The next morning

The sound of fists on wood dragged Mark from the kind of heavy, hungover sleep where the whole body feels dipped in lead. He blinked, groggy, throat dry as paper, mouth still sour from too much beer and rum. The knocking continued, sharp and insistent, until his head throbbed with each blow.

“Alright,” he croaked, hauling himself out of bed. His cock was already stiff, straining against his underwear, as it always was in the mornings. He stumbled to the door, rubbed his eyes, and opened it.

Emma stood there.

She was a wreck. Her hair was a bird’s nest, strands knotted together with white crusts that clung like glue. Mascara streaked her cheeks, lipstick smeared beyond recognition. Her dress clung twisted around her hips, straps half-broken, her nipples showing through the thin satin. She smelled of sex—thick, musky, unmistakable.

But her eyes.

Her eyes glittered with something bright and dangerous, like a woman who had touched fire and walked away smiling.

Mark’s mouth opened, closed again. “Emma…”

She brushed past him without waiting for an invitation. “You bastard.”

Her voice was sharp, but there was no real weight in it. She staggered into the room, kicked off her heels, and spun on him. “You left me, Mark. Out on the street. No money. No phone. Nothing. Just me dressed like.. Like this.” She gestured at herself, the hem of her dress barely covering her thighs, her cunt visible when she shifted. And yes, there, even from where he stood, he could see a faint glisten, a tiny droplet trailing down her inner thigh.

Mark swallowed hard. His cock pressed painfully against the fabric of his boxers. “Emma, I—”

“Shut up.” She saw it too. The bulge. The obvious, throbbing outline of his erection. Her anger softened into something else. A slow smile curved her lips. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing me like this. Knowing what I’ve been doing.”

Mark’s chest tightened. “I—”

Emma stepped forward, pressed a finger against his lips. “Shhh.” Then she shoved him, gentle but firm, until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he toppled onto it. She climbed over him, still clothed, nipples poking through, cunt wet enough to leave a small mark on the fabric of his boxers as she straddled him.

Her hand slid beneath his waistband. Fingers curled around his cock, hot and rigid. She pulled it free, stroking slowly, deliberately, her nails grazing lightly.

Mark groaned, his hips jerking.

Emma leaned close, her breath warm against his ear. “Do you want to hear what happened to me last night?”

He nodded, already panting.

“Good.” She stroked him harder, then eased back, just enough to make his balls ache.

“I went into a club. I didn’t know what it was at first. Thought it was just music and drinks. But then I saw the pole. The lights. And I realised. A strip joint.” Her voice dropped, sultry, steady. “A man grabbed me. Pressed fifty euros into my hand. Told me to give him a dance.”

Mark groaned again. His hips bucked, but Emma’s grip tightened at the base of his cock, holding him back. “Easy. Not yet.”

She smiled, eyes glinting. “So I danced. Took my time. Peeled off my dress, bent over, showed him everything. His cock came out. Big, thick. He wanted more. So I dropped to my knees and sucked him. Right there. Swallowed him down, felt him pulse on my tongue until he came in my throat.”

Mark’s eyes squeezed shut. His whole body trembled. “Fuck, Emma…”

Her hand worked him faster for a moment, then stopped. He was on the edge, his body straining, and she let him teeter there. When his breathing steadied, she began again, slower this time, cruel in her rhythm.

“And then,” she whispered, “I came back here. You’d locked me out. I had nowhere to go. No money. No clothes. Just me, dripping, ****. And Gary saw me. He and his mates. They offered me a bed, but there was a price.”

Mark’s breath hitched.

“I begged them, Mark. On my knees. Please let me in, please don’t throw me on the street. I said they could do anything they wanted. Anything.”

Her hand sped up again, slick now with his precum, her thumb teasing the head.

“The first thing? They made me strip. I danced for them, just like in the club. Then they gave me a bottle of wine. Told me to show them what I could do with it. I pushed it inside me, Mark. Deep. They filmed me, laughing while I fucked myself on the bottle like a whore.”

Mark’s cock twitched violently. His hips surged, **** for release.

Emma let go. He nearly sobbed with frustration.

She kissed him lightly, then gripped him again, starting slow. “After that… they took turns. Over and over. My mouth, my pussy, my ass. I don’t even know how many times I came. They didn’t stop. And I didn’t want them to.”

Mark’s chest heaved. He was right on the edge, sweat beading his forehead.

Emma leaned close, her voice velvet. “And the best part? They’re not done. They’ve got me until this holiday’s over. They can use me whenever they want. However they want. And you know what, Mark? I want it too.”

That did it. Mark arched off the bed, his cock pulsing hard in her grip, cum spilling in thick ropes across his stomach and chest. Emma milked every drop from him, smiling wide, her hand slow and teasing until he collapsed back, trembling, panting, spent.

She slipped off him, wiping her hand across her thigh casually. “You see?” she said softly. “This is what you made happen. You left me. And now I belong to them.”

Mark stared at her, dazed, overwhelmed, but beneath the shock there was something else.

And Emma’s smile grew brighter.

The days that followed blurred into a haze of heat, sweat, and sex.

At the pool, Emma swam topless, her tits bouncing as she leapt for the volleyball, men cheering every slip of her bikini. In the sauna, she straddled Mark while Gary filmed, her cries echoing off the tiled walls. At night, she slipped into other rooms, or let them into hers, moans carrying through the hotel like music.

Hotel staff caught on. The bartender slipped her into the backroom for a quick fuck against the shelves of liquor. A lifeguard bent her over a deckchair at midnight, her ass bare to the stars. Even the maid, catching her bent naked over the bed, laughed and watched before walking out with a wink.

Each day escalated. More eyes, more risks, more hungers fed. And Mark, torn between jealousy and arousal couldn’t deny how hard it made him, how much he wanted her even after all she confessed.

On their last night, Emma danced again, this time on a table at the bar, the whole group chanting her name as she stripped and spread herself wide, Mark watching, stroking himself in the shadows.

When the plane finally lifted from Tenerife, both of them were drained, sated, spent in ways they’d never thought possible.

And when they landed, luggage in the boot, the car humming quietly on the drive home, Emma reached across the gearstick and laced her fingers through his.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.