He obeys swiftly.

You'd usually get into pajamas, or at least boys brief and a tee, but you're drunk, exhausted, and you just want to feel the man you love, however wimpy he's just proven to be, holding you in his arms. You lie, naked, while he hurries and cleans up, and he soon joins you.

You shimmy into his arms, poking your taut butt at his deflated penis. He holds you close. You can feel his breath. He did not brush his teeth, and he smells like cum. You smell like cum too, though. And your pussy might have been eaten, but it's still dripping with cum. You feel like an iPhone at the end of a long day: your battery's empty and you flicker into oblivion.

The following morning is painful. You're hungover like crazy. You both are very late, and you run through your daily routine so fast that you fail to hit a few elements. You barely take time to eat, even though you're famished from skipping dinner, and you rush to work wearing the first set of underwear you grabbed. Lucky for you, it's a sexy Vicky. It could have been a joke set from Vegas or that insanely slutty thing with the Swarovskis and the clit-tickling nub. You wonder why you haven't thrown that stupid thing. It's not like you've ever worn it. Another ridiculous joke from Sarah.

It's a long day again. And in the evening, you get a text.

"DTF tonight?"

You can't believe the guy. Plus, you're still kinda sore. Yet, you're already a bit aroused... and Jake says he's OK, doesn't he?

You decide to make him the arbiter.

"Brad wants to fuck. Should I?"

"Will you enjoy it more than with me?"

That's a stupid question. If he's asked if you'd rather be with him, or if you'll miss him, or simply if you want him right now, you'd have melted and ran to him. This, though, is a stupid question.

"Yes."

"Then I suppose I can't stop you..." he says. OF COURSE YOU CAN. ASK ME TO COME BACK. TELL ME YOU NEED ME.

"OK"