Tell her you really enjoy having Garvin black cock inside of you but you really want to spend a night with her as well

You open your mouth, and the raw, unfiltered truth spills out, a confession you can't hold back. "Garvin was here, Ashley. We were... we were together."

The confusion on her face deepens. "Garvin? Our Garvin? The one who—"

"Yes," you cut her off, your voice a ragged whisper. "He... he fucked me. Ashley, he... he ruined me."

You expect disgust. Anger. Tears. You get none of it. Instead, her face goes pale, her eyes widening as she processes your words. She looks you up and down, really seeing you for the first time since you returned. The torn dress, the bite mark peeking over your collar, the way you're standing with your legs slightly apart. A slow, horrifying dawns in her eyes.

"And you... you enjoyed it?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

You don't answer with words. You just look at her, and the sheer, fucked-out bliss in your eyes is all the confirmation she needs. A wave of something crosses her face—hurt, betrayal, but also a dark, morbid curiosity.

"He's... he's so much bigger than you, isn't he?" she whispers, the question hanging in the air between you, intimate and forbidden.

You nod, feeling your cheeks burn with shame and a weird, perverse pride. "Everything about him is bigger. Better."

Ashley swallows hard, her gaze flickering down to your crotch before snapping back up to your face. "So what happens now? With us?"

You step closer, reaching for her hand. Your fingers are trembling. "I... I don't know. Everything is different now. But... I still want to be with you tonight. I want to dance with you. I want to have sex with you. To see who I should end up dating." You pause, forcing yourself to meet her gaze.

It's a monstrous proposal. A cruel, selfish ultimatum. You're asking her to accept you, even as you offer pieces of yourself to the guy who made your life a living hell.

Ashley pulls her hand away, and for a heart-stopping moment, you think she's going to slap you or storm off. Instead, she just looks at you, a long, searching look. Her bottom lip trembles.

"Okay," she says, her voice so soft you have to strain to hear it. "Okay, Harley. We'll... we'll have our night. But you have to be honest with me. About everything."

You nod eagerly, a wave of relief washing over you so intense it makes your knees weak. "I will. I promise."

She takes a deep breath, then holds out her arm. "Well then... shall we? The dance isn't over yet."

You take her arm, your fingers brushing against her soft skin. As she leads you back toward the ballroom, you can't shake the feeling that you're not just walking towards your date. You're walking towards your judgment. And the most terrifying part? You're not sure if Ashley is the one who will be delivering it, or if the real judge is the man who's already claimed a piece of you, a piece you know you can never, ever take back. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You ignore it, but you know, with a certainty that chills you to the bone, that it's him. Checking in. Reminding you who you belong to now.

You dance with Ashley at the after party as she whispered how she's going to undress in a few minutes in a bedroom. You nod trying to focus but it's hard, your mind is a battleground. Ashley is in your arms, her body warm and familiar, the scent of her floral perfume a comfort you've known for years. But your body feels… alien. Your boycunt aches with a deep, satisfying throb, a constant, pulsing reminder of Garvin. Every step sends a phantom echo of him stretching you, filling you. You feel the sticky dampness of his seed, a shameful secret against your skin, even through the fabric of your pants.

"I've been waiting for this all night," Ashley murmurs in your ear, her breath warm. She pulls you closer, her hand sliding down your back. "For us. Just us."