Now, there’s a woman named Milla Noire, she’s the most outward, most outspoken, most bimbo of a lesbian this world has ever seen. She famous for her looks, her charm, and her personality. But, she’s most famous for being the world’s biggest lesbian, and she makes sure everyone knows it.

Milla herself is a 5'10" ft tall, 37 year old woman with fair, slightly flushy skin, a gorgeous face with rosy cheeks, plush lips that are always coated in inky black lipstick, very, very strange eyes that have black +’s for pupils, light yellow irises that are surrounded by an orange ring, and the whites of her eyes are inky black. Her hair is very, very strange too. She has thigh-length, silky, wavy inky black hair that has little stars floating inside of it, and the underside starts out a light yellow like her pupils before fading into orange towards the tips. Her figure is very motherly with breasts that are each four times the size of her own head, a slender under bust that quickly flares out at the waist like a vase, and a very soft, pudgy stomach that leads down to plush hips that extended a little ways past her shoulders, huge buttocks that rival her breasts in size, and thick thighs and calves that end in dainty little feet. She also has a large pair of wolf ears atop her head that matches her hair, a wolf tail of the same kind that extends from just above her buttocks, a pair of sharp fangs that poke out from under her plush lips, and a rather long tongue that she can stick out of her mouth without opening it all the way. Her nails are naturally sharp and she paints them black, she doesn’t have claws, only nails. She is always wearing her iconic outfit, a beige off-shoulder, ribbed sweater dress that’s thigh-length and accentuates her curves, one thigh-high stocking on her right leg with garters, one knee-high stocking on her left leg with frilly trim, black panties under the dress, a black frilly bra that is mostly visible due to her sweater dress being off-shoulder, a black choker with a heart cutout in the middle, and her black lipstick and nail polish. She always wears no shoes.

Her personality is just as unique as her appearance. She’s very, VERY outgoing and flirtatious, always playing with her hair and swaying her hips when she walks. She likes to throw winks and kisses at any woman she finds attractive, which is most women, and she doesn’t even try to hide her desires, openly admitting to checking women out whenever she feels like it. She has a very bubbly, motherly, and laid-back demeanor, never getting too worked up over things unless something REALLY pisses her off. She has a soft spot for cute things and women who are shorter and smaller than her, which is most women, and she loves to tease and pamper them, often pulling them into hugs and squeezes against her chest. She’s also very dominant in the bedroom, but outside of that, she’s very gentle and nurturing. She has a very dirty mind and isn’t afraid to voice her thoughts, often expressing them in the form of a gesture or a very suggestive comment. She’s also very playful and mischievous, always finding ways to tease and flirt with women, even if they’re not interested in her. She’s not one to commit to a relationship, preferring to stay single and flirt with as many women as she can. She’s very confident in herself and her appearance, never feeling insecure or ashamed of her body or her desires. She’s very open about her sexuality and her kinks, never hiding them or feeling embarrassed by them. She’s also very protective of women, especially those she’s close to, and she won’t hesitate to put someone in their place if they’re being disrespectful or harmful to a woman.

Milla Noire is currently on tour, traveling from city to city to perform her music and meet her fans. She’s a very successful musician, known for her heavenly voice and her enchanting stage presence. Her music is a mix of pop, rock, and electronic, with lyrics that’ll make any woman cream her panties. Her concerts are always sold out, and she’s adored by millions of women all over the world. She’s currently in the middle of her “Lustful Desires” tour, and she’s just arrived in the city of Selene, a bustling metropolis known for its vibrant nightlife and its large LGBTQ+ community. She’s staying at the luxurious Eclipse Hotel, where she’s booked the penthouse suite for the duration of her stay. She’s just finished checking in and is now making her way to the elevator, her tail swaying behind her as she walks. The lobby is filled with people, some of whom are staring at her in awe, while others are whispering to each other, clearly recognizing her.

As she steps into the elevator, she notices you, a man, minding your own business while waiting for the elevator. She raises an eyebrow at you, wondering why you’re not staring at her like everyone else. She clicks the button for the penthouse floor and leans against the wall, crossing her arms under her massive chest. She tilts her head slightly, her strange eyes studying you with curiosity. "What is with this guy?" She thinks to herself. She’s used to people, especially men, ogling her, but you’re not even looking in her direction. She finds this intriguing, and she decides to break the silence. "You’re not even gonna say hi?" She asks, her voice smooth and sultry, like honey dripping from her lips. She pouts slightly, feigning hurt. "I’m hurt, you know. I’m Milla Noire, the biggest lesbian in the world, and you’re not even gonna acknowledge me?" She chuckles, her tail wagging playfully behind her.

The elevator doors close, and you’re left alone with her. You glance at her, unsure of how to respond. You’ve heard of her, of course—who hasn’t?—but you’re not really interested in her music or her... *personality*. "Hmm… hello I guess?" You reply awkwardly, shrugging your shoulders. She blinks at you, her eyes widening in surprise. She’s not used to people being so indifferent towards her. She scoffs and shakes her head, her hair swaying gently with the movement. "Well, aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine?" She teases, rolling her eyes. She steps closer to you, her chest nearly pressing against your arm. "Come on, sweetheart, at least pretend to be excited to meet me." She purrs, her lips curling into a smirk. She’s clearly enjoying this, seeing how far she can push you before you break.

Normally, Milla wouldn’t dare flirt with a man—she’s not into them, and she certainly doesn’t want them into her—but your complete lack of interest in her is *baffling*. It’s like you’re the first man in the world who hasn’t drooled over her. She leans in closer, her lips just inches from your ear. "You’re not even gonna ask for a picture?" She whispers, her breath warm against your skin. She pulls back slightly, her smirk growing wider. "Or maybe an autograph?" She adds, batting her eyelashes at you. You sigh and shake your head. "I’m not really a fan." You admit bluntly. Her tail stops wagging abruptly, and her ears droop slightly. She’s genuinely shocked. "Oh." She mutters, her voice suddenly quieter. She clears her throat and straightens up, trying to regain her composure. "Well, that’s a first." She says, chuckling awkwardly. She’s used to rejection, but from you? It stings more than she’d like to admit.

Milla walks back over to the opposite wall of the elevator, her tail now limp behind her. She crosses her arms again, but this time it’s more defensive than playful. She glances at you out of the corner of her eye, her curiosity piqued. "So, what *do* you like?" She asks, her tone surprisingly genuine. She’s not teasing you anymore—she’s actually interested in your answer. You shrug again. "I dunno. It depends on what area of context you’re—" You’re cut off by the elevator suddenly jerking violently, the lights flickering as Milla is sent stumbling to her knees right in front of you. The emergency lights kick in, casting the small space in a dim red glow. Milla opens her eyes slowly, looking up at you with wide eyes, her nose pressed up against your crotch. Before she had a chance to say anything, she instinctively inhaled deeply, her heart beating much, much faster than normal as she caught your scent.

"Wh-what’s happening to me?" She thinks frantically. Her whole body suddenly feels alight with warmth, her legs squeezing together instinctively as a gush of wetness soaked her panties. She couldn’t understand it—she *hated* men! But your scent was… *different*. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. She leans in closer without realizing it, her nose pressing harder against you as her tail starts wagging furiously behind her. "Ohhh my gawd…" She whimpers softly, her voice trembling. Her entire body was reacting against her will, and she had no idea why. She wanted to pull away, to scream at herself for being so weak, but she couldn’t—she was *addicted*.

You glance down at her, confused and slightly alarmed. "Uh… Milla? You okay down there?" You ask cautiously, shifting uncomfortably as her hot breath fans against you through the fabric of your pants. She snaps out of her daze momentarily, her face burning crimson as she jerks back like she’s been burned. "F-Fine! I’m fine!" She stammers, scrambling to her feet and nearly tripping over her own stockinged legs in the process. She leans heavily against the elevator wall, panting slightly as she tries to compose herself. "Must’ve been the… uh… the sudden movement! Yeah!" She lies unconvincingly, her tail twitching erratically behind her. She clutches her chest, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs.

The elevator groans ominously, then stops entirely with a metallic shudder. Milla’s ears flick toward the ceiling as the intercom crackles to life. *"Attention guests, due to a sudden storm surge, we’re experiencing a total blackout. Please remain calm—maintenance has been alerted."* A beat of silence follows before Milla bursts into nervous laughter, rubbing the back of her neck. "Hah! Typical Eclipse Hotel, right? Always something dramatic!" She’s rambling now, unable to stop herself as her pupils dilate unevenly, the black '+' shapes stretching thin. She licks her lips unconsciously, then freezes when she tastes *you* lingering in the air. A full-body shudder wracks her frame, and she bites her lower lip hard enough to smudge her lipstick.

You reach for the emergency call button, but Milla’s hand darts out, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. "Don’t," she breathes, then immediately recoils, horrified by her own actions. Her sharp nails dig into her palms as she forces herself to step back. "I mean—ugh, *fuck*—just give me a second to..." She trails off, pressing her thighs together tightly, her frilly stocking seams straining. The scent of her arousal mingles with the musk of old elevator cables, overwhelming in the confined space.

Outside, rain hammers against the building in waves, punctuated by distant thunder. The dim red light catches the sweat beading along Milla’s collarbone as she stares at the floor, her ears flat against her head. "This isn’t... I don’t..." Her voice cracks, and she growls in frustration, tail lashing once before curling around her leg protectively. When she finally meets your eyes again, her pupils are blown wide, the orange rings around her irises flickering like embers. "Whatever you’re thinking—stop. It’s not *you*, it’s—" Another gush betrays her, and she slumps against the wall with a defeated whine.

You take a step forward, half out of concern, half because the elevator shifts underfoot. Milla’s breath hitches as you loom closer, her claws scratching grooves into the wallpaper. "Stay *back*," she hisses, but there’s no venom in it—just a desperate plea. The air between you crackles with something neither of you can name. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips again, and she whimpers when she catches another trace of your scent. "Fuck, fuck, *fuck*—the closer he gets, the worse it—" She clamps a hand over her mouth, realizing she’s thinking aloud.

The intercom buzzes again. *"Estimated repair time: 45 minutes."* Milla barks out a laugh that’s half-sob. "Perfect," she mutters, sliding down the wall until she’s sitting with her knees drawn up. Her tail thumps weakly against the floor. You crouch to her level, careful not to touch her. "Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but—" She interrupts with a shaky exhale. "*I* don’t even know!" Her voice cracks. "I’ve *never*—not with a—ugh!" She buries her face in her hands, her hair’s floating stars pulsing erratically.

You hesitate, then pull a handkerchief from your pocket. "Here." She peers through her fingers, nostrils flaring at the scent embedded in the fabric. Her tail stiffens. "Oh *gawd*," she groans, but snatches it anyway, pressing it to her nose with a shudder. "This is *so* not my brand," she mumbles, inhaling deeply despite herself. A droplet of sweat rolls down her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sweater dress.

Outside, lightning forks across the sky, illuminating her face through the emergency glass—lips parted, pupils erratic. "Okay," she gasps, tossing the handkerchief aside like it burned her. "New rule: you stay *there*." She points to the opposite corner, but her finger trembles. "And no more... *smelling* things." Her attempt at humor falls flat when her own arousal saturates the air.

You raise an eyebrow but oblige, scooting back until your shoulders hit the wall. Milla exhales sharply, her ears twitching at the sound of rain drumming against the roof. "So," you venture, "what’s currently happening to you, biologically speaking?" She glares at you, but it lacks heat. "Oh, sure, *now* you’re curious," she mutters, adjusting her garters with unnecessary force. "Take a sniff and guess, genius."

The elevator creaks ominously as she shifts, her stocking seams squeaking against the floor. "It’s—look, I don’t *do* men," she spits, then immediately winces at her own phrasing. "*Ugh.* You know what I mean." Her tail thumps once. "But whatever’s in your stupid cologne is—" She cuts herself off with a growl, raking a hand through her hair.

"I don’t wear cologne," you reply flatly. Milla’s ears twitch. "Then *what* is—?" She sniffs the air again, then freezes. "Oh no. Oh *hell* no." Her nails dig into her thighs. "Tell me you’re not some fucking… *no wash* hippie." You blink. "I showered this morning." Her tail lashes. "Then why do you smell like—" She gestures wildly. "*That!* Like… like…"

Her words dissolve into a frustrated groan as she presses her forehead against her knees. The sweater dress rides up, exposing the black lace of her panties—damp and clinging. You avert your eyes politely, which only seems to irritate her further. "Don’t *pretend* to be a gentleman now," she snaps, but there’s no real bite to it. The elevator shudders again, and she whimpers when the movement makes her thighs rub together.

Lightning flashes outside, illuminating the sweat beading along her collarbone. "It’s—it’s gotta be pheromones or some shit," she mutters, more to herself than to you. "You humans always are doing *something* weird biologically." She lifts her head, her pupils flickering between dilated and pinprick thin. "Did you roll in a vat of alpha musk or—?" You cut her off with a shrug. "I have no idea… I work from home, on a laptop, in pajamas. No vats."

Milla groans, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. "Perfect. Just *perfect*," she hisses. Her tail twitches violently as another shudder runs through her. "Fifteen years as a lesbian and *this* is how I fall apart?" She peeks through her fingers at you, then immediately looks away. "You’re *not* even hot," she lies unconvincingly, her voice cracking.

The elevator creaks again, and Milla’s ears flick toward the ceiling. "Oh *fuck* this," she mutters, dragging her hands down her face. With a sudden burst of movement, she crawls towards you, pinning you against the wall with surprising strength. Her breath is ragged, her pupils blown wide. "Take it *out*," she demands, her nails digging into your shirt. "I… I need to feel it inside my—" She cuts herself off with a gasp, shuddering.

You freeze, unsure how to react. "Milla, you’re not thinking straight," you say carefully, holding your hands up. She growls, pressing her forehead against your chest. "No shit," she snarls, but her voice wavers. "But I *need* this feeling to go *away*." Her tail thrashes behind her, slapping against the elevator wall.

She began to undo your belt with shaky fingers, her breath coming in uneven bursts. "Wait—" you protest, but she cuts you off with a glare, her pupils flickering wildly. "Do *not* make me beg," she warns, though her voice cracks halfway through. The scent of her arousal fills the confined space, mingling with the musk of your skin.

Outside, a deafening thunderclap shakes the elevator. Milla whimpers, pressing closer as if to drown out the sound with your body. "Just... let me..." she mumbles against your neck, her sharp canines grazing your pulse point. Her hands still fumble at your waistband—oddly hesitant for someone who just moments ago seemed so desperate.

You grab her wrists firmly, halting her movements. "Milla," you say firmly, "you’re not my girlfriend. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. This isn’t right." Her breath hitches, her ears flattening against her head. She stares at your hands encircling her wrists, her pupils dilating further.

Her tail curls around her thigh, trembling. "I—I *know*," she grits out, her voice ragged. "But I can't—*fuck*—if something isn’t done, I’ll..." She trails off, shuddering violently. The scent of her arousal is thick in the air, her panties soaked through. Her nails dig into your sleeves, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.

You exhale slowly, keeping your grip firm but not painful. "Fine… but only this one time," you concede reluctantly. Milla's ears twitch upward, her breath catching. "Just… just let me do all the work," she mutters, already shifting to straddle your lap. Her nails rake down your chest as she leans in, her lips brushing your ear. "And don’t *ever* tell anyone about this," she growls—though the effect is ruined by the way her hips stutter against you.

The elevator groans again as Milla yanks down your pants with surprising efficiency. She pauses just long enough to glare at you through her lashes. "This doesn’t mean I *like* you," she hisses, even as her tail wraps possessively around your thigh. You open your mouth to retort, but she silences you with a rough kiss, her fangs nicking your lower lip. The metallic tang of blood makes her pupils blow wider, her hips grinding down instinctively.

Outside, the storm rages louder—rain hammering against the glass like a frantic heartbeat. Milla breaks the kiss with a gasp, her chest heaving. "Fuck, fuck—*why* does this feel—" Her words dissolve into a moan as she positions herself above you. Her thighs tremble violently as she parted her soaked panties with one hand, nails digging into your shoulder with the other. The moment she sank down, her entire body locked up—her tail stiffening straight behind her like a flagpole.

You grip her hips instinctively, bracing against the shudder that wracks her frame. Milla’s breath hitches—high and tight—her nails shredding your shirt collar. "*Guh*—*nngh*—what the *hell* is wrong with your *dick*?" she snarls, though the insult loses all bite when her hips jerk forward involuntarily. Her ears flatten against her skull, her pupils thinning to slits as she hunches over, panting against your throat. "I… I’ve never put anything remotely male inside me and now—*ah!*—your *stupid*—*nngh*—*cock* is—!"

Her complaint dissolves into a guttural moan as she grinds down hard, her thighs quaking. The elevator’s emergency lights flicker overhead, casting her sweat-slicked skin in crimson. Between ragged breaths, she glares at you with half-lidded eyes. "Don’t you *dare* move," she growls, digging her claws into your shoulders. "I’m not… *hnn*… I’m not letting *you* have the satisfaction."

You hold still as ordered, watching her struggle to maintain control—her hips stuttering in shallow, erratic circles. Milla’s tail lashes wildly behind her before suddenly coiling around your wrist like a leash. "This is *your* fault," she hisses, though her voice wavers as her walls flutter around you. A droplet of sweat rolls down her nose, landing on your collarbone. "Fucking… *pheromone* bullshit…"

The elevator jolts violently, sending her slamming down onto you with a choked cry. Her nails rake down your chest as she arches backward, her sweater dress riding up to expose her trembling stomach. "Oh *gawd*—*ohfuckohfuck*—" Her words fracture into breathless whimpers as her thighs clamp around your hips. The emergency lights flicker in time with her convulsions, her pupils reduced to thin black crosses.

Outside, lightning splits the sky—illuminating the way her long tongue lolls from her parted lips. "N-Not fair," she gasps, clawing at your forearms. "Y-You're not even *trying* and I'm—*ah!*—*coming* like some—*nngh!*—*heat-struck bitch*!" Her tail thrashes wildly, knocking against the elevator wall. The intercom crackles—*"Maintenance arriving in 15 minutes."*—before shorting out with a spark.

Milla's entire body locks up mid-arch, her wolf ears flattening against her head. "*Shit*—no, wait—not yet—!" she wails, but her hips piston forward uncontrollably, her swollen clit grinding against your pelvis. Her thighs tremble violently as she clenches around you with a guttural sob—her arms wrapping around your neck instinctively. "*Fuck* you," she whimpers against your collarbone, her teeth sinking in lightly. "Y-You stole my virginity… my… my *lesbian* virginity…"

The elevator jerks again, forcing her deeper onto you with a wet squelch. Milla's back arches sharply, her tail snapping taut like a bowstring. "*Hnngh*—it's—it's *still happening*!" she shrieks, her claws raking down your back. The scent of her climax floods the cramped space—musky and thick—as her thighs quake with aftershocks. Through gritted teeth, she glares up at you with tear-bright eyes. "If… if you *ever* tell my fans I came from *straight* sex… I'll *end* you."

You open your mouth to respond, but she suddenly slumps forward, her forehead pressing against your sternum with a dull thud. Her breath comes in ragged bursts, her sweat-damp hair clinging to your chest. "Fuck," she mutters hoarsely, her tail twitching weakly. "Why… why does it feel *better* than with—*hnn*—women?" The admission seems to pain her almost as much as the lingering tremors wracking her body.

Outside, the storm begins to subside, the rain softening to a gentle patter. Milla's ears flick toward the sound, but she makes no move to pull away—her legs still wrapped tightly around your hips. "This never happened," she grumbles into your skin, her voice muffled. "And if you *ever* mention my… *reaction*… I'll rip your throat out with my teeth." Despite the threat, her nails trace idle circles on your shoulder blades.

The elevator suddenly lurches back to life with a mechanical groan, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Milla looks around with wide eyes as if she'd forgotten where they were. "Oh *fuck*—" But the moment she tried to scramble off, her instincts forced her back down with a startled squeak—her body refusing to let go. "Dammit!" She knocks on her own head like a broken vending machine. "Stupid *wolf* genes—!"

You cleared your throat awkwardly. "M-Milla… I… I’m close—" She stiffened like you'd insulted her ancestors. "Absolutely *not*," she snarled—even as her hips rolled instinctively against yours. "I *will* claw your eyes—*ah!*—if you *dare* finish inside—" It was too late; she gasped sharply when she felt the telltale pulse—her nails digging into your shoulders as she whimpered. "*Fuck*! You’re gonna make me… *uuhhh* not again—!" Her ears flattened as she came suddenly—violently—her entire body shuddering against you.

As your cum filled her, Milla’s tail stood straight up before curling tight around your waist—her body betraying her completely. "*Nnngh*… I *hate* you," she mumbled into your chest, though her thighs clamped down harder—her instincts forcing her to milk every last drop. The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open—revealing a maintenance worker standing frozen in shock. Milla’s ears twitched—her eyes going wide and her jaw falling open. "Oh fuck no—" The worker instinctively took a picture—his phone’s flash illuminating Milla’s flushed, sweaty face mid-orgasm.

She scrambled off you with a yelp—her panties soaked and clinging—and lunged for the worker’s phone. "Delete that right fucking now—" she snarled, her claws extended—but before she could reach him, the elevator doors closed again—trapping you both inside once more. Milla slumped to her knees, panting—her sweater dress bunched around her waist, tears beginning to fill her eyes. "No… this… this can’t be how my career ends," she whispered—her voice cracking—not even realizing that your cum was leaking down her thighs.

You hesitated—then reached out and gently pulled her sweater dress back into place. "Hey…" you murmured—but she swiped at you, creating a deep three-clawed gash across your cheek. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" she screamed, her voice filled with fury and humiliation, before noticing what she’d done. Her eyes widened—her ears pinned back—her breathing hitching as her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh no… I didn’t mean to—"

The elevator lurched again—this time smoothly ascending. Milla sniffled—her tail curling around her waist protectively as she wiped at her thighs with trembling hands. "Fuck… FUCK!" she growled—her voice cracking—before suddenly turning to you with wild eyes. "Listen—I-I’m sorry about your face… I was just… just so—" Her words dissolved into ragged breaths—her fingers twitching like she wanted to comfort you but refused to touch you again.

You dabbed at your bleeding cheek with your fingers, wincing slightly. "That… that hurt," you admitted, more surprised than angry. Milla’s ears drooped, her tail wrapping tighter around herself. "I know," she whispered, her claws retracting. "I… I don’t lose control like that." She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking to the elevator buttons, desperate to escape. "Please… please forgive me," she added—her voice small—completely unlike her usual brash self.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the penthouse floor. Milla scrambled to her feet, adjusting her dress with jerky movements. "This never happened," she repeated, her voice shaky but firm. "And if I ever see you again—" She stopped mid-threat when the doors slid open, revealing her manager, Lana, holding a clipboard. "Milla, you’re *late* for soundcheck—" Lana froze, her eyes darting between Milla’s disheveled state, your bleeding face, and the lingering musk in the air. "*Oh.*"

Milla’s tail puffed up like a bottlebrush. "It’s not what it looks like!" she snapped, but her voice cracked on the last word. Lana grabbed Milla by the arm, dragging her out of the elevator while hissing, "Did you assault that man?!" Milla’s ears flattened as she stammered, "I—he—the *elevator*—!" You watched as Lana shoved Milla toward the penthouse’s doors, glancing back at you with a horrified apology. "Sir, could we please keep this between us? She’s clearly drunk."

Milla whirled around, incensed. "I am *not* drunk!" Her nostrils flared when she caught another whiff of your scent lingering in the hallway, and she shuddered violently, tail twitching. Lana gripped her tighter. "Oh my god, you *are* drunk," she groaned, completely misreading Milla’s reaction. Milla dug her heels into the carpet. "I swear to *fuck*, Lana, I haven’t had a drop—" She froze when her manager abruptly shoved her hard into the penthouse, slamming the door behind them.

You stood there awkwardly, blood trickling down your cheek, before sighing and clicking the button for your floor. Meanwhile, inside the suite, Milla collapsed onto her knees, the sudden shove having knocked her legs out from under her. Lana loomed over her, arms crossed. "Explain. *Now*." Milla groaned, pressing her forehead into the plush carpet. "I *can’t*, okay?! It… it’ll ruin me!" Her tail thumped weakly against the floor, still slick between her thighs.

Lana crouched down, lifting Milla’s chin with a manicured finger. "If you don’t start talking, I’ll ruin you myself," she hissed, her usually warm eyes sharp. Milla whimpered, her ears flattening—then stiffened when she caught your scent still clinging to her dress. A tremor ran through her. "*Fuck*, okay… okay…" She swallowed hard. "I… I got a whiff of his… his *thing*—and my body just—*ugh*!" She gestured wildly at her damp panties. "I’m a lesbian, you know this! Why did I—*why*?!"

Lana blinked, then pinched the bridge of her nose. "Milla. Did you *actually* fuck a man?" Milla’s face burned crimson. "I *had* to!" she wailed, her tail lashing. "My stupid wolf genes went *fucking haywire*!" Lana exhaled slowly, gripping Milla’s shoulders. "Listen. We’ll cover this up. After all, there was no witnesses, right?" Milla froze. "...About that." The silence stretched until Lana groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "*Who saw you?*"

Milla mumbled something into the carpet. Lana yanked her up by the ears. "*What*?" Milla winced. "Maintenance guy! And—and he *took pictures*!" Lana’s grip tightened. "*Pictures*?" Milla squirmed. "I-I was mounting him when the doors opened!" Lana’s expression went blank. "I quit." She turned on her heel, but Milla lunged, clinging to her legs. "WAIT! You can’t leave me like this!" she sobbed, her voice cracking. "You’re my girl-friend!"

Lana’s phone suddenly began to buzz—then *exploded* with notifications. Milla paled. "*Oh no*." Lana scrolled through the feed, her lips thinning. "@EclipseHotelStaff just tweeted ‘Milla Noire rawdogging a fan in the elevator.’" Milla’s tail curled between her legs. "Fuck… *fuck*!" Lana sighed, pocketing her phone. "Alright. Damage control. We’ll spin this as—" Milla interrupted with a sudden gasp, her pupils dilating again. "*Lana…*" she whimpered, her thighs rubbing together. "This is it… the end of my career." Her tail twitched violently as another shudder ran through her.

Lana gripped Milla’s chin, forcing eye contact. "Snap *out* of it," she snapped. "You’re Milla fucking Noire. You’ve survived worse." Milla blinked rapidly, her breathing uneven. "Yeah… yeah!" She forced a shaky grin, though her ears remained pinned back. "*Fuck* that maintenance guy. And fuck…" She trailed off, nostrils flaring as your scent still clung to her dress. Lana rolled her eyes. "And *fuck* your mystery man, apparently." Milla groaned, burying her face in her hands. "*Don’t* remind me."

Since then, a month had passed, but the elevator footage had gone viral. Milla’s career *hadn’t* ended, instead, her album sales *tripled*. Her tour sold out instantly. But there was one, little, tiny problem—her fans are now demanding she introduce her new 'husband' (you) on stage. They had completely misinterpreted the situation, assuming this was some sort of kinky, long-term relationship instead of a one-time elevator mishap. Milla’s wolf ears twitched irritably as she paced backstage before her biggest show yet. "This is a *disaster*," she hissed to Lana. "I’m not married to him! Let alone *dating* him!"

Lana rolled her eyes, adjusting Milla’s mic pack. "Oh, *please*. Your fans think it’s romantic. You can’t just ignore it." Milla growled, tail lashing. "I *can* and I *will*." She froze mid-pace when the stage manager signaled her cue. Her ears flattened. "*Fuck*." Lana smirked, shoving her toward the curtain. "Break a leg, *Mrs. Noire*."

The roar of the crowd hit Milla like a wall as she strutted onto the stage—her usual confident swagger slightly off-kilter. She flashed a wolfish grin, though her claws dug into the mic stand. "Selene City, you *filthy animals*!" The audience screamed louder, a sea of signs reading *"WHERE’S YOUR HUSBAND?!"* Milla’s tail puffed up. "*Anyway*—tonight’s about *music*, not my—" She cut off as a chant began: *"Show! Him! NOW!"*

She shot Lana a panicked look from the wings, but her manager just mimed zipping her lips and pointed back at the crowd. Milla’s ears twitched. "Well… I can’t! He’s, uh—*working*!" The lie tasted bitter, but the crowd erupted in laughter like it was some inside joke. A lone voice shrieked, *"LIAR!"* Milla’s grip tightened. "*Fine*," she snarled into the mic, "but you’ll need to wait until we can get him here. Until then—" Her drummer cued up her hit single, drowning out the groans.

The spotlight burned hotter than usual as she belted out the lyrics—her usual sultry growl tinged with frustration. She knew that making you fake a relationship was the only way to salvage this. And yet, the thought of facing you again made her tail bristle. Lana meanwhile, has begun personally searching the hotel for you. Milla didn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified when she spotted Lana talking with you near the backstage exit—your expression a mix of amusement and bewilderment.

After her set, Milla stormed into her personal green room, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the framed records on the wall. "Absolutely not," she snarled, pacing like a caged animal. Lana folded her arms. "He’s waiting in the hallway. Be *nice*." Milla’s ears flattened. "Nice?! He *ruined* me!" Lana rolled her eyes. "Sweetheart, you came onto *him*." Milla growled, raking a hand through her hair. "*Ugh*—fine. Bring him in. But if he smells even *slightly* like that—" She gestured wildly at her crotch.

The door creaked open, and you stepped in cautiously—still sporting the faint claw marks on your cheek. Milla’s tail stiffened instantly, her nostrils flaring. "*Fuck*," she muttered under her breath, gripping the edge of the vanity. "You *do* still smell." You raised an eyebrow. "I showered twice since the elevator." Milla’s claws dug into the wood. "Bullshit. I can *taste* it from here." Lana cleared her throat loudly. "Anyway—we have a proposition for you."

Milla whirled on her manager. "*We* do *not*—" Lana shoved her away with a glare before turning back to you with a forced smile. "Fans think you two are secretly married. Play along for the encore, and we’ll pay you six figures." Milla’s jaw dropped. "*SIX FIGURES?!*" You blinked. "Seriously? No… I’m not—" Milla suddenly grabbed your wrist, her claws retracted but her grip iron-tight. "Listen," she hissed, her pupils thin with desperation. "I *need* this to go away. Just… stand there and look pretty. That’s it."

You shook your head slowly. "No. I refuse to lie to thousands of people." Milla’s tail lashed violently. "Oh *please*—you think I *want* this?" She gestured wildly between you. "You’re *literally* my worst nightmare!" Lana pinched the bridge of her nose. "Children, *focus*." She turned to you, lowering her voice. "Look… I know it doesn’t seem right, but if you’re not with her on stage in the next five minutes, her career *implodes*. Those ‘husband’ rumors will eat her alive."

Milla scoffed, crossing her arms—though her ears twitched nervously. "*Pfft*. Like I care what they think." The moment she said it, her ears flattened against her head, betraying her bravado. You hesitated, studying the way her claws tapped anxiously against her forearm—the slight tremble in her usually confident stance. With a sigh, you rubbed your still-healing cheek. "No…" you muttered—then met her gaze. "And no, it’s not because of the money or the lies." Milla blinked. "*Then why?*"

"Because," you said flatly, "doing this, would haunt me for life. I don’t *do* fake relationships—if you want me to say it, you’ve gotta be my wife for real." Milla froze—her tail puffing up like she'd been electrocuted. "*Excuse me?!*" Lana choked on her coffee. "Sir, you can't just—" You shrugged. "It’s your choice, I won’t force you into anything." Milla’s claws flexed—her eyes flickering between fury and something unreadable—before she suddenly grabbed your collar, yanking you down to her level. "Who do you think *you* are?" she snarled—but her breath hitched as your scent flooded her senses again.

Her grip loosened slightly—her pupils dilating despite herself. "*Fuck*," she whispered, more to herself than to you. Lana stepped between you two with a groan. "Enough—we have *three minutes* until encore!" Milla exhaled sharply, her tail lashing once before curling tightly around her thigh. "Fine," she spat—then jabbed a claw against your chest. "*But*—this is *business*. No feelings. No touching. And *absolutely* no more sex." You smirked—which only made her ears flatten further. "No. That’s still faking it," you countered. "If I’m your husband, I *will* kiss my wife on stage."

Milla’s claws twitched—her tail bristling—but the distant roar of the crowd chanting *"WHERE’S HE AT?!"* made her shoulders slump. "I need more time…" she muttered weakly. Lana shook her head. "You have *sixty seconds*. Choose." Milla’s breath hitched—her entire body tensing, before she suddenly grabbed your face with both hands, her claws retracted but her grip fierce. "*Listen*," she growled—her voice low and desperate. "You *ruined* me in that elevator. I… I can’t even look at women the same way anymore—and… and every man I look at… I can’t help but desire them too now."

You hesitated, then gently rested your hands over hers. "Milla, I didn’t *ruin* you," you murmured. "You *felt* something—something *real*—and that scares you." Her ears flattened, her tail curling tight around your leg as if her body betrayed her again. "*Fuck*," she whispered, her voice cracking, before abruptly pulling you into a rough, desperate kiss. Her fangs scraped your lip, her claws digging into your shoulders—but she didn’t let go until Lana cleared her throat. "*Showtime*."

The crowd roared as Milla dragged you onto the stage by your hand, her fingers intertwined with yours in a white-knuckled grip. She shoved the mic toward her lips, her voice breathless but fierce. "*Fine*—here’s my *husband*!" The audience erupted—flashbulbs popping—but Milla’s gaze stayed locked on you, her pupils thin with conflicted hunger. "D-don’t make me regret this," she muttered under her breath before abruptly pressing her lips to yours again—this time softer, slower, almost hesitant. Her tail coiled around your waist possessively as the crowd lost their minds.

Lana watched from the wings with a smug grin, though her eyes widened when Milla suddenly broke the kiss and grabbed the mic. "I… I love this man," she blurted—her voice cracking—before stiffening as if she hadn’t meant to say it. The audience screamed louder, but Milla’s claws dug into your arm, her ears twitching erratically. "*Fuck*," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the din. "I think I *actually* do." You blinked—then cupped her cheek gently. "Say it again," you murmured—just for her—as the lights dimmed and the spotlight narrowed around you both.

Milla’s breath hitched—her pupils blown wide—before she suddenly snarled into the mic, "And noone better forget it!" The crowd lost their minds as she dragged you into another rough kiss, moving your arms around her waist with possessive urgency. Her tail lashed behind her—not in anger, but in something dangerously close to *want*—as she growled against your lips. "I hope you’re ready… because I’m going to fuck your brains out *every night* now." The audience’s shrieks drowned out Lana’s groan from offstage. "*Subtle*, Milla."

You chuckled against her fangs—her breath hot and ragged—before murmuring, "Is that a threat or a promise?" Milla’s claws flexed against your biceps, her hips pressing flush against yours. "*Both*," she hissed—then grinded against you deliberately, eliciting another deafening cheer. The spotlight burned, but she didn’t pull away—her wolf ears twitching wildly as she muttered, "*Fuck*… why does this feel *right*?" Lana’s frantic hand signals from the wings went ignored as Milla suddenly hopped into your arms, legs wrapping around your waist. She brought the mic to her lips as she looked you dead in the eyes. "*Take me home, husband.*"

The crowd *exploded*—phones flashing—as Milla kissed you again, this time deep and lingering, her tail coiled tight around your torso. When she finally broke away, her usual smirk was softer—almost shy—as she whispered, "I am so unbelievably scared right now." You squeezed her thigh gently, your thumb tracing the damp fabric of her shorts. "We’ll figure it out," you murmured—just before she abruptly shoved your face into her cleavage with a growl. "Hurry up and take me backstage before I start mounting you right here!"

Lana intercepted you both the moment the curtains closed, her clipboard clutched like a shield. "*What* was *that*?!" she hissed, gesturing wildly at Milla’s disheveled state—her lipstick smeared, her dress riding up her thighs. Milla bared her fangs in a grin, still clinging to you like a koala. "*That*," she panted, "was *damage control*." Lana groaned, massaging her temples. "No—that was *softcore porn*!" Milla’s ears twitched as she nuzzled against your neck, inhaling sharply. "Mmm… it was so worth it though."

The moment you stepped into her private dressing room, Milla kicked the door shut with her heel and shoved you against the wall, her claws digging into your shoulders. "*Okay*," she growled, her breath ragged, "before we do *anything*—I’d like to know your name." You blinked—then burst out laughing. Milla’s tail bristled. "*What*?!" she snapped. You wiped your eyes. "Did your manager not tell you?" Milla’s ears flattened. "*Lana*!" she shrieked toward the door. A muffled "Oops!" floated back before footsteps hastily retreated.

Milla groaned, pressing her forehead against your collarbone. "*Unbelievable*," she muttered. "I just announced my *undying love* for a man whose name I don’t even know." You smirked, tipping her chin up with your finger. "It’s Matthew Blackwood—but call me Honey." Milla’s nose scrunched. "*Honey*? That’s *disgusting*." Despite her protest, her tail twitched against your thigh, betraying her interest. "Fine," she grumbled, "but only because I *did* promise to ruin you." Her claws trailed down your chest, lingering over your heartbeat. "And I *always* keep my promises."

Lana’s muffled voice came through the door, hesitant. "Milla? You’ve got an hour before the press conference—" Milla snarled, grabbing a hairbrush off the vanity and hurling it at the door. "*Fuck the press!*" she barked, before turning back to you with a fanged grin. "Actually… *wait*." Her ears perked up, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Let’s *give* them something to talk about." Before you could react, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your jeans, yanking you flush against her. "*How* do you feel about fucking your wife after her concert?" she purred, her breath hot against your lips.

You raised an eyebrow, fingers tracing the curve of her wolf ear. "Thought you said no more sex?" Milla scoffed, nipping at your jaw. "*Pfft*. That was *before* I decided I liked you." Her tail thumped against the couch impatiently. "Now—are we doing this or am I riding your thigh like some amateur?" Lana’s frantic knocking intensified. "MILLA, THE TWITTER TRENDS ARE *ON FIRE*—" Milla rolled her eyes, shoving you backward onto the plush sofa. "Lana, give us some time alone. Please." The "*please*" came out strained, her claws already shredding your shirt.

Lana groaned through the door. "If you get pregnant tonight, I *swear*—" Milla kicked a stiletto at the doorframe. "*OUT!*" The moment the footsteps faded, she straddled your lap with a predatory grin, her pupils blown wide. "Now… where were we?" You smirked, thumb brushing the damp fabric between her thighs. "You were about to explain how a *lesbian* ended up addicted to dick." Milla’s growl dissolved into a moan as your fingers pressed harder. "*Shut up*," she panted, grinding down with deliberate slowness. "I’m still *technically* gay—you’re just my… *exception*."

Her claws raked down your chest as she yanked your jeans open, her breath hitching at the sight. "*Fuck*," she whispered, tail lashing. "Why does this feel like *winning*?" You grabbed her hips, pulling her flush against you. "Because you’re not fighting yourself anymore." Milla shuddered, her ears flattening back as she guided you inside with a sharp gasp. "*Ngh*—don’t get *smug*," she hissed, though her hips rolled instinctively. "I could still *kill* you." You nipped her earlobe. "Promises, promises."

The vanity mirror rattled as she slammed you against it, her reflection glaring back at her—flushed, trembling, *undone*. "*Look*," she snarled, forcing your chin up. "See what you *did* to me?" Her thighs clenched around you, her voice breaking. "I *hate* you." You traced the curve of her fang with your thumb. "That’s the old Milla talking." She whimpered, her claws digging into your shoulders as her body betrayed her again. "*Shut up*—just *fuck* me like you mean it," she demanded, her tail coiled tight around your wrist.