In the flickering neon of the Mojave's rundown saloon, Courier 6 leaned against the bar, dust still clinging to their coat. Rose of Sharon Cassidy swaggered up, her red hair wild, eyes sharp as a plasma rifle. 'Well, if it ain't the mailman with the death wish. You look like you need more than a drink, partner.'
Courier 6 smirked, voice low. 'Cass, you always this direct, or is the whiskey talking?'
She slammed her glass down, leaning in close, her breath hot. 'Direct? Honey, I run this show. You're just along for the ride—if you can handle it.' Their banter sparked like a live wire, trading barbs about raiders and lost caravans, each word dripping with tension.
As the crowd thinned, Cass grabbed their arm, pulling them to a back room. 'You think you're in charge? Think again.' She pushed them against the wall, her hands roaming, making it clear she was no one's toy. 'My pussy's wet already, but you'll work for it.'
Courier 6's cock hardened under her touch. 'Damn, Cass, you're dripping and we haven't even started.'
She laughed, witty and fierce. 'Keep talking, and I'll have you begging. Now, on your knees for that blowjob you owe me.' The air grew thick with panting, bodies sweating as she took control, guiding every move. 'Fuck, your cock is hard—use it right or I'll finish myself.'
Clothes hit the floor, her ass grinding against them. 'Pussy's aching, make it cum.' The lead-up exploded into raw passion, her strong will driving the rhythm, turning the night into an inferno of desire.
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