Smoothly

Mia goes into the office like it is any other morning.

It isn’t. She makes sure of that.

She walks like her cunt is still remembering last night, because she wants Remy to see it. A slower step. A small hitch when she sits. Nothing theatrical enough for the rest of the floor. Just enough for the woman in the next cubicle.

Remy notices before Mia has her bag on the hook.

“Jesus. Did you fall down some stairs, or is this a bit.”

Mia eases into her chair and lets the wince show. “My pussy is sore.”

Remy’s eyebrows go up. She rolls her chair a few inches closer, voice dropping into that sweet, ugly register she uses on Mia when nobody important is listening.

“Wow. Newlywed problems. He sneeze too hard?”

“He fucked me rough,” Mia says, calm, like she is reporting a meeting time. “That’s what happened.”

Remy laughs under her breath. “That’s adorable. You get railed once and you’re walking like a Victorian widow. Some of us have taken more cock than you’ve had hot dinners and still made it to standup on time.”

Mia looks at her. Remy is already enjoying herself. Lip gloss. That little tilt of the head. The same bitchiness she wears like perfume.

“Have you,” Mia says.

“Please. I’ve had nights that would put you in urgent care. Big ones. Mean ones. I don’t need to announce it to the cubicle farm because I can still sit down after.”

Mia lets that hang. Then she takes out her phone, angles the screen away from the aisle, and turns it toward Remy.

Adam’s cock. Fully hard. Thick. The head dark. His hand in the frame for scale.

Remy stops talking.

For one clean second there is no joke on her face. Just shock. The size of it sits on the screen between their keyboards like it doesn’t belong in an office.

Then Remy recovers the way Remy always recovers.

“Okay. That’s… a cock.” She leans in despite herself, then sits back too fast. “I’ve taken bigger.”

“Have you.”

“Yes. Don’t look at me like that. Size is not a personality. I’ve had thicker. Longer. Guys who thought they were going to ruin me and I sent them home early.”

Mia locks the phone but doesn’t put it away.

“It’s not just the size,” she says. “It’s how he uses it. The technique makes it feel bigger than it already is. He doesn’t let you get used to it. He stays deep. He holds you open. He fucks like the point is to make you feel every inch whether you can take it or not.”

Remy snorts. “Or you don’t know how to handle it. That’s usually what ‘technique’ means when a wife is limping into work. You clamp up. You get precious. He probably thinks he’s a god because you make that face.”

She flicks a look at Mia’s legs.

“If you actually wanted help, I could teach you. Sit on it without turning into a cautionary tale. Joke. Relax. I’m not applying for a position in your marriage.”

Mia doesn’t smile.

“Yes.”

The word is instant. No laugh after it. No cushion.

Remy’s eyes widen. “What.”

“Yes,” Mia says again. “Teach me.”

The office keeps going around them. A printer. Someone’s Slack ping. A laugh from three desks down. In the small space between their cubicles, Remy stares at her like the joke grew teeth.

“You’re serious.”

Mia holds her gaze. Her sore walk is still in her body. The picture is still on her phone. The yes is still sitting on the desk between them.

“I said yes.”