The Brunch

On Saturday morning, Adriana woke up earlier than usual. Chris could hear her in the bathroom: the blow dryer, drawers sliding open and shut, the soft click of makeup cases.

When she stepped into the living room, she was already dressed.

It wasn’t anything scandalous… but it wasn’t her, either.

Chris, still in his pajamas with his belly peeking out beneath his T-shirt, was making coffee.

“You look… beautiful,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.

Adriana smiled, though there was a hint of nerves in her eyes.

“Thank you, love. Abella told me the place is elegant. VIP area. I didn’t want to show up looking like some small-town housewife.” She glanced at herself in the hallway mirror, adjusting her neckline by a millimeter. “It’s just brunch. I’ll be back by four or five at the latest.”

Chris nodded, swallowing the knot in his throat.

“Have fun. Really.”

She stepped closer, gave him a quick kiss on the lips—shorter than yesterday’s—and grabbed her purse.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The door closed. Chris stood there, staring at the silence of the apartment.

Adriana arrived at the venue at eleven-thirty. It was a French restaurant on the rooftop of a five-star hotel—glass walls, white awnings, panoramic views. The VIP area was separated by a velvet rope. When the maître d’ spotted Abella in the distance, he opened the rope without asking questions.

“Welcome, ma’am,” he said with a knowing smile.

Abella was already seated, looking spectacular.

“Adri, meet the girls. Lana and Riley. They work with me at the club.”

Both of them looked her up and down as if assessing a new acquisition.

“Damn, Abella wasn’t exaggerating,” Lana said in a husky voice, standing to greet her with two kisses. “You’re a fucking bomb, girl.”

Riley let out a little laugh and squeezed her hand.

“Welcome to the club of women who haven’t sold themselves yet… but are about to.”

Adriana blushed, but she laughed. She felt… small. Like a lamb surrounded by wolves who had already tasted every flavor of the forest.

The brunch was expensive and unlimited: rosé champagne, oysters, truffle eggs Benedict, French butter croissants. The bill was paid directly by the owner of the place. No one paid. Abella winked at her.

“Let’s just say someone at this table fucks the owner whenever she feels like it. In exchange? VIP table and everything free. That’s how this works, babe.”

The conversation started light. Then, as always with them, it slid straight into the mud with no brakes.

Lana pulled out her phone first.

“Weekly update, girls. Look at this…” She swiped through photos. A huge, thick, veiny cock filling her mouth down to her throat. Another photo: the same cock between her breasts. “New club client. Real 20 centimeters. He wrecked my pussy on Thursday. It still hurts to sit.”

Riley burst out laughing and showed hers.

“This one from last night. Look how he shoots.” Photo after photo: thick white spurts covering her face, her hair, dripping from her tongue. “Four loads in a row. The guy’s a machine. Left my ass full and still wanted more.”

Abella wasn’t far behind. She showed a photo of herself riding a guy.

Then the three of them looked at Adriana.

“Come on, Adri… your turn,” Abella said with a wolfish smile. “How’s Chris lately? Still lasting his three minutes of glory, or not even that?”

Adriana turned red as a tomato. She lowered her gaze to her plate.

“Girls… it’s not like that. Chris is… well. Sweet. It’s not that…”

Lana leaned forward, her breasts nearly spilling out of her dress.

“Baby, that’s not living. That’s surviving. We make in one night what you make in a month cleaning and waiting. And on top of that, we fuck who we want, when we want, how we want. The club is easy: you dance a little, smile, touch, and if you want more… you charge triple. Nobody forces you. But damn, you feel alive.”

Riley slid a hand onto her thigh under the table.

“Try one night. Just one. Abella puts you on the VIP list. We introduce you to our ‘regular friends.’ Guys with money, polite, well-endowed. No drunks. They’ll treat you like a queen… and fuck you like a whore. You’ll love it.”

Adriana shook her head, but her nervous smile betrayed her.

“I… I don’t know. I’m not like you. I’m… normal. I have a husband. A life.”

Abella let out a soft laugh.

“Exactly. That’s why we want you. You’re the perfect fresh meat. The guys are going to go crazy when we tell them there’s someone new: married, killer body, good-girl face who’s never really tasted the real thing. We’ve already told them about you in the group.”

She pulled out her phone and created a new chat: “The Four VIP Sluts .” She added Adriana.

“Official welcome. From now on this is sacred. Real photos, real sizes, real cum counts. And alerts when there’s ‘new meat.’ You’re the star this week, babe.”

They passed her the phone. Adriana scrolled through the chat: dozens of old messages. Photos of cocks. Cumshots. Short videos. Men’s names with notes: “22 cm – lasts 40 min,” “thick as my wrist – finishes like a horse.”

She bit her lip. Her heart pounded. She didn’t say yes.

But she didn’t leave the group either.

When she got home at six-thirty (an hour and a half later than promised), Chris was on the couch watching soccer.

Adriana walked in with flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and a small bag from an expensive store.

“Hi, love,” she said, setting the bag down. “It was… intense. But fun. I met two of Abella’s friends. Lana and Riley. They’re… very open.”

She leaned down and kissed him. This time longer. But Chris noticed her breathing was still slightly quick, as if she were still aroused by something she had seen or heard.

“Do you want me to tell you about it?” she asked, sitting beside him. Her voice soft, almost guilty.

Chris swallowed. Nodded.

And Adriana began to talk.

But she left out the chat.

Left out the photos.

Left out that there were already three men in the group asking, “When are you bringing the new girl?”

Because she still didn’t want to admit that a part of her… was already imagining what it would be like.

And Chris… Chris listened to the sweetened version, smiled, told her he was glad.

And inside, he felt the couch grow a little bigger.

Because she wasn’t fully sitting beside him anymore.

She was beginning to sit somewhere else.