Try to Kill it all Away 3/?
anonymous
September 15 2015, 07:56:30 UTC
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She’s hitting the sand too hard and she knows it. The come downs are getting worse, so she prefers not to come down at all. Her skin is losing it’s smoothness, her hair its shine. She no longer works the rich circuit, nor does she dance. She’d have to be at least mildly sober to dance, and that’s a feeling she heartily dislikes.
So she works two or three johns a night and breaks about even for a while. Then a couple of Spectres make a big bust, take out the three biggest sand dealers operating in Citadel space. The cost of even low quality sand goes through the roof.
She works four, five, sometimes seven clients a night. Prices rise, she’s no longer Jackson’s best earner. At the club she’s little more than a working girl, stepping in whenever a customer is too aroused to leave without getting his rocks off.
She knows that Jackson is splicing her cuts of sand with pleasure enhancers and various other aphrodasiacs. She doesn’t care. She’d be doing the same job without them, they just make it a little more enjoyable, especially as the skill of her clients decreases.
Eventually she’s not even valuable enough to work single. She rents herself…or gets rented out, as a group act. One night, she, Alice and Tiera are hired for a bachelor party for a group of Alliance Marines. She has enough shame left to cut her hair differently and dye it a pale blonde so she won’t be recognised. It kind of works. There’s about thirty Marines. Rowdy, drunk and in a mood to party. She’s already sucked off five of them by the time she runs into their platoon sergeant. Fitzsimmons, she vaguely recalls. Good soldier, good shot. He’d been aboard the Normandy just before it was destroyed. She always thought he had a crush on her. She thinks he recognises her. Maybe that’s the reason he’s the first one to yank down her panties, bend her over a table and do her doggy style while the Marines bellow with laughter, unaware of the real joke.
She thinks she recognises another one. Felicia Adams. A pale redhead with a temper equally as vicious as her hand to hand combat abilities. She, on the other hand, had always hated Ashley’s guts, for reasons Ash had never cared to guess.
She definitely recognises her. Ash has a faint sinking feeling at the redhead’s smile, remembering just how much Felicia liked being ‘one of the boys’. Seconds later, Felicia cheerfully stands in the middle of the celebrations with her pants around her ankles, grinding her pussy against Ashley’s face while she high fived the jarheads around her.
That particular night ended with Ashley dazedly lying in the centre of a ruined hotel room, coated with every kind of bodily fluid it was possible to spill without bleeding. The Marines were generous tippers, though. She found a two thousand credit chit nestled in her ass cheeks.
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Kiros worships her body from head to toe, his fingers and tongue tracing every hard muscle, every soft curve. He’s dignified and respectful. A perfect client, really. She would have to coax him to be rougher, harder. She didn’t need him to make love to her. Shepard could do that much better. She wanted him to fuck her.
When it’s her turn, she’s bold and adventurous, nipping and scratching at sensitive flesh. She hears his gasps, feels his body tighten, sees the pre-cum bead at the tip of his cock. She takes him in her mouth and sucks so hard he cries out as he erupts.
She doesn’t even wait for the flood to subside as she continues to lick him hard again.
Try to Kill it all Away 4/?
anonymous
September 15 2015, 07:57:50 UTC
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Felicia comes back and books her for a whole night.
“We’re shipping out tomorrow, Chief.” She addresses Ashley mockingly. “I know I’m not going to survive this one. Fucking anti-geth operations are a death trap, and I’m just unlucky enough to be in a spearhead unit.”
Felicia opens a case and pulls out a riding crop, a set of stun cuffs and a litany of other devices. “Not gonna lie, Chief, I’m a bit of a freq. Some of the shit I’m into? Wouldn’t dare do any of it, not even to a worthless cumwhore like you. But fuck, I’m gonna die soon, right? Wouldn’t be right to leave this world without just a little bit of fucking satisfaction.”
It was the worst pain Ash had ever experienced outside of combat. It was also the highest peak she’d ever come at. Felicia had fucked her pussy raw as a warm up, moving onto her ass in quick succession. It was brutal, it was violent, yet somehow Ashley continued to climax.
She’d been dommed before, as part of a show. Felicia wasn’t anything like the pro-dommes, she was just a woman drunk on power and the fear of death. She lashed Ashley all over, had her lick her out till her tongue was numb, then spanked her while she recovered.
Her combat knife was lying on the table, but drawing blood deliberately seemed to be the one thing Felicia stopped short of. Instead she used it to hack lengths of Ashley’s hair, jeering at the Chief’s lost beauty.
“Not so high and fucking mighty now, huh, Chief?” Felicia sneered as she ran her hands over the short mangled mess that was Ashley’s once proud mane. “Hard to see why the boots jacked off to you in their bunks back in the day. If only they could fucking see you now. A horny varren wouldn’t fuck you if they had some taste.”
Ashley lifted her face to spit at her defiantly. “So you’d stoop lower than a horny varren?”
So incensed by the words, Felicia grabbed the last item in the bag. A sonic shaver. “Didn’t plan on using this, Chief. Just tossed it in in case you needed a little grooming downstairs. You should have kept your whore mouth shut.@
By the time Felicia finished, the only hair left on Ashley’s body was her eyebrows. The woman’s vicious rampage had left Ash a bruised, spent ruin. Once she’d finished, even Felicia seemed disgusted at herself, calling the medics as she fled.
Jackson was inventive. Ashley was practically worthless for the months it would take her to grow her hair back, lose the bruises and be pretty enough to work again. On the Citadel, at least. There were far stranger desires than Felicia’s out on Omega, though.
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Human females are less flexible than drell, so Ashley didn’t try to impress Kiros with any acrobatics. She focuses on her strength, wrapping her legs around his back to position him better to thrust into her, pinning him down just enough to let him get some satisfaction from flipping her onto her back.
The night has gone from a dance to a tussle. He’s confident and sure in his strokes, and just rough enough to keep her juices flowing freely. She’ll never go back to the amount of pain she used to desire, but neither does she wish for a sedate fuck.
Kiros, bless his non-conformist desires, was just what she needed this time.
Dam that's hard to read, like I'm just getting kicked in the nuts over and over. You don't know how many times I exited out and said "Nope not going any further" and then came back.
God I hope Shepard can at least get some bloody revenge on these people.
Try to Kill it all Away 5/?
anonymous
September 18 2015, 06:52:53 UTC
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Omega is where she truly begins to lose herself. She doesn’t remember half of the depravities she sells herself into. By Omega standards, she’s hot property again. She’s Aria’s plaything of the month after she arrives, but the Queen of Omega had a revolving door of desires, and soon Ashley wasn’t on the menu.
She works the merc groups, mostly. They’re clean, healthy and can pay. Their desires are the most conventional. Blue Suns and Eclipse also offer a fair degree of protection. It’s likely the only reason she’s still alive after six months.
Death IS coming though. She knows that well enough. It’s impossible for her to come down now. She stays high all the time on whatever she can get her hands on. Some of it is not…healthy.
Her frame begins to wither. She can almost taste death knocking. She stops eating. She figures if she can save just a bit more, she can buy just one more hit of the really good stuff to knock her into oblivion.
She walks back onto her old street corner, the batarian who runs the street gives her a friendly wave. She smiles back. He’s a good enough sort, only takes fifteen percent. She waits on the corner, turning down a couple of low bids. She only wants to have to do this once today. The pleasure’s all gone, even the sand doesn’t really give her the same thrill it used to. But maybe tonight she could have that one last peak before the end.
She sees an aircar settle down in one of the spots reserved for Aria’s people. But the human that steps out isn’t one of Aria’s goons. Armoured from head to toe in black and silver, covered in a baffling array of weaponry, flanked by two equally armed subordinates, Ash knew she’d found her payday. Mercs back in from the void were desperate for a fuck, and even now Ash knew she was pretty enough to grab his attention.
She strolled over to him as he addressed his men, his low voice filled with energy and confidence as he issues them their orders. She taps on his shoulder, he shifts his head around to her. He’s wearing a full helmet, but she doesn’t care what he looks like.
“Hey, tiger.” She smiled. “Looking for some company?”
The merc stiffened, then reached up to remove his helmet. When he removed it, Ashley found herself staring into the eyes of a dead man.
“Ashley…?” Shepard gasped as he stared at her. Thirty kilograms lighter, paler, hair cut short and arms puckered with scars, Ashley Williams found herself collapsing as her world caved in around her. The last thing she felt were his arms catching her as she fell.
Try to Kill it all Away 6/?
anonymous
September 18 2015, 07:02:47 UTC
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She woke up to feel something she hadn’t felt in almost nine months. Sobriety. And pain. Quite a bit of pain.
She was strapped to a bed, drips running all over her body. A med-program slowly fed hydration and nutrients back into her body.
And Shepard, blonde curls tussled and eyes red, gave her a weak smile as she looked at him. Her fingers found his…and she gave him a tiny smile in return.
Recovery was slow, painful, humiliating. A slow cocktail of drugs to wean her off the sand. Mind-meld therapy with an extremely expensive asari shrink to help reconcile the pain and degradation she had subjected herself to.
Cerberus arranged for her to have an apartment on the Citadel. It was good. Comfortable, quiet. Shepard visited as often as he could. Sarah, Abby and Lynn came to visit. She hit the gym and the range, knowing each day of treatment was driving Shepard deeper into debt with Cerberus.
The lines of worry in Shepard’s face every time he came to see her made her hate herself just a little bit more. He had a mission to complete. She was distracting him.
She sobbed her guilt into his shoulder one night after a particularly bad flashback in therapy.
He just smiled. “I know you care, Ash. But I’m doing this for you. I want you to get better.”
She did get better. Slowly. Nearly too slowly. Colour returned to her cheeks, lustre returned to her hair. She re-learned her old skills with renewed determination. And when she heard that Shepard had survived the attack through the Omega-4 Relay, she got down on her knees and gave thanks to God for the first time in three years.
Abby had given her one of her good dresses. She wore it out to dinner with Shepard. They celebrated with a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne in his cabin and made love under the stars.
She could have cried at the simple look of love in his eyes. She felt wanted, valued, adored. The sex was good…but somehow unsatisfying.
When she mentioned it to her shrink the asari smiled comfortingly.
“It’s an expected side effect. Another two or three months of therapy should set it right.”
She never got that last three months. She got two weeks before the Reapers smashed into Earth. Figuring that therapy wouldn’t matter if she was dead, Ashley checked herself out of her apartment and reported to the Normandy. She fought for two weeks as a private citizen, then the Alliance restored her commission.
In week four of the war she broke her sobriety. She hadn’t meant to. They’d won a victory, damnit, and Vega had just the thing to celebrate with. How often did a whole species regain their homeworld?
She got drunk with Shepard and Vega, then she talked them in to a ménage a trois. To be more accurate she noisily made out with Shepard, teased Vega with her bare foot, whispered into Shepard’s ear until he was bursting out of his pants, then let them fuck her in between them.
She didn’t want to admit it, but the old drunken thrill from fucking both of them was almost better than the sex itself.
She promises herself it's a one off thing. But before she knows it they've been soundly thrashed on Thessia and she's convincing Shepard to bring Liara into their bed before the final attack on Cerberus, then again during the night before Earth. And when Shepard is lying in his hospital bed...it is Liara she turns to for comfort.
Shepard is surprisingly acceptive when Liara gives birth to a little brown eyed asari, cheerfully believing little Madeleine is a result of their tryst en route to Earth. For all Ashley knows that could be true, so she keeps her mouth shut.
Try to Kill it all Away 7/7
anonymous
September 18 2015, 07:10:21 UTC
She'd given back in to alcohol and she had surrendered herself to lust, but Ashley was not so weak as to return to the sand. Aversion and compulsion therapy was considered poor practice by asari shrinks, but they would do it anyway if you paid them enough.
The reason it wasn't a preferred method of treatment was mostly due to the occasional lapses in the brain when the addiction would return, the compulsion therapy only kicking in only after the craving was satisfied.
That equated to one sand-trip per six or seven months to keep herself satisfied. Ashley was happy with that. It worked nicely into her new routine.
She struggled against it, she truly did. But despite the scars she could not forget the thrill of meeting an unknown client, the high of having her body worshipped by a complete stranger, someone she could enjoy to the fullest and not have to go home with.
She loved Shepard. And Shepard loved her. But her body needed more than he could give, especially now. Once every six months. That's all she needed to sate her lingering appetites. One drunken, drug fuelled fling every six months.
She told herself that would be all. That she could keep herself to that strict pattern. She could...she had to...and she would come right back to Shepard in the morning.
She’s hitting the sand too hard and she knows it. The come downs are getting worse, so she prefers not to come down at all. Her skin is losing it’s smoothness, her hair its shine. She no longer works the rich circuit, nor does she dance. She’d have to be at least mildly sober to dance, and that’s a feeling she heartily dislikes.
So she works two or three johns a night and breaks about even for a while. Then a couple of Spectres make a big bust, take out the three biggest sand dealers operating in Citadel space. The cost of even low quality sand goes through the roof.
She works four, five, sometimes seven clients a night. Prices rise, she’s no longer Jackson’s best earner. At the club she’s little more than a working girl, stepping in whenever a customer is too aroused to leave without getting his rocks off.
She knows that Jackson is splicing her cuts of sand with pleasure enhancers and various other aphrodasiacs. She doesn’t care. She’d be doing the same job without them, they just make it a little more enjoyable, especially as the skill of her clients decreases.
Eventually she’s not even valuable enough to work single. She rents herself…or gets rented out, as a group act. One night, she, Alice and Tiera are hired for a bachelor party for a group of Alliance Marines. She has enough shame left to cut her hair differently and dye it a pale blonde so she won’t be recognised. It kind of works. There’s about thirty Marines. Rowdy, drunk and in a mood to party. She’s already sucked off five of them by the time she runs into their platoon sergeant. Fitzsimmons, she vaguely recalls. Good soldier, good shot. He’d been aboard the Normandy just before it was destroyed. She always thought he had a crush on her. She thinks he recognises her. Maybe that’s the reason he’s the first one to yank down her panties, bend her over a table and do her doggy style while the Marines bellow with laughter, unaware of the real joke.
She thinks she recognises another one. Felicia Adams. A pale redhead with a temper equally as vicious as her hand to hand combat abilities. She, on the other hand, had always hated Ashley’s guts, for reasons Ash had never cared to guess.
She definitely recognises her. Ash has a faint sinking feeling at the redhead’s smile, remembering just how much Felicia liked being ‘one of the boys’. Seconds later, Felicia cheerfully stands in the middle of the celebrations with her pants around her ankles, grinding her pussy against Ashley’s face while she high fived the jarheads around her.
That particular night ended with Ashley dazedly lying in the centre of a ruined hotel room, coated with every kind of bodily fluid it was possible to spill without bleeding. The Marines were generous tippers, though. She found a two thousand credit chit nestled in her ass cheeks.
LBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLB
Kiros worships her body from head to toe, his fingers and tongue tracing every hard muscle, every soft curve. He’s dignified and respectful. A perfect client, really. She would have to coax him to be rougher, harder. She didn’t need him to make love to her. Shepard could do that much better. She wanted him to fuck her.
When it’s her turn, she’s bold and adventurous, nipping and scratching at sensitive flesh. She hears his gasps, feels his body tighten, sees the pre-cum bead at the tip of his cock. She takes him in her mouth and sucks so hard he cries out as he erupts.
She doesn’t even wait for the flood to subside as she continues to lick him hard again.
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Felicia comes back and books her for a whole night.
“We’re shipping out tomorrow, Chief.” She addresses Ashley mockingly. “I know I’m not going to survive this one. Fucking anti-geth operations are a death trap, and I’m just unlucky enough to be in a spearhead unit.”
Felicia opens a case and pulls out a riding crop, a set of stun cuffs and a litany of other devices. “Not gonna lie, Chief, I’m a bit of a freq. Some of the shit I’m into? Wouldn’t dare do any of it, not even to a worthless cumwhore like you. But fuck, I’m gonna die soon, right? Wouldn’t be right to leave this world without just a little bit of fucking satisfaction.”
It was the worst pain Ash had ever experienced outside of combat. It was also the highest peak she’d ever come at. Felicia had fucked her pussy raw as a warm up, moving onto her ass in quick succession. It was brutal, it was violent, yet somehow Ashley continued to climax.
She’d been dommed before, as part of a show. Felicia wasn’t anything like the pro-dommes, she was just a woman drunk on power and the fear of death. She lashed Ashley all over, had her lick her out till her tongue was numb, then spanked her while she recovered.
Her combat knife was lying on the table, but drawing blood deliberately seemed to be the one thing Felicia stopped short of. Instead she used it to hack lengths of Ashley’s hair, jeering at the Chief’s lost beauty.
“Not so high and fucking mighty now, huh, Chief?” Felicia sneered as she ran her hands over the short mangled mess that was Ashley’s once proud mane. “Hard to see why the boots jacked off to you in their bunks back in the day. If only they could fucking see you now. A horny varren wouldn’t fuck you if they had some taste.”
Ashley lifted her face to spit at her defiantly. “So you’d stoop lower than a horny varren?”
So incensed by the words, Felicia grabbed the last item in the bag. A sonic shaver. “Didn’t plan on using this, Chief. Just tossed it in in case you needed a little grooming downstairs. You should have kept your whore mouth shut.@
By the time Felicia finished, the only hair left on Ashley’s body was her eyebrows. The woman’s vicious rampage had left Ash a bruised, spent ruin. Once she’d finished, even Felicia seemed disgusted at herself, calling the medics as she fled.
Jackson was inventive. Ashley was practically worthless for the months it would take her to grow her hair back, lose the bruises and be pretty enough to work again. On the Citadel, at least. There were far stranger desires than Felicia’s out on Omega, though.
LBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLBLB
Human females are less flexible than drell, so Ashley didn’t try to impress Kiros with any acrobatics. She focuses on her strength, wrapping her legs around his back to position him better to thrust into her, pinning him down just enough to let him get some satisfaction from flipping her onto her back.
The night has gone from a dance to a tussle. He’s confident and sure in his strokes, and just rough enough to keep her juices flowing freely. She’ll never go back to the amount of pain she used to desire, but neither does she wish for a sedate fuck.
Kiros, bless his non-conformist desires, was just what she needed this time.
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It's like Requiem for a Dream. All the feels.
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God I hope Shepard can at least get some bloody revenge on these people.
Reply
Omega is where she truly begins to lose herself. She doesn’t remember half of the depravities she sells herself into. By Omega standards, she’s hot property again. She’s Aria’s plaything of the month after she arrives, but the Queen of Omega had a revolving door of desires, and soon Ashley wasn’t on the menu.
She works the merc groups, mostly. They’re clean, healthy and can pay. Their desires are the most conventional. Blue Suns and Eclipse also offer a fair degree of protection. It’s likely the only reason she’s still alive after six months.
Death IS coming though. She knows that well enough. It’s impossible for her to come down now. She stays high all the time on whatever she can get her hands on. Some of it is not…healthy.
Her frame begins to wither. She can almost taste death knocking. She stops eating. She figures if she can save just a bit more, she can buy just one more hit of the really good stuff to knock her into oblivion.
She walks back onto her old street corner, the batarian who runs the street gives her a friendly wave. She smiles back. He’s a good enough sort, only takes fifteen percent. She waits on the corner, turning down a couple of low bids. She only wants to have to do this once today. The pleasure’s all gone, even the sand doesn’t really give her the same thrill it used to. But maybe tonight she could have that one last peak before the end.
She sees an aircar settle down in one of the spots reserved for Aria’s people. But the human that steps out isn’t one of Aria’s goons. Armoured from head to toe in black and silver, covered in a baffling array of weaponry, flanked by two equally armed subordinates, Ash knew she’d found her payday. Mercs back in from the void were desperate for a fuck, and even now Ash knew she was pretty enough to grab his attention.
She strolled over to him as he addressed his men, his low voice filled with energy and confidence as he issues them their orders. She taps on his shoulder, he shifts his head around to her. He’s wearing a full helmet, but she doesn’t care what he looks like.
“Hey, tiger.” She smiled. “Looking for some company?”
The merc stiffened, then reached up to remove his helmet. When he removed it, Ashley found herself staring into the eyes of a dead man.
“Ashley…?” Shepard gasped as he stared at her. Thirty kilograms lighter, paler, hair cut short and arms puckered with scars, Ashley Williams found herself collapsing as her world caved in around her. The last thing she felt were his arms catching her as she fell.
Reply
She woke up to feel something she hadn’t felt in almost nine months. Sobriety. And pain. Quite a bit of pain.
She was strapped to a bed, drips running all over her body. A med-program slowly fed hydration and nutrients back into her body.
And Shepard, blonde curls tussled and eyes red, gave her a weak smile as she looked at him. Her fingers found his…and she gave him a tiny smile in return.
Recovery was slow, painful, humiliating. A slow cocktail of drugs to wean her off the sand. Mind-meld therapy with an extremely expensive asari shrink to help reconcile the pain and degradation she had subjected herself to.
Cerberus arranged for her to have an apartment on the Citadel. It was good. Comfortable, quiet. Shepard visited as often as he could. Sarah, Abby and Lynn came to visit. She hit the gym and the range, knowing each day of treatment was driving Shepard deeper into debt with Cerberus.
The lines of worry in Shepard’s face every time he came to see her made her hate herself just a little bit more. He had a mission to complete. She was distracting him.
She sobbed her guilt into his shoulder one night after a particularly bad flashback in therapy.
He just smiled. “I know you care, Ash. But I’m doing this for you. I want you to get better.”
She did get better. Slowly. Nearly too slowly. Colour returned to her cheeks, lustre returned to her hair. She re-learned her old skills with renewed determination. And when she heard that Shepard had survived the attack through the Omega-4 Relay, she got down on her knees and gave thanks to God for the first time in three years.
Abby had given her one of her good dresses. She wore it out to dinner with Shepard. They celebrated with a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne in his cabin and made love under the stars.
She could have cried at the simple look of love in his eyes. She felt wanted, valued, adored. The sex was good…but somehow unsatisfying.
When she mentioned it to her shrink the asari smiled comfortingly.
“It’s an expected side effect. Another two or three months of therapy should set it right.”
She never got that last three months. She got two weeks before the Reapers smashed into Earth. Figuring that therapy wouldn’t matter if she was dead, Ashley checked herself out of her apartment and reported to the Normandy. She fought for two weeks as a private citizen, then the Alliance restored her commission.
In week four of the war she broke her sobriety. She hadn’t meant to. They’d won a victory, damnit, and Vega had just the thing to celebrate with. How often did a whole species regain their homeworld?
She got drunk with Shepard and Vega, then she talked them in to a ménage a trois. To be more accurate she noisily made out with Shepard, teased Vega with her bare foot, whispered into Shepard’s ear until he was bursting out of his pants, then let them fuck her in between them.
She didn’t want to admit it, but the old drunken thrill from fucking both of them was almost better than the sex itself.
She promises herself it's a one off thing. But before she knows it they've been soundly thrashed on Thessia and she's convincing Shepard to bring Liara into their bed before the final attack on Cerberus, then again during the night before Earth. And when Shepard is lying in his hospital bed...it is Liara she turns to for comfort.
Shepard is surprisingly acceptive when Liara gives birth to a little brown eyed asari, cheerfully believing little Madeleine is a result of their tryst en route to Earth. For all Ashley knows that could be true, so she keeps her mouth shut.
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The reason it wasn't a preferred method of treatment was mostly due to the occasional lapses in the brain when the addiction would return, the compulsion therapy only kicking in only after the craving was satisfied.
That equated to one sand-trip per six or seven months to keep herself satisfied. Ashley was happy with that. It worked nicely into her new routine.
She struggled against it, she truly did. But despite the scars she could not forget the thrill of meeting an unknown client, the high of having her body worshipped by a complete stranger, someone she could enjoy to the fullest and not have to go home with.
She loved Shepard. And Shepard loved her. But her body needed more than he could give, especially now. Once every six months. That's all she needed to sate her lingering appetites. One drunken, drug fuelled fling every six months.
She told herself that would be all. That she could keep herself to that strict pattern. She could...she had to...and she would come right back to Shepard in the morning.
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