathetic fucking dog. Or do I need to drag you by that leash and make you bleed?"

Julian whimpered—soft, broken, pathetic, the sound catching in his throat like a sob. His shoulders shook harder, whole body trembling like a leaf in wind.

He dropped lower—chest brushing the cold floor, nipples scraping faint—and crawled.

Slow.

Shaking.

Knees dragging with a soft scrrrt-scrrrt on the hardwood, hands trembling bad, leash tugging faint with every move, leather creaking.

The air smelled thick and heavy—sex and sweat and jasmine twisted dark with cum and now fear, sharp and sour and wet from Julian’s skin, from his breath, from his tears.

Devon stood frozen across the room, cock hard and throbbing painful, heart slamming against his ribs, eyes wide—shocked, stunned, world tilting slow, spinning, burning as he watched every second.

Julian reached her feet—slow, inch by inch, breath fogging hot against her skin.

Amara’s toes—painted red, perfect, arch high and smooth—flexed slow in the light, sunlight catching on the polish, making it gleam.

Cum still dried faint between them—sticky, flaky, shiny—mixed with sweat and squirt from earlier.

She lifted one foot slow, deliberate, pressed it firm to his lips, toes brushing his mouth, smearing dried cum on his skin.

"Start here, dog," she purred, voice low and filthy, dripping power. "Worship. Every toe. Every crease. Like it’s the only meal you’ll ever get."

Julian hesitated—lips trembling hard, breath hot and shaky against her skin, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out the corners.

Then opened his mouth slow—wide, tongue out flat and pink—and took her big toe in. Wet. Warm. Sucked soft at first, tasting salt and sweat and her, the faint tang of dried cum thick on his tongue, gritty and sweet and wrong.

His eyes stayed closed tight, tears squeezing out faster, dripping down his cheeks, down his nose.

He licked slow—between her toes, up her arch, over the ball of her foot—tongue dragging wet and sloppy, spit shining, moaning broken and pathetic, the sound muffled in his throat.

Amara sighed deep and satisfied, leaned back slow into the leather, eyes locked on Devon, smile wide and vicious, cruel, perfect.

"Good boy," she purred, voice dripping venom and honey, thick and slow. "Now the other one. Suck it like you mean it. Like your worthless life depends on it. Like you’re grateful."

Julian switched fast—mouth opening wider, taking three toes at once, sucking hard, tongue swirling frantic, spit dripping down his chin in thick strings, pooling on the floor in shiny puddles.

His hands stayed planted firm, leash taut and biting, body shaking hard, knees screaming.

Amara flexed her foot in his mouth slow—pushed deeper, toes curling against his tongue, making him gag faint—glrk—spit bubbling at the corners of his lips, foaming white, dripping down his neck.

She laughed—low, cruel, glorious, the sound vibrating in her chest, in her throat, in the air.

"Open your mouth, dog. Wide. Tongue out. Show me how empty you are."

Julian pulled back slow—lips shiny and swollen, breath ragged and wet, face red and wrecked. Opened wide—tongue out flat, trembling, eyes down, tears streaming.

Amara leaned forward slow, gathered spit in her mouth—thick, warm, filthy, swirling it slow on her tongue—and spat.

Hard.

Direct.

Into his open mouth.

The glob hit his tongue with a wet splat, thick and warm, sliding slow down his throat, coating it.

He gagged—hard—throat convulsing, but swallowed loud, throat bobbing, tears streaming faster, face twisting in shame.

"Swallow it," she snarled, voice vicious, eyes blazing. "Every drop. That’s all you’re good for. My spit. My piss. My leftovers."

He did—gulping loud, choking faint, spit and tears mixing on his chin, dripping down his chest, soaking into his shirt.

Amara spread her legs wider—slow, deliberate, pussy on full display, swollen lips parted wide, clit hard and shining like a pearl, cum and squirt still glistening thick and creamy, dripping slow onto the leather seat with soft plip-plip sounds.

The scent hit hard—musk and sex and her, thick and heady, filling the room, making Devon’s cock twitch, making Julian’s breath catch.

"Eat it," she commanded, voice low and filthy, dripping ownership.

Julian whimpered—loud, broken, desperate—but crawled forward slow, face inches from her heat, breath fogging hot against her thighs, her lips. He leaned in slow—tongue out, flat and wet—and licked. First swipe slow and long, from bottom to top, tasting salt and cum and squirt,coating his tongue, filling his mouth.

Amara moaned loud—head falling back slow, hair spilling wild, hand fisting the leash hard—yank—pulling him deeper, forcing his nose into her folds.

"Yes... fuck yes... deeper, dog. Tongue fuck me"

Julian obeyed—tongue plunging deep, lapping greedy and frantic, sucking her lips hard, her clit, swallowing thick loads of cum that oozed out slow and warm, creamy and salty.

His face smeared shiny—cum and spit and tears and squirt—chin dripping thick, nose buried deep in her heat, inhaling her scent, her power.

He moaned into her—muffled, pathetic, broken—tongue swirling wild, lips sucking loud and wet, drinking her down like it was holy, like it was air.

Amara ground against his face—hard, relentless—hips rolling slow then fast, smearing him, marking him, using him.

"Faster," she growled, voice shaking with pleasure, with control.

Julian’s tongue worked frantic—slurping loud and obscene, wet and sloppy, swallowing gulp after gulp, throat working hard, cum thick and warm sliding down.

His hands gripped her thighs—shaking bad, desperate—nails digging faint into her skin, leaving tiny crescents.

Amara came sudden—hard—squirting hot and messy into his mouth, down his chin, soaking his shirt, his chest, the floor in shiny puddles.

He choked—glrk-glrk—spit and squirt spraying, but kept licking, kept swallowing, kept worshiping, face drenched, shining, wrecked.

She yanked the leash—hard—pulled his face up slow, glistening and ruined, cum and squirt dripping from his nose, his lips, his eyelashes.

"Not done, dog," she hissed, voice breathy but firm, eyes blazing. "All of me. Every inch. Every curve. Start at my ankles and work up. Don’t miss a fucking spot. Don’t you dare."

Julian nodded fast—tears streaming, face shiny and broken—started at her ankles slow.

Licked up—calves, behind her knees where sweat pooled salty, tasting skin and heat and her.

Up her thighs—inner, outer—tongue dragging wet and slow, sucking faint bruises purple from Devon’s grip, biting soft where teeth had marked her, tasting blood faint under skin.

Amara moaned soft, eyes on Devon, smile cruel and slow.

"See this, baby?" she purred, voice thick with lust and power.

Julian moved higher—belly soft and warm, hips curving, licking slow circles around her navel, dipping tongue in, tasting dried cum streaks flaky and sweet, sweat sharp.

Up her ribs—tongue tracing every bone, every breath, every shiver.

Her tits—heavy, swaying, nipples hard and dark and proud. He sucked one—hard, desperate—tongue swirling wild, teeth grazing faint, pulling moans from her throat.

Then the other—sucking louder, wetter, spit shining. Amara arched slow, moaned loud and filthy, hand in his hair now, guiding hard, controlling every move.

"Collarbone... neck... ears..." she ordered, voice shaking, breath hot. "Don’t fucking stop."

He obeyed—licking up her throat slow, tasting pulse racing, salt sharp, jasmine faint.

Behind her ears—tongue flicking soft, sucking gentle, inhaling her scent deep.

Her jaw—stubble burn from Devon still raw and red. Her cheeks—tasting tears and mascara and cum dried flaky. Her lips—he hesitated, breath catching. She grabbed his hair—yank—forced his mouth to hers hard, kissed him brutal, tongue plunging in deep, tasting herself and Devon and him on his tongue, spit swapping thick and wet and obscene, dripping down both their chins.

She pulled back slow—lips shiny, eyes wild—smiled wicked.

"Arms now, dog. Pits to fingertips. All of it."

Julian lifted her arm slow—licked from wrist to elbow to armpit, tasting sweat thick and musky, deodorant faint, her sharp and intimate.

Down the other arm—fingers in his mouth one by one, sucking like cock, tongue swirling, spit dripping.

Her back—he crawled behind the chair slow, leash dragging, licked up her spine slow—shoulder blades, nape of her neck, hair tangled in his face, sticky with sweat and cum.

Down again—ass cheeks round and marked, tongue tracing handprints red, bite marks purple, cum streaks dried flaky and sweet.

"Everywhere," she growled, voice low and dangerous. "Don’t fucking miss. Not one inch."

He licked her ass cheeks slow—reverent, desperate—tongue dragging wet, sucking bruises, tracing curves. Down the backs of her thighs—slow, thorough—calves, heels, between her toes again. Back up—inner thighs trembling, so close to her pussy, heat radiating, scent thick. She yanked the leash—snap—hard.

"Not yet, dog. You’ll get more when I say. When I allow it."

Devon watched—frozen solid, cock throbbing hard and leaking, pre-cum dripping slow in thick strings onto the floor, pooling shiny and clear.

His breath shallow and fast, eyes wide and unblinking, world spinning slow, burning, heart pounding like a drum.

This wasn’t sex.

This was ritual.

Coronation.

Execution.

Art.

Amara stood sudden—slow, regal, goddess—pulled Julian up by the leash till he knelt tall and shaking, face level with her pussy again, glistening, dripping, owned.

She spread her legs slight—relaxed slow—then let go.

Piss streamed out—hot, golden, endless, steaming faint in the air. First over his chest—soaking his shirt instant, plastering it dark and wet to his skin, dripping down his stomach, his crotch, his thighs, pooling thick on the floor in shiny, spreading puddles.

The smell hit sharp—ammonia and heat and her, thick and pungent, filling the room. Julian gasped—shock, humiliation, surrender—eyes wide, but didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Didn’t want to.

She aimed higher—slow, deliberate—over his shoulders, his neck, his hair—drenching him slow, streams running down his back, his face, his ears. Hair plastered flat, shirt clinging, skin shining.

He closed his eyes tight, mouth shut, trembling hard, breath hitching in sobs.

"Open your fucking mouth," she snarled, voice vicious, eyes blazing fire. "Now. Tongue out. Drink."

He did—slow, shaking bad—lips parting wide, tongue out flat and pink, trembling.

She aimed direct—piss hitting his tongue hard, filling his mouth fast, overflowing down his chin, his neck, his chest in golden rivers.

He gagged—glrk-glrk—swallowing hard, choking loud, coughing wet, piss spraying out his nose in fine mists, but kept his mouth open wide, kept drinking, throat working frantic, gulping loud and desperate.

Amara moaned loud—relief, power, dominance—piss streaming endless, soaking him, marking him, owning him, claiming every inch.

When she finished—last drops flicking off her pussy lips onto his face, his eyes, his tongue—she yanked the leash hard, pulled his face to her thigh, pressed it there, smearing piss and cum and tears.

"Clean the floor, dog," she whispered, voice soft and filthy and final. "With your tongue. Every drop. Every puddle. Now."

Julian collapsed slow—face to the hardwood, licking frantic—piss and cum and squirt and tears and spit—tongue dragging wet and sloppy, swallowing loud, whimpering broken, body shaking, ruined.

Amara looked at Devon—eyes gleaming dark, smile triumphant, voice a whisper that cut through everything:

"Can," she breathed, "We please fuck again?"