I leaned into James' shoulder and reached for Calla’s hand across the seat; the warmth of their presence centered me.
By the time we stepped back into the suite, it felt as if the city had finally exhaled for us. Comic Con had been noise and glitter; Aman was stillness wrapped in candlelight. Black-oak walls, rose petals across the floor, the scent of sandalwood and jasmine curling through the air.
Calla slipped off her Hokage cloak, the silk pooling at her feet. James pulled the mask from his face, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes softening. For a heartbeat, we just looked at one another, three people who had spent a whole day pretending to be heroes, now quietly remembering who they really were.
The bath steamed in the marble tub, water scattered with petals. They helped me out of my wig and costume piece by piece, Calla’s fingers gentle, James' touch steady. The day melted away with every clasp undone.
When we finally slid into the water together, the warmth felt like surrender. We laughed about the crowds, about James' near-meltdown when a fan flirted too boldly, about how Calla might have actually won the costume contest if she’d entered. The laughter faded into comfortable quiet. I leaned back against the marble edge and watched the candlelight paint her skin in gold.
After a while, I asked softly, “Calla… can I ask you something?”
She turned her head toward me, curious with a glass of champagne in her hand. “Of course.”
“How did The Black Dahlia come to be?” I hesitated, searching her face. “You talk about her like she’s more than a persona. Like she’s… something you built to survive.”
Her gaze dropped to the surface of the water. For a moment, I thought she might deflect the question, but then she sighed, a slow, deliberate breath that carried years with it.
“She was born the night I realized I didn’t belong to anyone but myself,” she said quietly. “My father spent most of my life teaching me the opposite. He broke me down until I measured my worth by how well I obeyed or endured. When I got older, I kept finding men who repeated the cycle. They were nothing more than different faces reinforcing the same lesson. Control was always something that happened to me.”
The air around us seemed too still; even the water went quiet.
She continued, voice steady but distant. “The Black Dahlia was the first thing I ever created just for me. She wasn’t about pain; she was about power. About walking back into my own skin and saying, This is mine. Every rule I set, every scene I controlled, was a way to remind myself I existed beyond what anyone had taken or tried to break.”
I felt my throat tighten. “You turned what hurt you into something sacred,” I whispered.
Calla’s eyes met mine, clear, unflinching. “Exactly. The Dahlia isn’t about dominance for the sake of it. She’s the part of me that knows my boundaries, that protects what’s left of the girl so many broken men tried to destroy.”
James hadn’t spoken, but I saw the way his jaw flexed, how his hand found her shoulder beneath the water. The three of us sat there, steam rising around us, a small sanctuary carved out of pain and understanding.
Calla smiled faintly, almost apologetically. “You asked, and that’s the truth of it.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re beautiful. I admire your grace, your poise, your willingness to take back power that’s rightfully yours.”
She reached for my hand then, fingers threading through mine, the look in her eyes soft but fierce. “You both make it easier to keep choosing the woman beneath the mask,” she said. “The one who can just be Calla.”
We bathed each other, as I boldly sucked Calla’s nipples, while James lathered and washed her body, his hands gently rubbing up and down her plump pussy lips.
“Mmmmm,” Calla moaned out, her eyes closed and head tossed back as I nipped at her beautiful throat.
“Don’t be afraid, bite me harder and mark me, Amiyah,” she ordered, my pussy clinching at her demand, doing precisely as I was told,biting harder. Calla’s moans of approval letting me know I was doing a good job. I sucked on her neck, I slid my hand down her soft body until my fingers were between her thighs, gently rubbing between her pussy lips, being sure to tease her clit. James was behind her, his chest flush against her back as he reached around, pinching her hardened nipples. Evident in the way her body began to writhe, that the pleasure was mounting and nearing its peak. Knowing she needed the release only I could give her in this moment, I slid two fingers inside her slippery, drenched hole and twisted them in and out as my thumb circled her clit.
“Mistress, I need to prove that I can please you, please unravel for me, and come all over my hand,” I begged shamelessly.
Her hands made their way to my tussled curls and grabbed them as her orgasm began to surge through her. “Ohhhhhhhhh Princess, I’m coming,” She moaned, her pussy becoming even more slick with her release, her chest rising and falling as she attempted to come back down from the orgasmic high I’d just sent her on.
Sexual energy continued to surge through the room as we stepped out of the bath, our bodies glistening with water and candlelight. Calla led James and me to the bedroom, where a sleek, black strap-on harness was waiting for her.
“Tower position, both of you, I want you facing each other, now.” She demanded as she dried off and began to secure the harness around her curvy hips. The sight of her preparing to take control was both thrilling and intimate. By the time she had the harness secured, James and I were on our knees, legs together and palms facing downwards on our thighs with our heads lowered in complete submission. The room was filled with a palpable tension, a mix of anticipation and submission. Calla stood before us, her presence commanding and alluring. She stepped closer, her strap-on glistening under the soft glow of the candles.
“Open your mouth wide, Princess,” she ordered, her voice a sultry command. I complied, parting my lips and arching my neck back, inviting her. She guided the strap-on to my mouth, inching it deeper with each thrust of her hips. I began to suck, my mouth working feverishly, the feel of her power and possession as she filled my mouth entirely, making my pussy leak all over the floor beneath me. Calla’s moans of approval echoed through the room, spurring me on. “Good girl,” she murmured, her fingers tangling in my hair. “You look so fucking good with your mouth full.
James, behind her, watched intently, his eyes dark with desire. Calla turned to him, her voice laced with command. “Eat my ass like it’s your last meal, James,” she ordered. He needed no further encouragement. He spread her ass open, his tongue diving in with fervor, exploring every inch. Calla’s moans grew louder, her body trembling with pleasure as James devoured her.
After a few moments of pure ecstasy, Calla pulled away, her breath ragged. “Be a good boy and lay on the bed,” she commanded. He complied, his body tense with anticipation. Calla turned to me, her eyes gleaming with lust. “Climb on top of him and slide down nice and slow, until my pussy is stretched and filled,” she instructed.
I straddled James, feeling his hardness press against me. I lowered myself onto him, inch by delicious inch, savoring the sensation of him filling me. Calla watched, her eyes filled with hunger. As I began to ride James, her hands roamed over my body, tracing patterns that sent shivers down my spine.
“Mmmmmm, Mistress, I’m so full, oooooo,” the moans of pleasure pouring from my lips.
