The rain fell softly outside Lucy's mansion windows that evening, a gentle patter that mirrored the steady rhythm of Juvia's heartbeat. Two and a half months had passed since the crimson cheongsam had first hung in her wardrobe like a promise. Training had become their shared language—mornings of sweat and magic, afternoons of quiet recovery, evenings of lingering glances that neither yet named. Juvia sat cross-legged on the wide window seat in the guest room Lucy had given her, knees drawn up beneath a simple silk slip. The golden choker rested warm against her throat, its tiny engraving hidden but ever-present against her skin. Celestial Property.
She closed her eyes, letting the slow burn inside her uncoil. No one saw this part. Not Lucy. Not the guild. Only the private theater of her mind, where submission bloomed like water lilies in still depths.
In her fantasy, the training hall was empty, moonlight slicing through the high windows. Juvia stood in the center wearing nothing but the crimson cheongsam. The side slits gaped wide—deliberately higher than Lucy had adjusted them in the boutique—exposing the full curve of her hips and the soft, trembling skin of her inner thighs. The high collar pressed gently against her throat, a reminder of ownership. Lucy circled her slowly, robe open just enough to reveal the heavy, thickening length of her futanari cock, already half-hard and glistening at the tip.
"You've trained so hard today," Fantasy-Lucy purred, voice low and commanding, the same elegant tone she used during real sparring but laced with velvet dominance. "Look at you. So strong. So ready to surrender that strength to me." Juvia's imagined self shivered as Lucy's fingers traced the exposed slit of the dress, brushing bare thigh without quite touching where she ached. "Kneel."
Juvia dropped to her knees in the fantasy without hesitation, the silk pooling around her like spilled blood. Her hands rested obediently on her thighs, palms up, eyes lifted in perfect submission. She didn't speak unless spoken to. That was the rule in every version of this daydream—Lucy's rules, unspoken yet absolute. The dominant celestial mage stepped closer, thick cock brushing Juvia's cheek, leaving a warm streak of precum that Juvia longed to lick away. "Good girl," Fantasy-Lucy whispered, threading fingers through blue hair and guiding her mouth forward. "Open for me. Show me how well you take what you need."
Juvia's real body clenched at the thought. Her slip grew damp between her legs as the fantasy deepened. She imagined the weight of Lucy's cock on her tongue—thick, veined, stretching her lips wide while Lucy praised her in that soft, authoritative voice. You're mine to use, Juvia. My perfect water mage. So wet already, and I haven't even touched you yet. In the fantasy, Juvia moaned around the shaft, tears of overwhelmed pleasure pricking her eyes as Lucy fucked her mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, never rushing, always in control. The submissive tide inside her roared: Yes. Use me. Fill me. I exist for this.