Tom finally collapsed beneath me with a grunt, sprawling flat on the floor while we were still sitting. Thankfully, we didn't fall off his back.

"Now," I said, standing, cock still hard and dripping. "Show me the dashcam footage. We're putting him behind bars."

"NO!" Tom cried from the floor. "Mother, no!"

"Yes," Carrie whispered, mind completely fucked. "I will..."

"Good girl," I said, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. "You earned your place."

"Evan, please. No." Tom said as he was still under me. "Please, please…"

"Don't cry now." I said. "You think you can walk free after all the things you said to me? Fuck Kim even if she didn't want to? But she would accept you because there would be no other choice? My kid, MY kid, saying father to you? Sharing her with people even if she didn't want it? Fucking rapist, murderer bastard. You are done for."

"Evan…" Tom muttered, crying. "No, no, no…"

I chuckled, satisfied. "Yes, yes, yes, Tom. Yes, fucking, yes."

╭────────────────────╮

- Sexual Activity Completed

==========================

Partner: Carrie

EXP Gained: +50

Villain Bonus: +50

Star Rating: 2.3 ★★

Reason: Performance Assist Detected

==========================

Bliss Multiplier: 10c

╰────────────────────╯

❤︎❤︎❤︎

Now, that was… something else. The post-nut clarity hit me, but I didn't have any regrets. They deserved every moment of it. And I was proud of myself. I managed to project Kim. Saved her from Tom. A murderer. Rapist. And Carrie… now that was a whole other thing. She agreed to be 'one of my call-girls,' but I didn't know if Gaslighting skill had done the talking for her. Either way, I wasn't going to pass on that. Carrie was a bitch. She might as well become my bitch.

As another UI appeared, I parked my car and pulled the handbrake.

╭────────────────────╮

Evan Marlowe (Lvl 14)

==========================

Age: 21

Height: 180 cm

Weight: 75 kg

==========================

EXP: [████████░░] 4051/5900

╰────────────────────╯

Eh, I didn't get much EXP from the sex. Either way, EXP or not, I was happy. Though, the real treat was that main quest I completed for saving Kim. A whopping 8500 EXP. Like the UI told me, I was now leveled up, and had 4051 EXP carried from the previous level.

╭────────────────────╮

SHOP [Page 2]

==========================

• Hypnotic Perfume (40c)

• Time Stop (90c)

• 500 Dollars (50c)

• 1 Ability Point (150c)

• 1 Mastery Point (160c)

• Desire Aura (100c)

• Reputation Point +30: (200c)

==========================

Credits: 458c

╰────────────────────╯

"Rep point? Useless…"

God, I used to have so much credits and now? Now it looked miserable. But I didn't spend them because I wanted to. I had to. For Kim. I guess I was okay with this as well. I could always do quests and earn more.

And my stats? Now that was interesting. Because I now had Villain reputation, my Strength and Pleasure had boosted. It seemed like the formula was the level of that skill divided by two. Good. Real good. At least I didn't need to reset Strength now.

With this new level up, I earned three more ability points. Since I already had three banked… and hoarding them wouldn't make sense, I spent them. Five to Pleasure. Making it thirty. And… I had Villain reputation, that pushed it to… forty-five? That was… fucking perfect. Forty-five? Hell yes.

╭────────────────────╮

CURRENT STATS

==========================

◆ Strength: 10 (+5)

◆ Charm: 12

- Manipulative Charm

⤷ Honeyed Words (⏹⏹⏹⏹⏹)

⤷ Gaslight (⏹☐☐☐☐)

⤷ Emotional Charisma (☐☐☐☐☐)

- Seductive Allure

◆ Libido: 10

◆ Pleasure: 30 (+15)

⤷ Sensory Overload (☐☐☐☐☐)

⤷ Erogenous Insight (⏹)

⤷ Bliss Multiplier (⏹☐☐☐☐)

◆ Luck: 1

==========================

1 Unused Ability Points

╰────────────────────╯

I stepped out of the car, the door clicking shut behind me as I locked it with a beep. The sex shop loomed ahead, its neon sign flickering invitingly in the late afternoon light. I pushed open the door, the bell jingling softly.

There she was—Layla, behind the counter. I remembered her instantly from last time: long blonde hair cascading down her back, that pregnant glow making her look even sexier than before. She'd helped me pick out a dildo for one of my quests while the girls waited in the car. No judgment, just professional charm.

"Hello, sir!" Layla said brightly, her voice warm and welcoming. "Welc... huh, I think I know you."

"Yeah," I smiled, leaning casually against the counter. "I bought a dildo from you not too long ago."

"Wow, you look... changed. Or my memory isn't right," she said, tilting her head as she sat behind her desk, one hand resting on her belly. "How may I help you?"

"I'm looking for a strap-on," I said straight up.

Layla's eyes lit up with a playful glint. "Ooh, getting spicy in the bedroom, huh? You should definitely use lube, handsome. For your own good."

I grinned back. "Well, thankfully, it's not for me. I had a friend that... did something bad to another friend. And this friend is going to apologize to her by... getting both her holes fucked."

"My my, so spicy," Layla purred, fanning herself lightly with a hand. "Just hearing that made me wet, can't lie, honey."

I chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. "Uh, yeah. Glad to hear it hits the spot."

"How many inches?" she asked, getting down to business. "Seven?"

"What's the longest one?"

"We currently have nine."

"I'll take that."

Layla nodded with a wink and sauntered over to a shelf behind her. She went up on her toes—her curves looking even better in motion—and grabbed the strap-on from the top rack. She came back to the counter, setting it down gently.

"Now, let me explain how this works," she said, her voice smooth and instructional. She held up the harness, demonstrating the adjustable straps. "You buckle it around your hips like this—super comfy, won't slip. The main dildo is the nine-inch beast here, ribbed for extra pleasure. Just add lube, and you're golden."

"Hmm. Okay. Anything else?"

"There's also a hidden part in this, honey," she added with a sly smile, pulling a small section of the dildo upward to reveal it. "This part is smaller, only five inches. But your 'friend' can fuck your other 'friend's' ass while she goes to town on her pussy. Double the fun, double the apology."

"Now that's what I like to hear," I said, nodding appreciatively. "I didn't know I wanted that sort of thing before hearing it."

"It's my job, honey. It's my job," she replied with a laugh, packaging it up neatly.

I pulled out my card and swiped it at the reader. Paid in full.

Layla slipped the strap-on into a discreet black bag and handed it over. "There you go. Enjoy the show."

"Thanks," I said, grabbing the bag.

She smiled warmly. "Anytime, handsome."

I turned and left the shop, the bell jingling again as the door swung shut behind me. I walked back to my car, sliding into the driver's seat and tossing the bag onto the passenger side.

I smiled to myself, picturing Carrie's face when she realized what "apologizing" really meant. This was going to be perfect. Revenge wrapped in pleasure—my favorite kind. Time to head home and set the stage.

I looked back.

Carrie was there, sprawled across the back seat like a ruined whore. Her eyes were blindfolded with a rag I'd torn from her own dress, the fabric soaked through with sweat and tears. She was completely naked now, heavy tits sagging to the sides, red from slaps and bites, nipples swollen and bruised. Her legs were spread wide, knees hooked over the edge of the seat with ropes, arms bound behind her back with her own belt. Cum leaked from her pussy in thick, white rivulets, mixing with her own wetness, dripping down her thighs and pooling on the leather.

Even though Gaslighting skill had worn off, she was still a bitch in heat—body trembling, hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles, chasing the pleasure my Pleasure 30, plus the fifteen Villain bonus, was still pumping through her since my cum was inside her.

"Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me…" she whimpered, voice hoarse from screaming, hips bucking against nothing.

I smirked. "Now, now, Carrie. Calm down. You'll get your dick."

"God…" she moaned, head falling back. "I never came this much before… who are you? Fuck me… god, Evan… fuck me… please, please, please. I can't wait until we're home…"

"Jesus, woman. Shut the fuck up, you sow."

I turned on the engine, pushed the pedal, and the car purred to life. I glanced in the rearview mirror.

There she was—naked, wrecked, gorgeous in the most depraved way. Her huge, saggy tits were red from slaps, nipples bitten raw, face a mess of smeared makeup, cum, spit, and tears. Her cheeks had bright red handprints, mascara streaked down like war paint. She looked like she'd been through hell and loved every second.

"Such a good little slut," I muttered, eyes on the road. "I told you you'd regret it, didn't I?"

Just before I put my foot on the pedal, Layla stepped out of the shop on my left, holding a small bottle of lube in one hand, the other resting on her pregnant belly.

I froze, hand on the gearshift, and glanced in the side mirror. She was waving me down, looking concerned.

I sighed, killed the engine, and hopped out.

Layla hurried over, eyes wide. "Oh, god, sir. I… I forgot to give you this. Comes extra with the strap—"

Her gaze drifted past me to the back seat window. She froze. "Holy shit!"

"Wait—"

"Is that…" She squinted, leaned her forehead against the tinted glass, and cupped her hands around her eyes to see better. "Carrie Beldenwary? You kidnapped her! Help!"

"Stop, stop, stop!" I raised my voice, shaking my head. "She and I are in this kind of relationship. And this is the friend I was talking about. The friend who needs to apologize."

"You lying rapist!"

I exhaled, holding up both hands. "Okay, okay. I get it. I know how this looks. Just… trust me for one minute. Please. I'm not going to hurt anyone. I just need you to see what's really happening here. She's not in danger. She's… consenting. I swear on my life."

Layla's jaw tightened, eyes narrowed to slits, arms crossed protectively over her belly. She looked from me to the tinted window, then back at me, clearly weighing whether to scream for help or call the cops right there.

I kept my voice low, steady. "One minute. That's all I'm asking. If you see anything you don't like, you can walk out and do whatever you need to do. I won't stop you. But I promise you—she's safe. And she's not being forced. Just watch. Please."

She stared at me for a long beat, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes flicking between my face and the back seat again. Finally, she gave a single, sharp nod—reluctant, suspicious, but she didn't scream. That was as close to agreement as I'd get.

I opened the back door and slid in next to Carrie. She was still blindfolded, wrists bound, naked, pussy dripping, body trembling with need. I gestured for Layla to join us.

She hesitated, then reluctantly climbed in and shut the door behind her, sitting as far away as possible, arms crossed over her belly.

"Okay, Carrie," I said, voice calm. "You win. I guess I'll fuck that pathetic pussy of yours."

"YESHH!" Carrie moaned, a creepy, desperate smile spreading across her cum-smeared face. "Fuck my little cunt! Cum inside me!"

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