Lika's Plan

Lika watches Tory like a cat with the cream. One secret, one photo, and Tory’s mouth goes where Lika points. “Start with the toes,” Lika says, swinging her feet into Tory’s lap, and Tory kneels without the smart remark she used to get away with. Ten perfect minutes of circling thumbs, warm palms working calf to sole, each stroke earning Lika’s soft sigh. When the foot massage finishes, Lika spreads her thighs wider, phone tilted like a stopwatch. “Tongue,” she orders, and Tory’s mouth follows, slow laps turning faster when the sigh sharpens to breathy praise. Kisses trail up the inside of Lika’s thigh, up to her lips—soft, lingering, almost gentle if the camera weren’t still watching. Any moment the word feels like hesitation, Lika just waggles the phone and Tory leans back in, obedient, sweet, and exactly where Lika wants her until the secret stays secret and Lika’s legs stop trembling.