The trophy

Mia keeps her hand out.

Palm up. Waiting.

Mark looks at the scrap of cotton in his fist. Danielle’s panties. Soaked from the wipe earlier, still damp with her, with Adam, with the floor. Danielle is slumped on the couch in a half-pulled dress, legs open, leaking both men onto the cushion, not awake to argue.

“Those,” Mia says. “Give them.”

Mark’s fingers tighten. “They’re hers.”

“They were hers. Now they’re mine. Trophy. Same as the night. Hand them over.”

He hesitates. The dress is bunched at Danielle’s waist. Her cunt is still open, a slow white drip running toward the seam of the cushion. Mark looks at that and then at Mia’s palm like one of them might save him.

Mia does not lower her hand.

“You need the reminder,” she says. “Your wife came here hungry. She hadn’t been fucked in a week because you can’t do it. She stroked my husband’s cock under a cafe table and smiled. She crawled. She swallowed. She sat on him facing you and described every inch. She came on him more times than you counted. She grabbed your balls so you couldn’t finish and then she begged to be fucked again.”

Mark’s jaw works.

“And when you finally got your favourite position,” Mia goes on, quiet and filthy, “she didn’t feel you. You shoved in after Adam had already flooded her and you came with that loud little groan and she had to ask if you’d even started. That’s the night. That’s the review. Adam satisfied her until she passed out on my floor. You were a twitch she slept through. Those panties wiped the cunt he ruined. They belong in my drawer. Hand them over.”

Mark looks at Danielle. Her mouth is slack. A string of drool has dried at the corner. His load and Adam’s are still leaking out of her onto the couch he is trying to dress her on.

He puts the panties in Mia’s palm.

Mia closes her fist around them. She does not thank him.

He reaches for Danielle’s bra, then stops when Mia speaks again.

“One more thing before you carry her out.”

He waits.

“Danielle is our slut now,” Mia says. “Not yours to lend. Ours. Adam’s cock is the only cock she takes. You are a cuck. That does not mean you get to send her to other men. If another guy puts it in her — mouth, cunt, anywhere — she never gets Adam again. The door closes. You tell her that when she wakes up. She doesn’t get a vote on it tonight. She already took him. She already passed out full of him. The rule stands.”

Mark’s throat moves. Danielle does not stir.

“I’ll tell her,” he says. “Only him. I promise.”

Mia nods once.

“And the last condition. When we want her, we tell you. Same night. You get her here. Dressed or not, sore or not, leaking or not. If you don’t, the door to Adam’s cock is closed forever. No second chance. No calendar. You bring her or you lose her access.”

He nods, small.

“And if she wants him,” Mia says, “you don’t text. You don’t send her alone. You come here yourself. You stand at this door and you beg me and Adam for it. If we agree, we tell you to bring her. If we don’t, you go home and she stays unfucked. Those are the terms. Say them.”

Mark looks at his wife, naked from the waist down, dress stuck under her arms, used and asleep.

“She’s your slut,” he says, hoarse. “Only Adam. If anyone else fucks her, it’s over. When you want her, I bring her the same night. If she wants him, I come here and beg. If you say no, we leave.”

“Good.”

He gets the dress the rest of the way onto her. No panties. Mia has those. He lifts Danielle again. She makes a small sound and does not wake. Cum smears his shirt where her thighs press.

Mia walks them to the door and opens it.

“Tell her what she is when she can hear you,” she says. “And tell her who she has to thank.”

Mark steps into the hall with his wife in his arms. He does not look back.

The latch clicks.

Mia stands in the quiet for a second, panties in her fist, the apartment theirs again. Then she goes back to the bedroom.

Adam is on the bed, cock in hand. Mia drops the trophy on the nightstand next to the drawer that already holds Remy’s, and climbs in beside him.