Cleanup

Danielle is still hanging off Mark’s shoulders, dripping on the floor, cunt left open from the fucking.

Mia picks Danielle’s panties up with two fingers and holds them out.

“Clean her up.”

Mark stares at the scrap of fabric like it might explain itself.

“You’re confused,” Mia says. “I’ll use small words. Those are your wife’s panties. You take them. You wipe her pussy. You clean my husband’s mess off her so she isn’t standing in a puddle. You don’t use your mouth unless I tell you to. You don’t use your fingers to sneak a feel. You wipe.”

His voice is hoarse. “Can I touch her to clean her?”

“You can wipe her. That’s the permission. Ask again if you want anything else.”

He doesn’t. He takes the panties.

Danielle stays bent, shaking, hands on him because her legs are not trustworthy. Mark reaches between her thighs with the wadded cotton and starts to wipe. He is diligent because he has been told to be. The cloth comes away dark and wet at once. He folds to a cleaner side and goes again, dragging the panties through her swollen lips, over her clit, back to the mess leaking toward her ass.

Danielle twitches. A sound comes out of her.

Mia looks at Adam.

“Her mouth. Use it. She already swallowed you once. Do it properly this time.”

Adam steps to Danielle’s head. Mark is still working between her legs. Danielle opens because she knows the order now. Adam feeds his cock into her mouth, wet from her cunt, and starts fucking her face over her husband’s shoulder.

The angle is ugly and perfect. Danielle gagged on the first push. Spit runs. Adam holds her hair and uses her throat in short, mean strokes while Mark wipes her pussy with her own underwear.

Mia talks.

“That’s the picture, Mark. Your hands on her cunt with her panties. My husband’s cock in her throat. You’re cleaning the hole he just fucked so he can keep using the other one. Don’t get tender with the wiping. She is sloppy. Get her presentable. Not pretty. Presentable.”

Mark swallows and keeps going. He has to spread her with the cloth to get the wetness at the edges. Danielle moans around Adam’s cock. The vibration makes Adam push deeper.

“She can taste herself on him,” Mia says. “That’s her cunt on your wife’s tongue, plus the load she already swallowed. You’re kneeling in the smell of it. Wipe. Get the inside of the thighs. She dripped on you when he was pounding her. Clean the wife you couldn’t satisfy so the man who can has a clean mouth to fuck.”

Adam’s pace is steady and unkind. Danielle’s eyes water. Her lipstick is gone. Each time Mark drags the panties over her clit she jerks and gags.

Mark’s ears are scarlet. He folds the panties again. They are soaked through. He uses them anyway, pressing, wiping, diligent, as ordered. Danielle’s legs tremble. A thin string of spit hangs from her lip to Adam’s shaft.

“Deeper,” Mia says. “She wanted a week’s worth. Give her the week in her throat while her husband scrubs her.”

Adam shoves to the root and holds. Danielle’s throat convulses. Mark freezes for half a second and then keeps wiping because stopping was not in the instruction. Mia’s voice stays even.

“Don’t you dare stop cleaning because she can’t breathe. She can breathe when he lets her. You have a job. Finish the job. I want her cunt wiped before we move. I want those panties ruined.”

Adam fucks her face until Mark’s hands finally slow.

“Are you done?” Mia asks.

Mark looks at the dripping cloth, then at Danielle’s pussy, less shiny now, still swollen, still used. “I think so. Can I—”

“You’re done. Drop them.”

The panties hit the floor with a wet sound.

“Babe. Stop.”

Adam pulls out of Danielle’s mouth. A string of spit follows. Danielle gasps, coughing, chin wrecked, eyes unfocused. She stays bent because nobody told her to stand. Mark stays kneeling because nobody told him to stand either.

Mia looks at the three of them: the soaked underwear, the wiped cunt, the throat that just got used, the husband still holding his wife up like a prop.

“Good,” she says. “She’s cleaned. Her mouth is used. You’re both still in your places.”

She picks up her glass from the side table as if this were still a dinner party.

“That’s the first part. It’s time for the next part of the night.”