A Cruel Bet : A Cruel Intentions Parody

The jaguar nosed into the drive like it owned the world. Inside, Kate watched from a window above. Turned, forced a smile at the stiff man in the chair and the nervous girl beside him. Cecilia. Eighteen, knees glued together, the plaid skirt riding a fraction higher every time she fidgeted. Kate’s voice was sugar and venom. Victor had just sauntered in, collar crisp, cologne biting, when the thanks sputtered and the father hustled his daughter out. The moment the door shut, Kate’s grin flipped. 'She’s no virgin saint. She stole Jet. Straight up.' Victor lounged, eyes narrowing. Kate leaned in, cleavage spilling, skin pale under black lace. 'Bet you the Porsche she stays untouched in your hands. Lose, and I get the car. Win, and you get me—any hole you want.' Silence cracked. Deal struck. Crickets. Picnic blanket. The little tongue kiss Kate stole at lunch left Cecilia weak-kneed and glossy-eyed. 'Victor could use the practice, too,' Kate cooed, thumb already dialing. On the receiver his velvet voice promised a photo session. Night fell fast. Victor’s lens purred click after click while Cecilia posed against black satin sheets. 'Hoodie off,' he said, 'bra stays for now.' A ripple of nerves passed, then her long fingers lowered the zipper, bra glowing white against flushed skin. He circled like a shark. 'Lose the rest.' Her breath caught. She reached for the door—three inches before he was on her, palms on creamy thighs, peeling her open like a gift. Tongue met wet heat. First stroke, second, hungry licks drinking the tight untouched cunt. Cecilia’s cry caught high in her throat, back arched, knees shaking while wet sounds filled the room. Outside the half-closed door, Kate’s reflection shimmered in the glass, pulse throbbing against the throat, one hand already sliding under her own skirt.