Slap—slap—slap.
The filthy rhythm of flesh-on-flesh echoed through the apartment like a war drum. Nathan's hands dug into Tasha's hips, dragging her back onto his cock with each rough, merciless thrust.
Her moans were wet, vulgar, and raw with something deeper than lust.
"Fuuuck—haaah—Nathan—yes! Right there—deeper—don't stop—don't you fucking stop—"
She was bent over at the edge of the bed, legs shaking, her ass high, back arched like a bow. Her pussy was soaking—gushing—slick and twitching around him as if her body was starving for it.
Tasha's face was buried in the sheets, mascara streaked down her cheeks, drool clinging to her lips. Her eyes were wild. There was no guilt. Only heat. Only payback.
Her thighs trembled. The squelching slap of his cock driving into her echoed off the walls.
He pulled out. "Turn around," he muttered.
She obeyed instantly, falling to her knees.
Nathan's cock glistened with her juices—hard, throbbing. Tasha grabbed it with both hands and swallowed him down. Deep.
She didn't tease. She went all the way, eyes tearing, gagging around him as her lips wrapped tight at the base.
Her head bobbed, fast, messy, spit and pre-cum spilling from the corners of her mouth. Her mascara smeared down to her jawline. Her hands clutched his thighs like she needed this.
Nathan groaned, head tilted back, hips jerking forward.
He didn't say a word.
Just used her mouth.
She moaned around him—sloppy, guttural—like she wanted to choke on every inch.
And that's when—
CRASH.
The door SLAMMED open with a deafening bang, cracking the wall behind it.
Tasha's head jerked up.
And before either of them could react—
THWACK.
The steel dumbbell smashed straight into the side of Nathan's head while his cock was still in her mouth.
Tasha screamed as Nathan crumpled to the floor, collapsing into a pile of twitching limbs and blood.
His cock slapped across her cheek as he dropped, blood spilling down his temple. He didn't even have time to groan.
Jeremy stood in the doorway, dumbbell in hand, boxers on, face twisted in unholy rage. His chest was heaving. His eyes—locked on Tasha.
On her makeup-smeared face. On her naked body. On her pussy—
Still leaking Nathan's cum in thick, sticky trails.
It was dripping—soaking the bed, her thighs, the floor.
Jeremy saw everything.
He snapped.
"YOU FUCKING WHORE!"
Tasha screamed again, scrambling backward, covering herself, but there was no covering what had just happened.
His voice shattered the room.
"You're on your fucking knees sucking some other guy's dick while his cum's still POURING out of you—and you have the goddamn audacity to scream at me?!"
She was shaking, crying, but her voice came back with fire.
"You CHEATED FIRST!"
"What?!"
"You think I don't know about Sophie? You think I didn't see you balls-deep in my BEST FUCKING FRIEND?!"
Jeremy's face paled, then twisted with guilt—and rage.
"You saw that?"
"I came home early. I watched you fuck her on the couch—our couch. I took pictures."
Jeremy staggered back like she'd stabbed him.
"So this was fucking revenge?"
Tasha's lip trembled. Her voice cracked. "I needed to feel something. I needed to make you hurt. And yeah—I let him cum in me. I wanted to feel it. I wanted you to see it."
Nathan groaned on the floor, still alive, blood leaking into the carpet.
Tasha scrambled for her phone, shaking fingers dialing emergency.
Jeremy's eyes burned.
"No—no, no, NO—!"
She raised the phone to her ear.
THWACK.
Jeremy slammed the dumbbell into Nathan's ribs.
Nathan let out a guttural shriek.
Tasha shrieked louder. "JEREMY, STOP—HE'S GOING TO DIE!"
Jeremy dropped the dumbbell. It hit the floor with a hollow thud.
"You did this," he said, staring at her like she wasn't even human. "You fucking did this."
Tasha collapsed beside Nathan, sobbing violently, holding his bloody head in her lap.
Tasha was still sobbing on the floor, cradling Nathan's head against her bare chest, blood soaking into her thighs—mixing with his cum, still leaking down her leg.
But Jeremy wasn't done.
"Get. The fuck. Out."
His voice was flat now. Hollow. Like something inside him had finally snapped and wasn't coming back.
She looked up, eyes red and swollen. "Jeremy, he needs help—please, we have to—"
He grabbed her by the arm and ripped her up from the floor.
"OUT!"
Tasha screamed as he yanked her toward the door, sheets falling away, leaving her completely naked, dripping, smeared with dried tears and mascara and cum—Nathan's cum. Jeremy didn't care.
He opened the front door and shoved her out into the hallway.
"Jeremy, STOP! What the hell are you—?!"
"I SAID OUT, YOU STUPID WHORE!"
The hallway lights were harsh, fluorescent, cold—and every neighbor's door started opening. Heads poked out. Gasps. Phones lifted. Some started recording.
Tasha backed against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, trying to cover herself. Her thighs were still slick, Nathan's release drying into sticky streaks across her skin.
"Oh my god…"
"Is she naked?"
"Is that blood?"
"Someone call 911!"
But Jeremy was already back inside.
This time, he grabbed Nathan by the arm—his limp, naked body still bleeding from his temple and ribs—and dragged him across the floor like a corpse.
The front door hung wide open.
Jeremy hauled Nathan out by his legs and dumped him in the hallway next to Tasha, like garbage on the curb.
"Here. Take your fuckboy too."
Nathan moaned softly, barely conscious. His cock, still half-hard, flopped between his legs, smeared in spit and blood.
Tasha dropped to her knees beside him, shielding his body as best she could, sobbing. Her hair was tangled, lips swollen, face streaked with dried tears, sweat, and cum.
She fumbled for her phone again, fingers trembling.
911.
"Yes—I—I need an ambulance. And the police. My friend—he's hurt—he was attacked—and—please hurry!"
She was hysterical. Her voice cracked into screams.
The neighbors were already gathered. Some recording. Some just staring in stunned silence. Someone threw a towel over her shoulders.
Sirens screamed in the distance.
Ten minutes later.
Blue and red lights lit up the street outside the apartment complex.
Police cruisers. Ambulance. EMTs rushed in.
And what they found—
A woman. Naked. Kneeling over a naked, bleeding, unconscious man in a hallway full of horrified onlookers.
A cop blinked. "Jesus Christ…"
Tasha looked up, eyes wild. "He needs help—please, he's hurt—my husband hit him—he tried to kill him—"
One of the female officers crouched beside her, covering her with a blanket, while the EMTs checked Nathan's pulse.
"Ma'am, you're going to need to calm down."
"There's blood everywhere," one of the cops muttered.
"Is that… is that semen on her face?"
Another EMT checked Nathan's eyes. "He's alive. Barely. Head trauma, possible rib fracture."
They loaded him onto a stretcher while Tasha screamed after them.
One officer turned to her.
"Ma'am, we're going to need a statement. Right now."
She nodded, shivering. The blanket slipped slightly—and her inner thighs were still slick with drying cum.
The officer noticed. His face twitched. He said nothing.
Then Jeremy stepped into the hallway, shirtless, calm now. Cold.
"Yeah," he said. "She fucked him. In my bed. On our sheets. While I was gone getting her dinner."
"Sir," another officer said. "Did you assault this man?"
He shrugged. "He fucked my wife. In my house. You'd hit him too."
"That's not how this works."
He rolled his eyes. "Guess I'll get a lawyer then."
Tasha's voice cracked as she pointed at him. "He tried to kill him! He hit him again after I called for help!"
"Is that true?" the officer asked.
Before Jeremy could answer, a shout came from the EMT kneeling beside Nathan's stretcher.
"Shit—his pulse just dropped—"
"BP crashing!"
"Get the defib—NOW!"
The chaos exploded into action. EMTs surrounded Nathan's limp body, unstrapping equipment, one of them tearing open his shirt with scissors. Electrodes slapped against his chest. One medic started compressions—hard and fast—while another prepared the defibrillator.
Tasha screamed. "WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"
A medic barked, "Ma'am, stay back—"
She didn't listen.
She rushed toward them, blanket slipping from her shoulders, still half-naked as she tried to grab Nathan's hand.
"Nathan—NATHAN—!"
ZAP.
The defibrillator jolted his body off the stretcher.
"Again!"
ZAP.
No response.
Flatline.
The lead EMT clenched his jaw, checked the monitor again, and slowly—painfully—shook his head.
"Time of death—12:43 AM."
Silence swallowed the hallway.
Tasha stared at them, unblinking.
"No," she whispered.
The word barely left her lips.
Her knees buckled.
"No… no, no, no—"
She collapsed beside the stretcher, sobbing, fists pounding the floor.
"You can't—he was—he was still breathing—HE WAS STILL—!"
The EMT stepped back respectfully. Everyone else was silent. Even the neighbors, even the cops. Phones were still recording, but no one said a word.
Nathan's lifeless body lay still.
Blood dried at his temple. His cock had finally gone limp. His skin pale.
And beside him, Tasha screamed like a wounded animal.
"He didn't deserve this! This wasn't—he didn't—he just—he just—"
She was choking on her own voice now.
And then—
Click.
The sound of handcuffs.
Jeremy turned, wrists behind his back, face blank as two officers secured him.
"What the fuck—are you serious?"
"You're being arrested for second-degree murder," the officer said coldly.
Jeremy's voice was hollow. "He fucked my wife. In my bed. He deserved—"
"He's dead," the cop snapped. "There's no 'deserved.' There's murder."
Another cop stepped toward Tasha with a statement form in hand, softer-voiced this time.
"Ma'am. I know this is hard, but we'll need you to come down to the station once you're able."
Tasha didn't even hear him. She was holding Nathan's cooling hand, whispering apologies through her tears, her bare legs trembling under the thin blanket.
The sirens still pulsed red and blue across the hallway walls.
Jeremy was led down the stairs in cuffs.
Tasha stayed kneeling in the wreckage of everything she'd done. Everything he'd done. Everything they all destroyed.
And Nathan… lay there.
Still.
Gone.
___
Nathan's consciousness floated.
Not in darkness.
Not in light.
Just… nothing.
Weightless. Senseless. Detached from time, body, blood, and bone.
No pain. No pleasure.
Just the echo of what once was.
The last thing he remembered was the wet heat of Tasha's throat… the way her mascara streaked when she looked up at him with that messy, ruined expression…
And then—
CRACK.
A sound like lightning exploding behind his eyes.
Then this.
Floating.
Until—
DING.
A mechanical chime rang through the void. Crisp. Cold. Unfeeling.
Then a voice—synthetic, genderless, emotionless—spoke directly into his mind.
[Subject: Nathan Cross. Status: Deceased.
Initiating Post-Mortal Evaluation.
Query: Do you regret your final decision?]
Nathan blinked—figuratively. He wasn't even sure if he had eyes anymore.
"…Regret?" His thoughts echoed back at him. "I died after nutting inside a pissed-off milf who called me 'divine' while her husband kicked the door down and caved my skull in with a dumbbell."
Silence.
Then he chuckled.
"I mean… hell of a way to go."
[Please answer clearly. Do you experience regret?]
"…Yeah," he said after a beat, floating in the nothingness. "I regret that I can't fuck anymore."
[Clarify]
"I died mid-thrust. Mid-orgasm. That's some cursed shit."
A pause.
"I didn't even get to nut one last time in her ass."
There was another mechanical pause. Data flickering somewhere far beyond his comprehension.
[Regret: Confirmed.
Lust: Dominant Trait.
Post-Mortal Assignment… Processing.]
Nathan smirked—or thought he did.
"If there's an afterlife, you better send me somewhere with tits and lube."
[Noted. Assignment: Pending.
Warning: Subject shows elevated libido and unresolved carnal frustration.]
[Post-Mortal Scan Completed
Subject Eligibility: Met.
Commencing Soul Reconstruction.]
Then, in front of him, light bloomed—pixel by pixel, like a HUD booting up.
[Reconstructing Physical Form]
[██░░░░░░░░░░] 14%
[████░░░░░░░░] 36%
[████████░░░] 79%
[██████████] 100%
[Reconstruction Complete.]
His body returned piece by piece—nerve endings twitching, bones snapping back into place, skin reforming, and yes—his cock returning, gloriously full and hard, like it remembered exactly where it left off.
Then the voice returned, cool and godlike.
[One final desire may be granted.
This trait will bind to your soul.
Choose wisely.]
Nathan didn't even blink.
"I want to fuck more women."
No shame. No hesitation.
Just raw, unapologetic truth.
Silence followed… then another chime.
DING.
[Desire Acknowledged.
Generating Soul-Bound Skill…
[████████░░] 87%
[██████████] 100%
Skill Created: ██████████████
Classification: Unknown]
[Dimensional Transfer Initiated…]
The void cracked—light erupted—and Nathan was pulled into a new world, reborn by lust, and backed by an unknown skill and a strange mechanical voice.