He bends her over his desk

David stopped hesitating. His mouth opened against hers and he kissed her like he'd stopped asking himself whether this was real. His hands stopped hovering and started grabbing: one fisted in Carrie's hair, the other clamped on her bare hip, gripping hard enough that she flinched, even through the gap in the door. Carrie gasped into his mouth, short and surprised, like it slipped out before she could stop it. Her arms braced against his chest like she was steadying herself.

David broke the kiss first. He looked down at her naked body — just fucking looked, taking his sweet time, eyes moving over her like he was deciding where to start. Didn't even say a word. Just a guy checking out what he'd been handed, deciding where to start.

"Turn around," he said.

It wasn't a request, and it sure as hell wasn't playful the way you got during roleplay. Just a flat command, like pass me that or move.

And Carrie turned around.

For a second your heart stopped. She was looking right at the door, right at the crack, but her eyes weren't focused on it. She couldn't see you in the dark hallway.

You shifted your weight carefully in the hallway, pressing your eye closer to the crack. Your cock was so hard it ached against your thigh and you hadn't even touched it yet. Carrie stood with her back to David now, facing the door — facing you, not that she knew it. Her face was hard to read. She didn't look scared, but she didn't look into it yet either, more like she'd made up her mind and was just waiting for it to start.

David's room was lit by the lamp on his desk and the glow from his monitor. The overhead was off the way it always seemed to be.

David pulled his shirt over his head. The baggy clothes had been hiding exactly what you'd expected: soft and doughy, pale chest with patchy hair, the gut right there on display now that there was nothing covering it. He was wider than you but in the way guys get wide from beer and doing nothing all day, not from anything that took effort. He kicked his sweats and boxers off in one motion and you caught a half-second glimpse of his cock before Carrie's body blocked your sightline, just a flash, thick and hard, and then she was in the way and David was pressing himself against her back.

Fuck. The angle was wrong. You couldn't see enough.

But you could hear everything. David breathing heavy behind her. The wet sound of his fingers between Carrie's thighs. And Carrie — quiet. Way too quiet for a girl who'd been screaming your name forty minutes ago.

"Already wet," David said, like he was confirming something he already knew.

Carrie didn't answer.

His hands gripped her hips and turned her back toward the desk. His free hand gripped the back of her neck, not a ****, just a grip, firm enough to say I own this. He bent her forward. Carrie's hands shot out and caught the edge of his cluttered desk, knocking a Red Bull can to the carpet. Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk, her back arched, and through the door crack you watched David's ass tighten as he pushed into her.

"Nnngh — fuck —" Carrie hissed through her teeth.

David didn't pause, didn't check on her, didn't give her a second to adjust. He pulled back and shoved in again, and again, settling into a pace that was all about him. Hand on her neck, hand on her hip. The desk scraped across the floor with every stroke and underneath the noise you could hear Carrie's breathing change, short sharp huffs through her nose, like she was trying to hold something in.

God, look at her. Your girlfriend bent over a filthy desk in a room that smelled like stale food and dirty clothes, getting fucked by a man she'd called a slobby creepy asshole less than an hour ago. You wrapped your hand around your cock and started stroking, matching David's pace without thinking about it. Every detail was better than what you'd jerked off imagining. The sound of his hips smacking her ass. The way her fingers dug into the edge of the desk. How wrong it was. Carrie, your gorgeous fucking Carrie, getting used like a piece of meat by a guy who didn't even clear the trash off his desk.

Fucking perfect. Every second of it.

David fucked the way he lived: selfish, unhurried, doing whatever the hell he wanted. He wasn't trying to make Carrie feel good. Wasn't putting on a show. He was using her the way he'd probably fantasized about every time he stole her panties or snuck a picture down her shirt. The slap of skin on skin filled his disgusting room the same way it had filled yours earlier, except the rhythm was different: slower, heavier, like he had all night and knew it.

Then Carrie's breathing changed.

The tight controlled huffs loosened. The sounds that came out of her weren't the ones you knew, not the breathy moans, not the fuck my ass pull my hair she ran with you. Lower and deeper, guttural, rumbling up from her chest.

"Aahhn — ahh — nnhh —"

Your hand sped up. Holy shit. You'd never heard that sound come out of her before. It was raw and involuntary and it made your balls tighten just hearing it.

Listen to her. Fucking listen to that. That's my girl making those sounds.

Her head dropped between her arms, hair swinging forward. David's hand slid from her neck into her hair and yanked her head back. She hadn't begged him to the way she always begged you. He just did it. You could see the arch of her spine, the tension in her shoulders, her head pulled back at an angle that had to hurt. But her face was pointed at the ceiling, not at you. Whatever expression she was making, David was the only one who got to see it.

"Oh — oh god — oh f-fuck —"

David grunted and slammed harder. The desk banged against the wall. Carrie's whole body rocked forward with each thrust and her voice came apart. No words, no performance, just raw broken noise, the kind you can't fake, and she was way too far gone to try.

She came.

You knew because you'd watched this girl cum a hundred times. The full-body lock-up, the stiff knees, the held breath right before she let go. But it was different. With you she came fast and loud, a fucking detonation every time. With David she came slow and rolling, her whole body shaking in a long wave while this low shuddering "nnnnhh-hHHH" ripped out of her. Nothing like her usual scream. More like something dragged out of her whether she wanted it or not.

That was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life.

Your hand was a blur. Pre-cum slicked your fingers and you squeezed tighter, legs shaking, eye glued to the gap. Your girlfriend cumming on another man's cock. Shaking on another man's cock. Making sounds for another man's cock that she'd never made for yours. And David didn't even stop. Didn't slow down. Didn't acknowledge it at all. He yanked her hair harder and kept his pace, and Carrie — Carrie who always needed a minute after she came, who always slid off you and collapsed to the floor gasping — didn't pull away. Didn't tap out. Stayed bent over that desk with her ass in the air taking every stroke like she'd forgotten how to do anything else.

Don't stop. Fucking don't stop.

David's rhythm broke. The controlled strokes turned fast, rough, sloppy. His hand clamped down on her hip and the desk knocked against the wall, rattling whatever shit David had piled on it.

"Gonna cum," David said. Flat. A fact that was happening whether anyone had an opinion about it or not.

Carrie's arm reached back behind her and grabbed at David. Not to slow him down. She pulled him deeper.

"Inside," she said. Wrecked, breathless, and completely fucking certain.

Fuuuuck. Your cock throbbed so hard in your fist you almost lost it right there. Your girlfriend begging another man to cum inside her raw. Begging David to pump her full of his load. You squeezed the base of your shaft to keep from blowing early because you wanted to see this — needed to see this — needed to see every second of David cumming inside your girl.

David buried himself balls deep and locked. His hand clamped down on her hip. His head dropped back. A groan tore out of him, deep and guttural and way too satisfied with himself, and Carrie held perfectly still — bent over that desk, fingers locked on the edge, spine arched — and took every fucking drop.

You came so hard your vision whited out.

Rope after rope hit the hallway floor as your hand stuttered on your cock and your free palm hit the wall for balance — too loud, fuck — but David was groaning loud enough to cover it. You had to bite your tongue to keep quiet. Your legs shook. Your abs seized. It was the hardest you'd cum in months. Maybe ever. The waves of it kept hitting while Carrie was still shaking on the other side of the door.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Nobody moved. David's chest heaved. Carrie's head hung between her arms. The room reeked, sweat and sex on top of David's usual stale food and dirty laundry stink. Through the crack you could see sweat running down Carrie's spine in the light from his desk lamp.

David pulled out and stepped back. He grabbed something off the floor — looked like boxers — and wiped himself off before tossing them back on the floor with everything else. He dropped into his desk chair, which groaned under his weight, and leaned back with his legs spread, still catching his breath. Looking at Carrie like a guy who just ate and already wants seconds.

"Come here," he said.

Carrie straightened up slowly. She pushed her hair out of her face with both hands and turned toward David's chair, and as she passed through the lamplight you caught her expression for a second. Flushed, lips slack, eyes glazed over in that fucked-stupid look that made your spent cock twitch even though you'd just emptied yourself onto the floor. She looked wrecked. And you'd made that happen. This was your idea, your fantasy, and she'd gone further than you ever thought she would. The sounds she made, the way she came, fucking inside. You couldn't stop grinning.

She walked toward David's chair. His cum was on her inner thigh, a slow white trail catching the light as she moved. She didn't look at the door. Didn't glance toward the hallway. She climbed into David's lap and straddled his thick thighs, arms looping around his neck. David's hands settled on her waist, lazy and heavy, and Carrie leaned her head against his shoulder and went still.

Look at that, you thought. Look at her sitting in his lap dripping his cum. My girl. Covered in another man's load. Fucking incredible.

You sat back on your heels in the hallway, chest still heaving, cum cooling on the floor between your knees. You were grinning so hard your face hurt. Your whole body felt loose and buzzed and fucking drained.

I have the best girlfriend on the planet.

You stood on shaky legs and walked back to your bedroom as quietly as you could manage. The sheets smelled like Carrie's shampoo and you could still feel where her body had been pressed into the mattress earlier, and you dropped face-first into the pillow grinning like an idiot. Through the wall you could hear two voices, one deep, one soft, talking low enough that you couldn't make out words. And then Carrie laughed. Quiet, real, not for anyone but David.

She's having a good time, you thought. She's actually fucking enjoying herself. This is amazing.

You pulled the blanket up and closed your eyes, already half-hard again just thinking about what tomorrow would be like. What new shit you could push. What other filthy degrading things David would do to your perfect, willing girlfriend.

You fell asleep smiling, dead certain you were the luckiest man alive.