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Summary
Chan’s hands come away from his body, the tattered remnants of Felix's panties hanging from his thick fingers. Felix squeaks, his mouth going dry at how easily Chan overpowers him, even without the force of his muscles—Felix is just weak for him.
“Chris,” he whispers, eyes wide as Chan leers down at him hungrily.
“Shh. Dolls don't talk, baby,” Chan murmurs, wadding up the fabric in his hands and shoving it between Felix's parted lips.