Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any (song) names/persons mentioned in this story. This is a fictitious representation of events. Uses are for entertainment purposes only.
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Warning: This oneshot contains graphic depictions of sex. Otherwise known as smut. It was completed by request and will probably be one of the last times I write it. If smut bothers you, or you think this won't be to your liking, please don't read it.
Again also, if you TROLL me because you're too immature for adult themes (This is particularly directed to you fast ass minors) I will MUTE you.
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Onika groaned as she drew up her knees and curled into a little foetal ball, her hand still trapped between her thighs and her pillow crushed to her chest. She was cold sweating. Her sheets clung to, and whispered against her skin as she moved.
"Why didn't it work?" she asked herself for the third night running as her breathing slowly returned to normal.
A week had passed since she had lost her virginity to Beyoncé in the back of a limousine and she had managed to avoid her since. But, that night had changed her. She was suddenly very aware of sex and how it seemed to permeate everything.
Well, at least in her head.
Her curiosity was running rampant. She had almost gone into one of those adult movie stores the day before, but had been too afraid that someone might see or recognise her. She wasn't horny. Maraj women were ladies and didn't get horny, but she couldn't stop thinking about it, about sex, about how... and... there she went again.
She did all the things a maturing girl learned to do to keep herself satisfied, but it just didn't seem to work the way it used to. It was good and she enjoyed it and she got off, but five minutes later the itch was back. She was constantly plagued by flashbacks and remembered sensations at the strangest of times. She couldn't look at a limousine without getting wet. It was embarrassing and worse yet, it made her feel as if she were losing control. She needed someone to blame so she settled on Beyoncé. She decided Beyoncé had to be the one to fix it. Besides, she was the only one she could really tell, anyway.
She stood in front of her door and lifted her clenched hand for the fifth time to knock. Her knuckles hovered over the wood of the door and she flinched back slightly when it suddenly opened.
"Hi, Nic. Come in." Beyoncé told her as she turned and walked back into the room without waiting for her.
Onika stood frozen for a moment, having the strange feeling that crossing his threshold was somehow illicit, and a little frightening. She watched Beyoncé retreat back until she turned and almost threw herself into a leather recliner that faced the door, from the other side of the room. She rested her elbows on the armrests and crossed her legs, staring at her calmly.
