Collaborative sex stories let us write the plot together

(Her Secret Fantasy, continued by thelounge...)

It’s too early in the evening for customers and you probably should be more cautious. But you are in a good mood and stroll over to the door without a care in the world.

“Amy.” You take a moment to take her in, standing in the doorway wearing a green jacket covering her white shirt and parts of her ripped blue jeans.

“Hi,” your step-sister says sheepishly. “Mind if I?” And you step aside to let her walk in.

“We’re not open yet,” you say, fully aware that isn’t why she’s here. “Unless you’re here to beg for your old job back.” Your dick twitches. “Jobs.”

“Like I would come back to,” she looks you up and down from the corner of her eye, “to this.”

“Your loss,” you say, closing the door and motioning her to come sit at the couches.

“I’m just here to drop this off,” Amy says and hands you an envelope.

You don’t have to ask who it’s from. You know where Amy’s allegiances lie nowadays.

You flip open the envelope and read the single word written on it. “Die.”

You look up and Amy is pointing a pistol at you in shaking hands. “Any last words?”

You frown and pocket the note. “Care for a drink?”

“Maybe after I kill you.”

You step forward and take her hands in yours, steadying the gun. “Careful now. The recoil can be a bitch. Of course you know all about that.”

“Fuck you!” Amy says and you spit on her face. “Fuck you!”

You grin. “Oh I know how badly you wanna do that.” You wouldn’t mind it yourself either.

“You really want those to be your last words?” Amy lets the spit trickle down her cheek.

From across the lounge, your bodyguards start running over and ready their guns. You raise a hand to stop them. “Whoever decided last words have to be something profound? Of course I have no doubt mine will be, whenever the time comes.”

Amy pokes your chest with the barrel of the pistol. “Do you think I won’t do it?”

“Oh Amy,” you say and you let a slow breath escape through your lips. “I know you won’t.”

You actually have little doubt that she will do it, but there’s no way Jamie will let things end like this. It won’t be a proper victory unless he kills you with his own hands.

“Watch me!” Amy says and she pulls the trigger. The gun clicks empty.

Your mouth forms a small ‘o,’ half-surprised, half-hurt that she actually tried to kill you. Amy stares at the gun in disbelief then looks up at you in horror.

You take the gun from her hands and examine it. “He really thought he could send you here to intimidate me without any bullets.”

You snap your fingers and two of your guards grab an arm each of Amy and kneel her down in front of you as you sit cross-legged on the couch.

“Now that you’re here,” you say as Amy tries to squirm free to no avail. “Tell me what Jamie’s up to.”

“Never!”

You slap her across the face. “Take your time.” You rest a leg on each of her shoulders and lean back on the couch. “I’ll be here all night.”

She tries spitting on your leg but the saliva ends up falling onto her chin.

“Boys,” you say. “Let’s see if we can’t persuade her to give us some intel.”