Inspired Planeswalking (Worm/Multicross): Chapter 9 Lewd: Madison 1 (fix: v1)

After the series of culture shocks, I finally gave Madison what she wanted, and for about half an hour, we talked about capes, classic movies, and her excited rambles about celebrities I mostly didn't recognize.

However, during the conversation, I firmly drew a line around my personal life and, with phrases like "it's for another time" or "something like that," made it clear that my participation in small talk didn't mean I would tell her everything she wanted to know.

In part because I don't have a fucking clue about many things myself. Who is my ParaMagic's favorite hero? What the fuck is the ParaMagic?

When we had almost finished our desserts, I quickly summarized the first stage of the date in my head.

During our online chat, the combination of her inexperience, disorientation, and greed had funneled her self-deception and overhyped me in her own mind.

Which was why she actually came to the restaurant despite the risks. Albeit, from her perspective, such risks weren't substantial, because — as was shown by some googling — ABB's "Farm" was almost certainly known and used predominantly within ABB's inner circle.

After two days of reevaluating the chat, Madison had come to the restaurant more skeptical and confrontational. The latter was evident in her surprisingly vicious attempts to defend social norms.

But since I never gave her a clean victory — aside from perhaps the last somewhat apologetic half hour — she mostly reinforced her earlier overhype of me.

The rest was banal. Men's confidence works on women the same way as women's nude body on men's.

By continuing my pressure with confidence, I aroused her, and because aroused women tend to be even more submissive, by proving her inexperience, I achieved full handing over of the leading role towards me.

With the activation of all related instincts, that right now yelled at her: "Don't be stupid, don't provoke someone who is at least twice as strong as you when he is highly emotional, and whose support soon will be crucial for your survival!"

Which she VERY well heard and obeyed because during her life her "Others" and "Fear" so much interfered with her personality development, that they made her VERY conformist, and therefore instinctive.

Since conformism is about similarity, and the most similar parts of people are instincts.

Which she, the smart girl she was, rather quickly figured out.

Others and Passion? Fawn.

Fear? Freeze and Flight.

Anger? Fight.

Overall, as with the chat, the date ended up far messier and more aggressive than I had planned. According to the Self-Therapy, for the same main reason I had gone on the date in the first place: accumulated stress.

Still, despite the rough edges, I successfully reaffirmed her compliance and began "kidnapping the hyper-normal stabilizer of the Trio into my own hierarchy."

Madison was through and through a social and hierarchical person, so neither money nor career would accomplish such a transition. Therefore, in exchange for the risks to her social standing at Winslow High, and in exchange for part of her social norms, I began offering her what she had the least of, and what was somewhat opposite to her nature - originality and authenticity.

And now I should add a pleasure to them.

⸻⸻x⸻⸻

As we left the restaurant, I took Madison by the hand and led her toward the nearby small amusement park.

After wandering around for a few minutes, I had to admit that my plans for rides, movie theater, and, even more so, some kind of changing booths had been extremely optimistic. The place was too small, cheap, and crowded with families to be even remotely interesting.

"I didn't think it'd be this crowded, so that leaves only my car. Come on," I apologetically said to Madison and headed toward the parking lot.

"Car? What do you mean? And where are we going after that?" Madison asked anxiously, trying a little to slow me down with her hand.

"Nowhere. Have you never watched movies before?"

"What... what exactly do... do you want to do in the car?" she asked quietly, stumbling over the words.

I turned and looked at her. Since leaving the restaurant, she'd been fairly compliant, but understandably cautious, without much enthusiasm or playfulness.

"Relax. Nothing you wouldn't want," I said, letting go of her hand and continuing ahead.

"Hey. You know you can't treat women like that!" she complained after catching up to me, sounding mildly offended but not truly serious.

'Oh, sorry! From this moment on, I'll definitely start behaving in exactly the way your subconscious interprets as weakness, so you either lose interest in me or start provoking me to prove my confidence and strength,' I thought sarcastically.

"That's not how you treat wives, and sometimes girlfriends. Unless they're into this sort of treatment... and there are A LOT of women who like proofs of powerful security for them and their children over everything else. Even more than reassurances about security's reliability."

After a short pause spent decoding my words and clearly thinking about the most grating interpretation, Madison asked in an offended voice, "Then what am I to you if not girlfriend?"

"You're... a volunteer. Yeah, that's a beautiful word for our situation," I replied half-jokingly.

"A volunteer for what?" Madison shot back.

I stopped and looked at the visibly nervous girl. Then I slowly stepped closer and gently kissed her on the lips. She froze; mentally and physically unsure how to react.

"Just a volunteer until further notice," I said, took her hand again, and pulled her after me, essentially repeating what had happened with countless generations of our ancestors.

⸻⸻x⸻⸻

On the way there, I spotted a pretty girl, slowed my pace, and leaned toward Madison.

"See that girl? The one in the blue jacket?" I asked.

"Yeah?" Madison replied uncertainly.

"Take a good look at her."

Madison didn't argue and studied the girl until we passed her.

"By Tuesday, I want you to write a fanfic with the following premise: ‘On the way here, I offered you ten thousand dollars to sleep with her within the next eight hours. You accepted, and...' The more realistic story you make - the better your gift will be. You understand?"

"Yeah? But why?" Madison asked in confusion.

"It's simple. Remember what I told you. Others. Passion. Fear." I gave her a moment to draw her own conclusions. "Right now, your Others are useless to me. Just disposable conformity — the kind that, according to you, I could get from thirty percent of girls your age.

But I don't need that. I need your Others working for me, preferably in ways that develop your Passion and reduce your Fear.

And scenarios like this are the easiest way to do it. I tell you to find me a beautiful girl, give you money — or, on hard mode, give nothing — and you go find me a girl that matches my tastes."

Madison slowed her pace, experiencing another short circuit in her brain.

"Why?" she repeated automatically.

"For the same reason, you want me to answer as many of your questions as possible and pay as much attention to you as possible. Because men — at many of them — are wired for such things and want them. And you will help me with this through your own talents."

"Is that all you want from me?" she asked AGAIN in an offended tone.

'Yikes, Madison, who around you is vulnerable to this kind of thing? Obviously, it isn't Sophia,' I thought.

I stopped and looked her in the eyes.

"I'm not going to tell you everything I want, because the list is very long. I will only tell you what I don't want.

I don't want what just happened. Your greed for my freedom and for who I am.

Maybe after many years together, your 'small attempts to make me better' would kill this part of me along with most of the things you like in me right now, but before this sad moment, I don't want to hear about it. Do you understand?" I said sternly, but without heat.

"Yes," she answered softly, slightly mesmerized by my stern gaze.

"Good girl," I said, patting her hair. She short-circuited again for a few seconds, then followed after me with a stupid smile.

'Yeah, daddy girls, she is.'

⸻⸻x⸻⸻

When we reached the car, I carefully looked it over again. It was parked in the far corner of the lot. In front, boxed in on two sides by a store's walls that shielded the windshield from view. And the rear windows had an opaque black tint.

'Perfect,' I thought.

At first, I climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and turned on the heater.

Then I took off my jacket and sports coat and tossed them onto the front seat. Leaving myself wearing only a turtleneck and jeans. After that, I opened the left rear door, crawled to the right side of the backseat, and beckoned suspiciously watching me Madison. "Get in."

"Y-you promised that you wouldn't do anything I don't want..." Madison said without really asking a question. There was a mix of apprehension and anticipation in her voice, though less than dreamy detachment.

Asking predominantly out of mechanistic propriety rather than anything else. Which was honestly a little amusing. So much anger and even hostility whenever I violated social norms, as if it personally offended her. Yet, the equally socially unacceptable idea of making out with a complete, and somewhat antagonistic, stranger on a first date barely registered in her subconscious as taboo.

At least in the case of the best nearby suitor.

"And I'm keeping that promise. Am I doing something you don't want right now? Don't waste time, get in."

Madison glanced around and slowly climbed into the backseat, now already wearing a mischievous smile.

"Close the door," I prompted, and she obeyed.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax.

About half a minute later, I heard her exasperated voice. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Doing what?"

"All of this! Why did you close your eyes?!" she demanded.

'Essentially for this,' I thought.

"Why can't I relax in my own car?" I asked rhetorically.

"You invited me here just so I could wait while you rest?"

"Madison, I invited you here so I could do what I want. And right now I want to rest a little. So don't bother me. Here, play with this for now..." I said, pulling a pink opal brooch from my jeans and holding it out to her in my palm.

After a short pause, Madison's fingers deftly snatched it away.

"Thank you," she said after a while. "It's very beautiful. Where did you get it?"

"Madison, just relax and enjoy the moment."

"But nothing's happening..." she whined.

"That's the beauty of it. You're safe, young, healthy, pretty, and you've caught the attention of a mysterious guy.

You may not understand it, but believe me, this is almost certainly one of the peaks of your life. Just try to enjoy it."

Judging by her silence, she followed my advice.

About five minutes later, I said, "Climb into the front seat and grab the bottle of hand sanitizer gel and the wet wipes from the glove compartment. Wipe your hands and mine," I instructed without opening my eyes.

After a lot of rustling, her fingers carefully took my left hand and began wiping it with the wet wipes. Then my right.

"What now?" Madison asked after finishing.

"Do you use tampons? Yes or no."

"Y-yes."

"Have you ever put a finger inside your vagina?"

"Yes," Madison whispered quietly.

I raised my left hand and flipped my middle finger toward her.

"Put this finger inside yourself."

"b-bt..." she squeak.

"Just do it."

Madison audibly gulped, then, judging by the rustling sounds, started taking off her jacket and lifting her dress. A long pause followed, long enough for my arm to start getting tired from holding the gesture. Eventually, she aggressively swatted my hand away and, after another brief hesitation, sharply pulled it downward. Almost immediately, my fingers brushed against soft, warm silk, without the slightest hint of hair.

At first, she couldn't manage it. Then she finally figured out why and twisted my left hand at a different angle. And my middle finger finally touched the soft hotness of the steaming ring.

At first, my finger wouldn't go in just because of the size. Once the first knuckle entered, the issue became a shortage of lubrication.

Still, helped by her increasingly labored breathing and the moans — that women very often make less from pleasure than as an instinctual arousal-inducing mantra — most of my finger soon ended up, and was tightly enveloped by the warm velvet hole, almost without any squishiness. Yet also without distinct muscular cords beneath the mucosa. Gripped by size, not great tonus.

I gave her some time to adapt to the sensations. After a weak wave of contractions ran along the burrow, I continued.

"Pull my finger out, suck it, then put it back in," I ordered firmly, and immediately felt another wave of her weak vaginal contractions.

Now, what I'd just told her to do — especially considering virginal flora — was rather reckless. Basically, a D20 roll where on 2-20 nothing happened, but on a 1, another roll occurred. Where 1 already meant that she would essentially leave a pool of potential sexual partners. Perhaps for years.

But sex and its consequences were never designed to be fully safe. Historically, it was tied to the most dangerous and burdensome outcomes. So when the risk wasn't especially high, I just rolled and hoped for the best.

Madison slowly pulled my finger out of her unwilling to let me out hole, and cautiously started licking it with her tongue. At least subconsciously inviting into our relationship the most inconvenient intruder, Mr. Let's Test His Boundaries.

"I didn't say lick. I said Suck. Minus one brownie point," I said sternly.

To "punish" me, she "aggressively" shoved my finger into her mouth and, with some deniability, began chewing on it. But like always, her rebellion lasted only seconds.

After awkwardly sucking on my finger, Madison guided it back inside herself, where it slid in far more easily than the first time. But not fully.

"Push it all the way in," I told her.

Madison increased the pressure, and suddenly the finger slipped fully inside, and my palm fully covered her smoothly shaved mound.

She sharply gasped and jerked. And her fingers began stroking my hand, silently urging me to continue.

I tried finding the cervix with the tip of my finger, but, fortunately, found nothing.

"Good girl. Now fuck yourself with my finger until I tell you to stop," I said and slightly pulled my finger out.

Madison didn't need any repeats; she immediately grabbed my hand and started jerking it rapidly over her mound, forcing me to stop her at once.

"Don't shake my hand.

Move only forward and back.

Slower. Slower.

Try to feel every push in and every pull out."

Madison took my palm in both hands and began sliding my finger in and out, breathing harder and moaning louder with every stroke.

She didn't last long. After no more than a dozen thrusts, she let go of my hand, wrapped her arms around my upper arm, and began quivering inside and out. Half-moaning, half-whining against my shoulder. Hot even through the fabric of my turtleneck.

Her swinging pelvis and milking my finger tight cave tried to eject my finger, so I had to push it forward.

Madison's pelvis pressed into the seat, her inner thighs tightly squeezed my palm, and she quivered even harder, now with sounds of a dying animal. Then suddenly she went limp, aside from her even harder squeezing hands, heavy breaths, and the barely perceptible rolling of her insides.

I also stopped moving, letting her recover from somewhere 10-second orgasms. Inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, and with my left palm feeling the first traces of viscous hot mucus.

I kissed her somewhere on the top of the head and, with a touch of displeasure, said, "I told you to keep going until I said stop, didn't I?"

"mmm... cn't tw mch," Madison whined and spasmodically clenched again, obviously out of my voice. Interesting...

"Listen closely," I continued calmly and very slowly, "The intensity of an orgasm depends on the intensity of arousal multiplied by the intensity of the spasms.

The strength and duration of arousal can be increased through mental training.

And the strength and duration of the spasms through physical training.

Do you understand?"

"y-ees," she mewled.

"Start squeezing my finger with your vagina.

Softer.

Slower.

Barely noticeable.

Even less. Find a rhythm that won't tire you out. One you could potentially maintain for hours."

"L-like this?" she asked uncertainly, almost imperceptibly tightening around my finger.

"More or less,"I said with a fleeting interest in how such things will progress with Tattletale.

"I want you to do that as often as possible. To make it a reflexive and constant habit. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she answered without asking why exactly, and clearly without taking my words fully seriously. Madison wasn't a sexual creature, only someone with the potential for it, so at first, many things clearly required a lot of repetition and guidance.

To reward her, I pressed the pad of my finger upward and traced along the entire upper wall of her vagina toward the approximate location of the G-spot, making her body jerk and her hips begin to squeeze my palm.

But just like with her clit and breasts, I didn't continue outside of one-time teasing. The female body didn't have that many interesting places to explore them in one session. In that regard, female instincts were right. Though that didn't mean I didn't need to learn the approximate characteristics of her clearly responsive body.

"How do you feel?"

"Goood... it was... wery good..."

"Anything weird right now? Pain?"

"No?"

"This doesn't feel true."

"Only a very little... too hot... inside..."

"It's normal. Remember what I said about orgasms. You have a not-bad natural body, but it's... too basic so far."

"Basic? What do you mean?"

"Suppose that there is international competition about everything related to sex. People who would win in dozens of disciplines essentially don't have "basic bodies."

For example, a woman with — let's say, has a tendency toward epilepsy without epilepsy itself — who had twenty years of training to intertwine spasms from different muscle groups with orgasmic spasms. For more than 4 minutes long orgasms.

Or women who could spend five hours roleplaying a reconstruction of a complex, highly arousing scene without a single unrealistic mistake."

"You're serious?" Madison asked in disbelief.

"Fully. There are sports, extreme sports, theater, politics, and so on. Each has its own theoretical peaks. Why should similar, yet much more natural, ancient, important, pleasant, and so on, sexuality should be lesser at its peaks than sometimes its derivatives?

It isn't lesser.

It's just hidden behind, fostered by modern culture, basic convenience for men, and the risks of sex for women.

But we will talk about this later."

I shifted my body a little and held out my right hand to her, still not opening my eyes.

"Take my right palm with both of yours.

Squeeze hard.

Harder.

Now pull toward yourself.

No, don't rock the car. Don't jerk. Just pull toward yourself. With your whole weight.

Yes, like that.

Don't stop and don't let go."

Then we started playing a sort of tug-of-war with our hands, and Madison began breathing heavier and heavier, soon moaning like a whore. No surprise there. It wasn't a dozen minutes of pursuit, but even a little adrenaline for a virginal body and brain, combined with indirect vaginal stimulation, was more than enough for her.

Suddenly her legs started trembling, and her thighs quivered. She squealed as powerful jolts ran through her body, and soon began writhing in ecstasy.

Moments later, her hands abruptly let go of my right hand, knocked my left palm away from her vagina, and moved away from me.

For a while, all I could hear was a loud "ANNNGH," and as her legs kicked the backs of the front seats. After that came labored breathing mixed with quiet moans.

When she came to her senses a little, she moaned something that sounded like "why."

"Why does it feel so good?"

"wha... 'ths mooor..." she mewled.

"You don't deserve an answer," I said sternly. "I told you not to let go of my hand. Twice. Even ignoring the fact that up to this point, everything has been entirely about your pleasure."

After a pause, she gulped and quietly said, "Wh... wha do yor wnt?"

"Take off your dress, but leave the bra on," I said and, without waiting for her answer, began pulling my turtleneck over my head.

Judging by the rustle of clothes, Madison followed my example.

"I took it off," she said after a while.

"Sit next to me," I said, soon feeling her almost nude body beside me.

I quickly found her vagina with my left palm, firmly squeezed her labia majora between two fingers, and shook her burger, earning a low hum of approval from her.

Then I pressed my fingertips tightly on the sides of the labia majora, near the very bottom.

"Do you feel a distinct tickling or itching where I press?" I asked.

"No?" she moaned.

My fingers deftly opened her and evaluated her wetness. Simultaneously stimulating her Bartholin's glands, rather fractious little things.

Sometimes almost inactive. Sometimes drooled like a second mouth. Sometimes, with so large reservoirs inside that orgasmic spasms could literally make them spit streams of so-called "girl-cum," much more rarely, with the addition of watery fluid from the Skene's glands.

Madison wasn't dry, but she wasn't dripping either. Just moist. Which was fairly typical, because for lubrication purposes, nature also added "sweating" of vaginal vessels and a man's precum. So sometimes the Bartholin's glands were severely sluggish or underdeveloped, especially among girls who didn't masturbate.

I spent at least a minute massaging the Bartholin's glands, but with rather mediocre results.

Gathering the lubricant coerced from her body onto my finger, I shamelessly plunged my middle finger inside her.

'Fuck, she was tight. And hot. And because of the latter, already not really dry.

And so cozy.

The best proof of how absurd claims that virgins are the same or even worse than non-virgins.

Physically and mentally, she didn't feel like some banal "sealed wrapping" at all. Rather as one-time presentation show with a small customization proposal attached.

During our relationship, we potentially could give each other everything we could, and still feel that our relationship isn't fully perfect because our "First sex and/or infatuations means first pregnancy!" instinctual alarms were worked with other people.'

"Tell me when it starts hurting more than it feels good," I told her, and started fucking her with my finger. First with thrusting motions, then freely moving it side to side. Trying to find the limits of her hymen or her pain threshold, but finding only her moans and writhing body.

"What's the biggest thing you've ever put in your vagina?" I asked suspiciously.

"h-ha-a-ndle f-from a c-comb… s-small…" she moaned.

'Fucking twenty-first-century virgins, so little respect for proper defloration!'

Taking the situation as permission to be bolder, I pulled my finger out and started circling the entrance of her vagina with two fingers, slowly pressing them into the burning-hot, tight ring of flesh.

Madison pressed her hips into the seat and began whining even more, clearly not only from pleasure. But she didn't stop me, so I continued pressing deeper inside her, soon plunging in the first two knuckles of both fingers.

Turning slightly toward her, I quickly found her bra with my right hand and strongly squeezed her breast, which almost perfectly fit my palm. That immediately drew throaty moans, just a few more frictions, and she already gently milked my fingers. Along with an attempt to slobber over my shoulder and part of my neck.

'Superb breasts too... Excellent body. But it would be strange if a named character with so much narrative potential were just Miss Mediocrity and nothing else,' I absently noted, already in a half-delirious state.

Still, not being an idiot and not wanting to strain already strained muscles, I waited for the orgasm to pass, and the moment she relaxed, I quickly pushed both fingers all the way in.

Into a barrow that no longer felt like velvet, but more like hot, wet, dense silk.

"You're so much tight," I breathe out against the backdrop of her grunts and whimpers.

"Ah-va… uh…" Madison moaned something incoherent and almost unsuccessfully tried to squeeze my fingers with her very weak, smooth muscles.

"But girls like you start out too tight, then suddenly become too loose," I warned her and gave a little more incentive for Kegel exercise. Even if she wasn't paying much attention right now, the emotional intensity of what was happening would still cause some things to sink into her subconscious for later analysis.

Finding her head with my right hand, I leaned toward her and began kissing her lips aggressively. My left hand kept fingering her in every direction now, while my right moved towards her neck, pressing my thumb along the line of her throat.

It wasn't as dangerous as tightly holding from the sides, with at least some blood flow cutting, but it was still something one shouldn't do for long. So I sped up fingering, and no more than two minutes after the last orgasm, sensed that she was close to another one.

I suddenly stopped moving, which immediately prompted a protesting: "MMMmmm!!"

Letting go of her completely, I unbuttoned and lowered my jeans, then my underwear.

"Get on," I told her, still keeping my eyes closed.

Madison's mind had clearly moved beyond hesitation a long time ago. Her trembling body quickly straddled me, and her hands started fumbling with my cock.

With my help, we managed to line things up, and the moment I felt the head begin to enter, I placed my hands on her hips and started steadily pulling her downward, despite the slight painful tightness.

Halfway in, I opened my eyes.

Madison was... breathtaking.

Shining. Ethereal.

Messy hair, a sweat-soaked face, an uncontrollably opening and closing mouth, releasing tiny gasps, not from absence but overabundance.

And already her, not my, tightly squeezed eyes.

Suddenly, I bottomed out, brushed against her cervix, and we both froze, letting out heavy sighs.

I wrapped both arms around her and pulled her tightly against me. She immediately mirrored the gesture.

The fingers of my left hand buried themselves in her hair, gripping her scalp, while my right hand slid down onto her thigh.

"Madison?" I asked, feeling overfilled with heat and want.

"Y-e?" she answered in a sleepy voice.

"I had a vasectomy. Do you know what that means?"

"F—k—ng?" she answered dreamily, in the kind of state where only an idiot would ask how she felt or whether it hurt.

Instead of replying, unwilling to test how well she could control her teeth during an orgasm, I roughly pulled her head back by the hair, exposing her neck, which I immediately started sucking.

And with my right hand gripping her round little ass, I began making slow rocking.

At first, she tried to move with me, but after a few frictions, her legs became a trembling mess, which quickly spread through the rest of her body.

The moment she started orgasming, I also fully sheathed myself, and after a kiss from her cervix began releasing rope after rope of lava into her already full vessel.

For one brief moment, everything aligned and became right and true. All my insecurities and dread about the future disappeared. Everything became simple and easy.

Then, like the faint screech of a nail across glass, the onset of absolute focus began creeping in. But I pushed it away by NOT NOW.

Returning to reality, I felt Madison nibbling at my collarbone.

With similar animalistic hunger, with two palms I grabbed her ass, and with the help of my pelvis, began rocking her body. Now, much more easily and with much more, double obscene, squeaky sounds.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders; her heart and pussy throbbed by the same frantic rhythm; and her head alternated between burying itself in my neck and leaning back with gasps, throaty moans, and something similar to "more."

Because of the risk of tearing, for the next ten minutes, we weren't so much fucked as slowly grinding our slick pelvises.

On her account, with at least two new waves of fully vaginal orgasms. Which wasn't surprising. If one imagined arousal and vaginal tightness (along with C-V distance) as values on a scale from 1 to 10, then vaginal orgasms typically began to happen once their sum passed 14. And in her case, that number obviously greatly exceeded the minimum requirement.

On my side... it was more a mental than physical experience, giving me what I wanted, and more.

When I felt our fluids starting to soak the car's interior, I decided that was enough for the first time. In cases like hers, hunger for more was the very best motivator.

I broke my attempt to fuck her mouth with my tongue, grabbed her by the hair, lifted her head away from where she was sucking at my neck, and positioned her sweat and saliva-covered face in front of mine. Looking her straight in the eyes.

Madison froze, then suddenly whispered, "I… I'll do it…"

"What?" I asked, not sure what she was talking about.

"I'll f-find girls for y-you," she said weakly, but with conviction. "A-and the t-things down t-there," she added.

I gently kissed her lips, and my left hand began gently caressing the silky skin of her buttocks. Then looked at her face again, now wearing a Mona Lisa smile.

"And you'll get your hair cut the way I tell you to," I immediately added, testing one of the real girl's boundaries.

"Okay," she answered more uncertainly, but still affirmatively, and something inside me let out another relieved breath. It wasn't a permanent victory, far from it, at most just for a week, and only in case of my constant attention — but it was still a victory.

I kissed her again and said, "Of course you will." Then I added, "Find wet wipes and clean everything by it and your mouth." Simple, precise, no ambiguity, but also not restrictive. Final.

Madison looked at me with bright eyes and immediately started doing as she was told by the already not fully mysterious stranger.

Author's Note:

Image source - https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/worm-pictures-thread.8533/