Jo

The door clicks shut behind Jo before you even realize she’s there, too lost in the wet, wicked pull of Mark’s mouth between your thighs. Then you hear it: the sharp inhale, the rustle of fabric as she shifts her weight. Your eyes fly open just as she lifts her phone, screen still glowing with the video.

Mark stops as Jo’s gaze flicks from the phone to the bed, where Mark had stopped eating you, and posistioned himself near your entrance, Jo's pussy. Mark’s hands grip your hips as he pushes into you down onto him in one rough thrust, the stretch burning in the best way. Your gasp turns into a moan halfway, fingers clawing at the sheets as he starts a ruthless rhythm, deep, deliberate strokes that leave no room for thought.

Jo steps closer, the screen of her phone still lit, her breath uneven. "I just had to see for myself," she murmurs, voice thick, as she circles the bed, her gaze locked on where Mark’s cock disappears into you, over and over.

Jo’s fingers tighten around her phone, the glow casting sharp shadows across her face as she steps closer. Her breath hitches when Mark’s hips snap forward again, forcing a ragged moan from your lips.

"Why would you do this?" she demands, voice trembling,not with anger, but something darker, hungrier.

You barely hear her over the slick sound of skin on skin, Mark’s grip bruising as he drags you back onto him. But then Jo’s hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back.

"With him?"

Mark’s grip tightens on your hips as he slows his thrusts just enough to speak, his voice rough with dark amusement. "This is your fault" He laughed. "You left her dripping for more. I just gve her what she needed. Isn't that right Jackie!"

"Fuck—" Your voice cracks as Mark’s smirk deepens, his fingers digging bruises into your hips.

"You hear that, Jo?" His tongue swipes over his lower lip, tasting you still. "She’s not complaining."

“You idiot,” she hisses, voice shaking. “I didn’t swap our bodies so you could fuck him I did it so I could know what it's like to fuck me as you”

Mark lets out a dark chuckle beneath you, his fingers flexing possessively on your hips. “Too late for regrets now,” he growls, thrusting deeper just to hear you whimper.

Mark’s thrusts turn punishing, each snap of his hips driving the breath from your lungs. You feel the moment his rhythm fractures, his grip turns bruising, his groan ragged against your throat as he buries himself to the hilt.

"You wanted this," Jo shouts, in your old deep voice, "Don't come back to our room."

The door slammed behind her.

If your brain wasn't complete mush, you'd have been able to compute what had just happened, as it was, Mark was about to push you over the edge.