Karma’s Life

The next day you wore the scissors-heart tee, the I ♥ wet cat panties, and the pants with the scissor zipper to your classes at Belmont. You left the #1 Carpet Muncher! pin in the dish on the nightstand. The combination felt right—soft cotton against your mocha skin, the pants hugging your hips, the scissors-heart sitting neatly over your chest like a quiet secret.

You met a study group for lunch at the café near campus. Four other women from your OT cohort, laptops open, notes scattered. One of them was Amber: buxom, pale, freckled ginger with a messy bun and a long coat draped over the back of her chair. You had spoken a few times before—friendly, nothing more.

Halfway through the second hour something in your hand simply moved.

You picked up the enamel pin from your bag (you did not remember putting it there) and fastened it carefully to the lapel of Amber’s coat. The cheerful pink letters #1 Carpet Muncher! sat bright against the dark wool. Amber glanced down, raised an eyebrow, and gave a small, confused laugh.

“What’s this?”

“It looked like it belonged there,” you said, and the words felt true even though you had no explanation for them.

Two hours later you were back at the apartment.

Amber’s coat was on the floor. The pin was still attached. Your mocha skin looked almost dark against her pale, freckled curves as you pulled her in by the waist and kissed her. She made a soft surprised sound that turned into a moan the moment your tongue met hers. The scissors-heart tee came off first, then her blouse, then the rest. You left the cat panties on her for a while just so you could tug them aside with your teeth.

You went down on her on the living-room rug.

Amber’s hands fisted in your hair the second your mouth settled between her thighs. She was already soaked, the soft cotton of the I ♥ wet panties pushed to one side, and she tasted clean and sharp and perfect. You licked her with the focused hunger the pin had put in your head—slow strokes, then faster, two fingers sliding inside while your tongue worked her clit. She came the first time with a high, broken cry, thighs clamping around your head. You did not stop. You kept going until she came a second time, then a third, then a fourth, each one leaving her more wrecked and louder than the last. By the fifth she was sobbing your name and pushing at your shoulders like she couldn’t take any more, but her hips kept rolling up to meet your mouth.

You moved up her body, kissed her so she could taste herself, and settled between her thighs so the two of you could grind. The scissoring was messy and perfect—your darker skin sliding against her pale freckled thighs, both of you soaked, clit against clit. Amber’s nails dug into your back. She kept glancing toward the door while she moaned, already half-aware that someone else might walk in, and the risk only made her grind harder.

You were right on the edge of following her when the front door opened.

Camden’s keys hit the usual hook.

You froze for half a second, then pulled back just enough to look at Amber.

“Stay put,” you told her, voice low and certain. “Don’t move.”

She nodded, still panting, freckled chest flushed, thighs shiny with the four or five orgasms you had already pulled out of her.

You stood, left every piece of clothing on the floor, and walked naked down the short hallway. Amber’s taste was still thick on your tongue. Camden was toeing off his shoes by the door, briefcase in hand, the same slightly distant, methodical expression he always wore after a day of numbers. He looked up when he heard bare feet on the hardwood and went very still.

You stepped into him, cupped the back of his neck, and kissed him hard. He made a small surprised sound against your mouth. You kept kissing him, slow and deep, letting him taste everything that was still coating your tongue. His hands hovered for a second like he was running a quiet risk assessment, then settled carefully on your waist.

You reached behind you, grabbed the black I ♥ my wife’s girlfriend cap from the side table, and settled it onto his head while your mouth was still on his. You kissed him through the motion, then dropped to your knees, opened his belt, and took his cock into your mouth. He was already hardening. You gave him several long, wet strokes—enough to get him fully hard and leaking—then pulled off with a soft pop and looked up.

Amber’s taste was still thick on your tongue when you asked, voice calm and almost curious,

“Would you like to kiss my girlfriend?”

Camden’s eyes were heavy-lidded, mouth slightly open, the I ♥ my wife’s girlfriend hat sitting neatly on his head. His answer came out almost robotic, like the words had been waiting behind his teeth for the hat to unlock them.

“I love your girlfriend.”

You smiled, stood, and walked back down the hallway naked. Amber was still on the rug exactly where you left her—pale, freckled, buxom, thighs shiny. You held out your hand.

“Come meet my husband.”

Amber hesitated only a second. Then she let you pull her up and walk her into the living room.

Camden was still standing by the door, cock out and hard, the black cap sitting perfectly on his head. His expression was calm, almost analytical, the same way he looked at a complicated spreadsheet that had finally resolved into a clean answer.

“Hi,” he said to Amber, polite and slightly distant. “I’m Camden. Karma’s husband. I love your girlfriend.”

Amber’s freckled nose wrinkled. She looked him up and down—the neat dress shirt, the open belt, the average cock standing at attention, the ridiculous hat—and her mouth twisted.

“He’s kind of… stupid-looking,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “I don’t know why you’d want to share with a man.”

But her nipples were still tight and her thighs were still shiny, and when you pulled her in and kissed her again she melted into it. You felt her glance sideways at Camden while your tongues moved, and the little spark of disdain in her eyes only made her wetter. The fact that he was just standing there, calmly watching, cock hard and ignored, seemed to turn her on almost as much as your mouth had.

You walked her to the couch, pushed her down onto her back, and settled between her pale thighs again. Amber’s hands went straight into your hair. You licked her open, slow and thorough, while Camden sat in the armchair three feet away, the I ♥ my wife’s girlfriend hat still on, and began stroking his cock with the same methodical rhythm he used for everything else. His eyes stayed fixed on the place where your mocha skin met Amber’s freckled pale curves. He did not ask to join. He only watched and stroked, precum already beading at the tip, his literal mind fully occupied by the simple fact that his wife had a girlfriend and he loved that she did.

You made Amber come twice more with your mouth before you moved up her body and settled your cunt against hers. The scissoring was messy and perfect—your mocha skin sliding against her pale freckled thighs, both of you soaked, clit against clit. Amber’s nails dug into your back. She kept glancing at Camden while she moaned, the little spark of contempt in her eyes only making her grind harder. The fact that he was allowed to watch, that he was hard and ignored and completely fine with it, seemed to push her higher than your tongue alone had managed.

“He’s just sitting there like an idiot,” she gasped against your mouth, “stroking that average cock while you fuck me—why is that so hot—”

You kissed the words out of her and kept grinding. Amber came again with a high, helpless sound, freckled chest flushed, thighs locked around your hips. You followed a few seconds later, the orgasm sharp and deep.

Camden’s breathing had gone ragged in the chair. His hand moved faster on his cock, eyes fixed on the two of you. He came with a quiet, grateful sound, stripes of white landing across his own stomach and the edge of the camo sweatshirt. He did not ask to join. He only watched, the I ♥ my wife’s girlfriend hat sitting neatly on his head, and looked like a man who had finally solved a spreadsheet that had been refusing to balance for years.

You and Amber stayed wrapped around each other on the rug for a long time afterward, sticky thighs and slow hands, while Camden caught his breath in the chair and the two cats watched from the windowsill with matching expressions of mild judgment.