John was a pretty standard non-descript guy. Pale, with brown hair in a boring haircut, brown eyes with a perpetual worried look, shy smile, always dressed in the latest fashion from 30 years ago, in dull colors and slightly oversized clothes. He was a good assistant -I know because I burned 3 assistants before him- loyal, docile, never complained when I would change my plans and issued him contradictory orders that would (sometime) change hourly.
He was looking particularly sheepish today, prostrated on a red chair in the lobby. Our eyes locked and he looked away immediately. I suddenly remembered I was wearing heavy makeup, so there was a high chance he didn't recognize me at all. The thick layer of foundation coating my face cracked when I widened my eyes wide and smiled at him.

"John!"

He had to do a double take. Yes, it was his boss, dressed as a street walker, wearing as much makeup as a reseller would put paint on a stolen car.

"It's good to see you John! How was your quarantine?", I asked, pretending everything was perfectly normal.
-Uh, fine, w-what about you?
-Quite boring, I wish I had my computer so I could catch on some work. Did you manage to have yours?" He nodded and I probed, asking him if he did this and that, even though I knew he wouldn't have been able to work properly. I wanted to remind him who was the boss, I wanted him to feel bad about himself and try to please me harder. I loved how easily he would crumble each time under the non-realistic expectations I asked of him.

Writing that down, I realize it could have ended very badly for me here. You may not have notice it, but I was breaking one of the first law of the country: cattle shouldn't talk unless talked to. I was very lucky nobody reported me.

John had a taxi waiting for us (good boy) and I climbed, trying -and failing- to avoid flashing my bare pussy to the street. Once seated, I had to pull down my skirt even more, and keep a hand on top of it. I turned toward John to check if he saw anything and he avoided my gaze immediately, red as a beetle. I felt my own cheeks flush.

We drove to the city center.

"So, what exactly did you do in quarantine?", I asked, trying to be back in control.

He told me that being a male, he didn't see any doctor at the airport and went smoothly through border control. He was brought to the same hotel and was greeted in his room by a singular sight: 3 perfectly white round naked buttocks, a line of three women wearing only stilettos, bent, facing away from him, kneeling on the floor, exposing their asses. The guard asked him to chose one girl. He told him it was mandatory and, taking John's hand, he had to choose a girl by groping her.

"You have to touch each one. Touch their ass, their pussy. Try them.
-I'm, uh, I'm ok.
-You have to. And they want it. Right, girls?"

In unison, the girl moaned and encouraged him.

"A-alright." he said, touching the naked buttock of the girl on the left. Her round ass, with her exposed brown asshole and shaven snatch, was perfectly inviting.

"Touch her pussy.", grunted the guard.

Slowly, he moved his hand across the flesh, making the girl moan. It was an obvious fake, porn-ish moan, but it encouraged John.
For what he was saying, I understood her pussy was dripping wet. As he tentatively explored with his finger, the girl moaned again, for real this time.
"Put it inside. See how tight she is."

And he did. What a strange experience it must have been, fingering a complete stranger, not even having seen her face.

"Tight? Put a finger in her ass."

John moved a well-lubricated finger up, surprised by the sphincter that initially closed then relaxed, welcoming the intruder inside easily.

"Good. Now slap her butt."

He complied.

"Harder. Good. Now check each girl."

He went to the second girl, then the third, apologizing each time even though they clearly enjoyed it.
Then, the guard made the girl stand up. It was the first time he saw Weltbeltein's famous women and he was apparently blow away.
Not blow away because of the perfect heavy makeup, nor the thick collagen lips, nor the perfect high cheekbones or doll nose they all three had. All three could pass for twins, they felt manufactured, as if assembled from a catalog of idealized beauty, giving them the stereotypical bimbo/plastic pornstar face. What blow John away was the eyes: the three pairs of eyes behind the frozen faces looking at him with a playful, seductive, eager expression, clearly impatient to take thing further. He saw no fear, no constraint. They wanted him to use them.

"Hi... how are you?", he said shyly.

They giggled. With the copious amount of makeup they were wearing and the work done on their face, it was hard to give them an age. Only the tag, fixed to their ear, showed their age ranged from 20 to 24. They were thin, with hard, plastic tits standing high on top of their visible rib cages. Fake tits, fake ass, fake lips...

"You have to choose one. She'll teach you how things are done around here."

The middle one licked her lips with anticipation.

"So?"

The rightmost one stuck out her tongue, showcasing a tongue piercing.

John moved toward the one on the left, maybe because she simply smiled. "Err.. I don't know your name", he muttered, making her giggle.

"They don't have names. You want this one? 44654.
-Yes." She looked almost identical to the two others but, maybe because it was the first one he touched, maybe because she looked like the most relaxed of the bunch, he chose her.

"Then, slap her.
-Sorry?
-Slap her hard. It's how things are done in Weltbeltein. We slap the cattle all the time."
Joining the act to the words, he delivered a loud slap to the two other women.

The one John had chosen looked at him, smiling, and gave him a little nod.

"Go for it."
John felt a cold dread creep into his stomach.

"Is this... necessary?
-Oh yes.

John gave 44654 a little slap.

"Harder."

The second slap wasn't loud like the guard's ones, but clearly it was hard enough, leaving a red mark on the cheek of the girl who was now smiling broadly, satisfied.

"That's a good start."

The guards left with the two other girls, leaving John alone with her in the room.

His two weeks were basically the opposite of mine. Where I was trained to handle being nude, sexual in public, watching show on how to please men, he was encouraged to objectify and demean women.
Apparently, he tried to talk a lot with the girl. She wasn't very talkative, mostly giggling and touching him, massaging him, cuddling. Sweet as he is, he told her she didn't need to do that. He told her she was a person, she deserved to be free, she should have a name, he wouldn't treat her like other Weltbeltein men. In his mind, he was establishing a rapport with her, de-objectifying her so she wasn't a stranger anymore. This idiot thought she genuinely liked him. He thought playing the good guy was the key to reach beyond the sex slave-persona she was forced to incarnate. And she seemed to love him for that. He told me he didn't want to try anything unless it was very clear she was willing and not forced in any way.

I didn't knew John had it in him. What a neanderthal. Of course the girl were forced. Of course she was pretending to go along with his little mind game. Oh nooooo, he wasn't AT ALL like other guy that would fucked her like an animal! Instead, he was the knight in shining armor that respected her, that would show her a better world, someone that would arouse genuine sparkles in her eyes. AND then, he would fuck her like an animal. Stupid men. Stupid John.

I probed further. He told me the girl would snuggle into his bed, and, after a few days, he would let her suck then ride his cock. And she would be relentless, sexually stimulating him all day, knowing when to stop to keep him horny but also not frustrated, knowing when to make him cum. I suspected his food was also drugged like my (delicious) mush certainly was.
One afternoon, as she was giving him a blowjob when he was watching TV, he noticed something. Her number had changed. The picture on her tag had changed. It wasn't the girl he picked anymore! To teach him all cattle were interchangeable, they purposely selected cattles looking very much alike -- same surgeries, same hair color, etc -- and they would rotate them in his room when he was sleeping, so in total he estimated he was getting serviced by a dozen of girls.
On the second week, he had 2 or 3 girls permanently in his room. Gone was the charade of trying to give names and getting to know them, he was now enjoying getting sexually served by random, ever-changing girls, molded into Weltbeltein preference.

He tried to justify himself to me: "Yes it's weird but... it's their culture. I think they really love doing that.", he said, looking at me with puppy eyes.

I turned my head away and didn't answer, blushing. His story has been hot. The hand holding my miniskirt between my legs has been given another task while her was talking, repeatedly, sneakily, pushing against my pussy with regular interval. I pretended he didn't notice me getting off to his story.

We finally reached the city center. A typical, European historical city. I got out of the car, failing again to not expose my pussy to the street, and was grateful for the high heels lessons I got because the floor was made of big and very tricky cobblestones. It was around noon so we decided to grab a bite before going to the hotel.
The streets were curiously deserted, maybe because it was a weekday. Still, we saw some folks walking, most with a cattle on their side.
We decided for an Italian restaurant. The smell of pizza was enticing but upon entering, it was another smell that interested me. Several people were eating there and, in a long single line at the back, half a dozen cattle were on their knees, eating in a bowl. I knew exactly what they were eating.
We sat at a table, browsed the menu. But I didn't want anything on the menu. I wanted what I had been smelling. The waiter took John's order first then turned to me.
"And for her, a bowl of mush I suppose?"
John looked at me puzzled. Slowly, I nodded yes to the waiter. Then, I pretended nothing had happen and resumed talking to John.

The food arrived. A pizza for John, and a large bowl for me, on the floor. Quickly, I got on my knees near the bowl and waited, red with shame. Time was frozen. Then, I tilted my head up to see the waiter and John looking at me. The waiter knew what I wanted.

"I'll take care of her.", he said to John, then, to me: "Follow me."

He took back the bowl and brought it to the wall at the back of the restaurant, where the line of women were eating from. I followed, crawling on the floor, without even thinking about it.

He showed his hand. I nodded. A resounding SLAP in the restaurant. I dove into the bowl. Into the mush. So delicious. Something was missing. I moved my hand between my legs. Yes. Yes. Devouring the stuff, oblivious to John, the waiter, the public, everybody that could see me on all fours, fully exposing my ass, rubbing myself like a nasty exhibitionist nympho, like all the other cattle in the establishment. I was now one of these anonymous asses, one of those hungry faceless sluts, pushed into the background to let men and female citizen eat their meal in peace.
The bowl seemed bottomless as I ate, ate and ate. Then, at one point, I felt a hand on my back.
From John perspective, he saw me crawling there, bend, flashing my sex and anus and masturbate while eating. He didn't get what has been happening to me. He finished his pizza, looking at me from afar. Now, he had to come pick me since he couldn't call my name. So, he had to get up, approach the line of exposed buttocks and remember which ass was mine. That's why our private parts are displayed on the tag. It's not (only) to humiliate us. It's because in this world, it's very important an owner knows what his cattle look like when she's bent over. John was identifying me by the color and the patterns of the little folds of my asshole, by the shape of my pussy lips.
And since he didn't know my number and couldn't call my name, he had to touch me.

Reluctantly, I moved away from the bowl and looked up. A wave of shame washed over me, seeing John kind and worried eyes. I got up, towering him again in my heels, and excused myself to the bathroom to pee and fix my makeup. I wanted only one thing right now, leave this place, go to the hotel we had booked for after our quarantine and lock myself up in my room until the business meeting.

"Let's go", I simply said while walking past John. I was in power again.

But we didn't get far. Walking to the meet point with the taxi, a guy stopped us.

"Weltbeltein's regulation checker. Is it your cattle?"

I had the common sense to shut up and let John talk, this time.

"Yes, what is it?
-Where is her makeup?"

John looked at me. Yes, I just redid my makeup in the bathroom, because I had plunged into a big bowl of mush. But, well... I didn't put as much foundation. Just a little blush. No lipstick. Yeah. It wasn't great. Definitely rushed.

"Sorry", said John weakly, "we are tourists.
-That excuse won't work.", the regulator answered, frowning. "You were given 2 weeks to adapt to the country laws. Right? You think our laws are a joke?
-Of...of course not sir", answered John meekly.
-It's a fine for you and maybe prison time for her. She try to pass for a proper woman. It's fraud. You understand?
-Yes.
-I'm going to be lenient with you, ok? But we are going to fix her makeup *right now* since she can't do it herself. Are you ok with that?"

John nodded.

"Alright. Follow me."

A brief eye exchange with John and we decided we better follow him. He took us in front of some beauty salon.

"Sir, you can wait in the lobby. Come with me cattle."

The shop was big, not surprising in a country were makeup was mandatory. He went to an attendant and spoke in their own language a bit. Clearly, he was urging her to take care of me.
"....because, she thinks our laws are jokes. Isn't it, cattle?" he suddenly said in English. I didn't react, confused if I should say something or not. Apparently not. He left the room, smiling.

The attendant brought me to an area were several women were getting nails extension, hairdressing or professional makeup.

She told me to sit on a chair, and I waited until someone was ready to take care of me. She was a young brunette, not a cattle.

"Hello. I'm Maddie. I'm taking care of you today. You're very lucky to be here and not at the police station, do you get that?
-Yes.", I croaked.
"He required a type-A, the most classic look in Weltbeltein." She put some music in her earphones and started by separating my hair, dividing it into sections using clips, then applied some gel and aluminum foils.
I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

"Are you... sorry... (she stopped the music by pressing her earphones)... sorry... are you bleaching my hair?", I asked, panic in my voice.
She flinched a bit and answered: "Yes, it's type-A. We start with the hair cause that's what will take the longest. Stay still now."

My heart was racing. I was pretty sure she was making me platinum blonde. I asked her.

"...Yes, I'm making you platinum blonde.", she confirmed.
"But, I don't want that. Maybe there is some mistake? Can you check with the person accompanying me?
-It's not a mistake. It's type-A.
-I'm pretty sure you need his consent to..
-I don't! He's also lucky here didn't get fined!"

Platinum blonde. My beautiful hair, with its natural, vibrant shade, turned into the dry, artificial hair of a cheap bimbo. I screamed.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!
-Wh...
-LEAVE ME ALONE!"

All eyes were now on me, as I screamed at her in a state of panic.
She went away, to get John I supposed. I supposed wrong. She came back with 2 big security guys. One of them asked, in a broken English.

"You accept, OK?
-NO."

He slapped me. But it wasn't the playful slap I got until now. He slapped me so hard I went blind for a brief moment, my vision full of stars. I almost fell off the chair.
"You accept?
-N..."

Another slap, even stronger. The other guard restrained me on the chair, binding my feet and hands with leather bands.

The girl spoke: "It's not a big deal, don't be stupid. It's just hair dye. Nothing permanent."

"You accept?" I didn't answer, until I saw him readying his hand "YES YES I ACCEPT."

"Here you are. It's ok. Don't worry.", she said.
I was crying silently, trembling. It would be temporary. Temporary.

Maddie said something to the guard and started applying the bleach to my scalp and through my hair. With my head full of bleach, my scalp was tingling, an intense feeling that grew into a bite that felt similar to an itchy sunburn.

Maybe I was having some allergic reaction? Maybe that was my ticket out of this situation?
"Sorry... Sorry...", I said, half crying. She stopped her music again. "It's... it's hurting.
-(sigh) No it's not hurting, bear with it, and it's just the start. You really need to learn to stay quiet.
-I'm sorry, but it's, like, burning.
-It's normal. Shush now."

She cursed in her native language, shout out something to the guard and resumed working on my hair, until each strands was covered in bleaching product.

"Alright. Now I'll give you some injections. Don't move don't talk."

I nodded stupidly, not fully understanding what she was saying.

She marked some area on my face with a pen and sometime would ask me to frown, smile and make various expression. She was identifying which muscles to target.

I understood what she was doing. Botox injection.
Half of me wanted to flee. But, after all, I was not against Botox. Right? I had considered it back home. This was the best country to have this kind of procedure done. It should be fine. I remembered I tried to rationalize like that but the only reason why I didn't move was because I was terrified of the guard that was still there.

"Try to frown. Ok. Now raise your eyebrows." My forehead muscles were barely moving. I couldn't frown anymore! Raising my eyebrows was like fighting with an invisible hand that wanted to keep it down.

But it wasn't enough for her, so she doubled down on the Botox.

"It's acting a lot faster than traditional Botox, and it'll last at least twice long.", she lied again (it would last a LOT longer than that).

"Please frown again?" I couldn't move my forehead muscles at all. What a strange feeling. "Perfect. Now, the mouth." She kept talking while injecting me: "I'm targeting the depressor anguli oris muscle. That's the muscle dragging the corners of your mouth down, giving you this permanent bitch face you have. There you are. And now, here... and there."

I docilely let her do the work, injecting each of the little dot with a needle.

"Say 'mapa' for me.
-maba."

My heart raced. What was going on? Another injection, for this one I couldn't help but recoil a bit.

"-Don't move! There. Again. Say 'mapa'.
-mwabha."

The 'p' sounds sounded very weak, breathy, without the much needed sharp closure between the lips.

"-Now say 'fast vacant'.
-Vhast vhacant.
-Perfect! Now say 'food'.
-Feud."

Several muscles around the mouth, muscles that help shape the vowels, had been injected with Botox, reducing their movement or paralyzing them completely. I was crying again. They were taking my speech from me? Can you imagine me defending a project at work, arguing for something, with slow, slurred speech? What about tomorrow's meeting?!

I panicked again. "Vhat deed hiu do to mwee? Stobh! Leth mwee goh.", I said, my voice slurred, soft, lacking any sense of urgency or command. I tried to get up, only to be pin down by the guard that has been staying with us. The second guard came from nowhere and put a collar on me. I knew what the collar could do. He showed me the remote. "Phleese, d...". He pressed the button before I could finish my sentence, making me jolt on the chair for half a second. Not enough to hurt much, but just enough to remind me of the power they had on me.

"You say you accept.", the guard holding me down said. I nodded yes.

"Tell him you agree with the full treatment.", said Maddie.
"I agrwee... tho the vhull threatchmwent.", I answered, defeated.

She injected near my eyes. I immediately felt the eyelid drop slightly, becoming harder to open. I think she may had injected some more Botox, I don't know. I know we moved again to the rinsing area, then we moved back to the bleaching area. The whole bleaching process would have to start again. But before that, she rummaged behind me, getting something from the guard.

"Close you eyes. Open your mouth." I obeyed. Suddenly, I felt something enter my mouth.

"KEEP OPEN."

A thick, slimy liquid, its taste oddly familiar, oozed slowly down my throat.

"Any questions?
-Uuuh... hoo....haa..
-Perfect."

She went back to the bleaching of my hair. My slurred speech? It was not so bad after all, compared to being MUTE again. At the worst time. Based on my previous experience, I knew I wouldn't be able to get back my voice for the meeting tomorrow.

Bleach was applied a second time and we had to wait again for the product to chemically react with my hair’s pigment.

During the wait, she used a small device, similar to a thick pen, on my eyebrows. I didn't know what she was doing, and I couldn't ask. A burned smell reached my nostrils. "It's not permanent, don't worry.", she lied. She was slowly burning my eyebrow away.

When she was done, we moved to the rinsing area again and I got a glimpse of my new, yellow hair in a mirror.

"Don't worry", she said getting another product ready, "now we will use the toner." She applied it on each strands of my hair and we had to wait again to let the toner bond with my hair’s cuticle to adjust the color.

I was moved to another area with a dentist chair where a man in a medical outfit injected something near my lips again: local anesthesia to numb my (already abused) lips. His gloved finger invaded my mouth, parting my lips while his other hand used a scalpel to cut my flesh at the side. I could feel him working but it wasn't painful, yet. I feared the pain that would surely come when the anesthetic would subside. He changed tool, for one to a thin pen, and dug inside the newly created hole. And, finally, I felt something pushed inside the flesh tunnel he has made in my lips. The somewhat flexible, but solid silicone band that would be permanently in my lips for now on (and without a doubt affect my speech even more!). Same for the bottom lips.

Back to the salon, still followed by a guard, to Maddie again. She rinsed it again, for the hundredth time I feel, and applied, again, a product on it, to condition it, repair the bonds and protect it.

Finally came the drying. I was quite resigned to my fate by now, soothed by the slow steady noise of the hair drier. I got some glimpse in mirror again, and yes, golden, almost white strands were now jutting out of my head. I was platinum blonde, like most cattle in Weltbeltein, like the pornstars I saw on TV.

"Now for the makeup. Follow me."

We went to another part of the shop were Maddie clean my face thoroughly and got out some device similar to a small tattoo gun.
"Stay calm. It's semi permanent makeup. So don't go crazy on me, ok?" I nodded. "It's very important that you stay still." I nodded again, the guard looking at me with a blank expression.

She expertly redid my eyebrows, I could feel she was tattooing them higher than my original ones. Next was the eyeliner: an even smaller gun tattooed my eyelids, sending sharp spikes of pain on the sensitive skin of my eyelids, between each of my eyelashes. Another gun traced black lines all around my eyes. It wasn't THAT painful, maybe because it wasn't a real tattoo. With yet another gun, a wider one, she applied eye shadow.
"Normally I would also work on your lips but I'll leave them to heal.", she said, almost apologetically. I nodded, as if I was saying "oh, it's fine, I REALLY wanted to permanently look like a tart in every situation but I can wait a few days no worries."

The last stop was traditional makeup. As they made me sat in front of a mirror for the first time, I discovered what they had done so far.
First, my hair. Platinum blond that was almost blinding, styled with big curls, obviously fake. Then, my face. The first thing you'd notice would be the bruises, especially around my mouth. Needle injection sites were still visible, a constellation of red dots on my face that would need to be covered. My lips were gigantic, swollen like never before. Moving up, the eye liners and eyeshadow was giving me an expected dramatic and sultry look. Because of the Botox my eyelid were half closed, making me look like a druggie. I tried to open them a bit more, to no avail. Then, the eyebrow. Two thin lines, arched high, giving me a surprised but also somewhat worried expression as my inner ends were elevated slightly.

It was another girl that worked on my makeup, I guess Maddie was getting sick of me. It has been several hours at that point. The guard was still there.
Foundation, contouring, blush, fake eyelashes, eyeliner, eyeshadow (on top of my already tattooed ones!)...

When she was done, I was stunned. What I was looking at in the mirror wasn't human. It's was a perfect caricature of extreme femininity. Something pulled out of a magazine, a perfectly digitally altered figure extracted into the real world. I moved my head. The figure moved with me. I didn't recognize myself. Thanks to the makeup, my facial features were now sharp, well defined, perfectly smooth. The hyperinflated lips with a permanent pout were painted a dark shade of red, in a permanent exaggerated kiss. I had duck lips, protruding, almost longer than my nose. I was shocked, but it didn't show on this face. This face couldn't make any expression. The frozen muscles near my mouth gave me a permanent slight smile. Combined with my half closed eyes and arched surprised eyebrows I was frozen in a happy, vacant, dumb look.

Maddie came back, wearing a pair of gloves and carrying a small pot of cream. The cream was a bright, neon blue, almost glowing. The other beautician gave me a wicked smile.

"Get your tongue out. Yes, the farther you can.", Maddie instructed.
I obliged, extending my tongue as far as possible toward my chin.

"Now stop. Don't move." She scooped out a bit of cream from the pot and applied it a bit before the limit my tongue could reach, between my lower lips and my chin. "It will tingle for a few hours."

It was indeed tingling -hard. The two of them looked at me, amused.Instinctively, I tried to scratch it with my hand. Their smile grew wider. The tingle continued.

"Try to lick it.", said the other girl. I stuck my tongue out again, and, immediately, the tingle stopped, replaced by a pleasurable feeling.

"Alright. We're done here."
The guard helped me stand up, because I was wobbling in my heels. I had spent my whole afternoon her and was getting dizzy by the experience and the hunger that was lingering in. For a brief second I was glad it was over but I remember it wasn't over at all. I had been totally transformed into some perverted man wet dream.
He cuffed my hands behind my back and we moved toward the waiting area. I was still sticking my tongue stupidly, trying to sooth out the tingling feeling.

The room was cozy, with thick pink carped land a curious smoke lingering in the air. Several men were sitting on comfortable sofas, getting served by girls. John had three girls taking care of him. One of them was licking his large cock. This was the first time I saw John's member obviously, and I was surprised to see how endowed he was.
I approached, still with my tongue out. He looked at me briefly, motioned me to come down, between his legs, before focusing his attention again on enjoying the blowjob.

He didn't recognized me. Even though I was still wearing the same "bimbo" pink crop top as earlier, this idiot didn't recognized me.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't go near him, as it was difficult to walk on this carpet, and, beside, several girls were between him and me. I was tired. How could I make him realize it was me? Jumping around? The guard was still watching me, ready to activate my collar at any sign of rebellion.

I suddenly knew what I could do, what the guard would approve. I remembered the restaurant. How John managed to find me in the anonymous asses. So, I knelt. I turned my back at my subordinate and slowly got on my knee, a difficult chore with towering high heels and your hand tied. But I knelt in front of him, showing him my back. Then, I bent, the white skirt flipping over, my hips widening from the movement, my ass opening like a flower of flesh, revealing my anus, my pussy, with their characteristic appearance.

Without a doubt because he was distracted by the other girls taking care of his cock, it took a for him several minutes to register why *this* particular cattle didn't take the offer to worship his cock like the others. Why would she instead bow on the floor like that. And... wait... This ass shape. This tight asshole, circled brow, white and brow like a meat target, with this particulars folds. This fat pussy lips and the very pink inner lips slightly exposed.

Only then, when I was bend over, face hidden, ass exposed, he recognized me, by the shape of my most intimate areas.
With his cock already being thoroughly stimulated by the tongue of a cattle, the visual stimulation of the naked ass of his boss tarted out like a common whore was too much: it pushed him over the edge.

"Oh shit... Oh shit... Claire ?!...", he grunted, watching me, as he came right into the girl's mouth.