The Curse

Christina Shine walked into Anissa Kate’s place half-ready to throw cash at anyone who could tell her the truth. Anissa had the lights low, candles lit, tits pressed against a silk blouse that barely contained them. Christina spilled everything—her girl, the late nights, the gut feeling that something was off. Anissa shuffled the deck, spread the cards, and they both saw it: wrong cards, straight cheat. To be sure, Anissa took Christina’s hands, closed her eyes, and stepped straight out of her own skin. Floating above them, Anissa watched the future unfold like porn on fast-forward—her own mouth on Christina’s, big natural tits pressed together, bodies tangled in her sheets, tongues working like they’d been waiting years for it. Hot as hell, clear as day. When she snapped back, she smiled cool as a cat and lied through her teeth: "Your girl’s faithful, babe. You’re golden." Christina bought it, relief washing over her face. Anissa leaned in, offered a "love bond" to seal the good news, and Christina agreed without a clue. The second their skin touched again, the bond lit up between them—Anissa claiming what she’d already fucked in her head. That French witch just rewrote the future with her tongue and left Christina smiling, none the wiser.