An invitation from Angel interrupts a private moment.

A week passes since that humiliating loss. You’re still reeling over it, practically buried in your bed. You’ve decided to try and rewatch the footage of the match to see where you went wrong. You watch it on TV while sitting on your couch, start to finish. You watch Angel enter the ring. Her confidence. Her smile. Her breasts…

Ah, fuck it. You’re alone. You slip a hand into the waistband of your sweatpants— going commando because you’re at home— and slowly start running a finger down the length of your womanhood. With your other hand, you reach up your t-shirt, and slowly circle your fingers around a nipple.

You reach the part where Angel slips her hand into your bra. You pick up the pace down south, sliding in two fingers in rhythm. You roll your shirt up, exposing your chest, and you tighten the grip around your breast, your breath wavering. You let out a moan. “Oh… Angel…”. Then came the part where she kisses you. You bite your lip and try to simulate the way she took your breath away.

You watch as she slid your panties to the side. You invade yourself with increasing speed, trying to synchronize yourself to whenever you heard your and Angel’s skin slap together. Eventually the climax approaches, for both you on screen and on the couch. “Oh, god… ANGEL!” you carnally scream as you do on the TV.

You look down, panting, and see a large wet spot forming around your nether regions. You quickly pull your shirt back down. What’s gotten into you?

You head into your bedroom to change out of your wet pants, grabbing your phone. You see that you received a few texts.

“Meet me at my place in an hour and we’ll sort out your punishment.” The next message is merely an emoji of an Angel, as if you couldn’t tell who sent it. There’s also a pin on a map, which you assume is her address. You roll your eyes, ready to get changed, when you notice how long ago the texts were sent— 50 minutes ago!

If you quickly leave right now, you could probably get there in time, or at least late enough to justify it. But considering you’re looking like you just jilled yourself off, maybe it’s best to change. Then again, you have no clue what sort of consequences there are if you show up too late— from both Angel and the board.