Claiming Shayla

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To my sister, who waited three long years to find out “What happened to Shayla?” I hope the story was worth the wait.

She stood under the shower, washing the musky scent of cum and sweat from her body. The hot water beat down on her, loosening muscles sore from days and nights of marathon sex. The glide of the cloth across her clit caused her to hiss as the overly sensitive bundle of nerves reacted by shooting a streak of fire straight through her womb. “No! You’ve had enough,” she told it. As it was, she wouldn’t be walking straight anytime soon.

It was hunger that finally drove her out of the shower. If she didn’t get some food into her system soon, she’d pass out. She’d expended too many calories and eaten nothing to replace them. Her stomach cramped, a reminder of its emptiness. She rubbed her abdomen, trying to soothe the knotted muscles. “And you, give me a second, will ya? Let me get out of the bathroom, and then I’ll feed you.”

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