Lana remembers the night

Lana wakes up in a bed that is not hers.

For a second she does not move. The light is thin and early, the kind that makes a room look honest. Her body tells her the rest before her head catches up. She is sore between her legs, a deep used ache. Her throat is raw. The sheet is stuck to her inner thigh.

She looks down.

Dried cum is smeared across her stomach and the crease of her hip, white and flaking where it dried in the night. There is more on the inside of one thigh, a faded streak she must have made turning in her sleep. Between her legs it is worse. Her cunt is swollen, tender, still open in that ugly morning way. Adam’s load is still in her. When she shifts onto her hip, more of it oozes out, thick and slow, and soaks a dark spot into the sheet.

Last night comes back in pieces.

The restaurant first. Mia’s voice across the table. Until then, he is mine. Then the car. Mia watching them in the mirror. Adam’s fingers in her. The edge she was not allowed to go over. The apartment door. Adam picking her up.

Then the bed.

He had bent her over it like she did not have a name. No kiss. No check-in. Just her dress up her back and that thick cock shoving into her until there was nowhere left to take. She remembers the stretch with a clarity that makes her stomach pull. The first stroke had forced a sound out of her she did not recognize. He had not cared. That had been the point, and it had felt filthy, and it had felt amazing.

Mia climbing onto the bed. Hands on Lana’s ass, spreading her so she could watch. Lana had felt those thumbs and known exactly what Mia was looking at: Adam’s cock punching in and out of her, her cunt clinging, wet, ruined around him. The talk had gotten into her as deep as he had. Married man’s cock. You needed his wife’s permission. You’re a slut for it. She had wanted to argue and instead she had cum on him with her face in their duvet.

Her throat next. Mia holding her wrists. Mia holding her head. Adam fucking her mouth the way he liked, not the way that looked pretty. The taste of him when he finally came, flooding her, Mia not letting her pull off until he was done.

Then all the positions after. On her back. On her knees. In his lap. On her side. Standing with one foot on the mattress. She had cum until the orgasms stacked on each other and stopped feeling like separate things. Mia had cum watching. Lana had heard her. That had done something worse than the dirty talk. His wife getting off on the sight of him using her.

Missionary at the end. His forehead against hers. The groan. The heat of him emptying into her, pulse after pulse, packing her full. She had cum around that. She can still feel the ghost of it.

It had not felt like being chosen.

It had felt like being borrowed and wrecked and watched. It had felt like the cock she had missed, thicker than the memory, meaner than the memory, better than the memory. She hates how true that is. Her cunt clenches around nothing and another slow drip of last night slides out of her.

She turns her head.

Mia and Adam are asleep on the other side of the bed, tangled the way married people tangle. Mia’s face is in his throat. His arm is around her waist. Mia’s hand is on his cock, loose, possessive even in sleep, as if she put it there before she closed her eyes and never thought to move it.

Lana looks at that hand longer than she should.

Then she gets up.

Her legs do not trust her. The first step makes her wince. Cum runs down the inside of one thigh as she crosses the room. She shuts the bathroom door as quietly as she can, starts the shower, and waits for the water to go hot.

Under it, the night comes back again, sharper.

She puts her forehead on the tile. Water sheets off her shoulders. She can still feel the shape of him. The way he held her hips and used her. The wet slap of it. Mia’s voice in her ear. That’s what sluts do when they finally get what they missed. Lana slides two fingers into herself and finds she is still slippery with him, still open. She fucks her own fingers and sees his cock in her mind, shiny with her, disappearing between her legs while his wife spread her open to watch.

Her thumb finds her clit. She bites her wrist.

She cums hard.

It knocks through her in ugly waves. Her cunt clamps down on her fingers, her knees dip, and more of his leftover load washes down her legs with the water. She has to put a hand on the wall. She stays there until the shaking thins out and the water starts to feel too loud.

She turns it off.

Dries herself. Looks at her reflection and does not love what the night did to her face. She looks like she got fucked. She looks like she liked it.

She wraps the towel around herself, then decides that is stupid, and walks out without it.

The bedroom door is open.

Mia is on top of Adam.

She is riding him slow, deep, unhurried, the kind of morning pace that belongs to people who get to keep each other. Her hands are in his hair. His hands are on her ass, guiding her down onto him. They are kissing. Not performing. Not looking at the doorway. Just mouths and breath and the wet sound of Mia’s cunt taking his cock over and over.

Lana stands in the bathroom doorway and watches his wife take him back.