Door clicks

The front door clicks shut, and the silence that follows is almost deafening. I hear the low murmur of their voices fading down the hallway, the last of the laughter, the shuffle of shoes on concrete. The apartment settles into stillness around me, the only sound the hum of the fridge and Joe's steady snoring from the living room floor.

I'm still on the bed. Naked. Spread out like a meal that's been picked clean. My skin is tacky with dried sweat and their cum, cooling in the air. There's a pool of it in the hollow of my stomach, a smear across my inner thighs, and I can feel it dripping out of me, slow and thick, staining the sheets beneath me. My ass is sore. My pussy is raw and swollen. My throat is hoarse from a dozen different cocks.

I don't move for a long moment. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, breathing shallowly through my nose. The pasties are long gone, the boots kicked off somewhere by the door. I'm just a body on a bed, and the room smells like sex and sweat and the cheap cologne one of them was wearing.

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