8 PM approaches

At seven-thirty Lana is by the door with her keys.

Dress. Nothing fussy. The kind of thing she can drive in and still look like the woman who brought the night. Adam comes out of the bedroom and stops when he sees her. The spaghetti top from the morning is gone. The body under the dress is the same one that squirted on his sheet.

“You look like you’re going to collect something,” he says.

Lana’s mouth curves. “I am. I told her the cock is married and the wife watches. She still said yes.”

He walks closer. He does not touch her. The rule is his, and he is already hard from the looking.

“You’re wet thinking about it,” he says. “I can tell. You like being the one who hands me a cunt. You like knowing you’re not the one who gets fucked tonight.”

“I like knowing I might earn it,” Lana says. She does not look away. “Fifteenth, if you like her. Until then I watch. I film. I sit in the chair with a soaked pussy and I don’t touch it unless you say the chores were good. That’s the deal. I’m still going to enjoy the drive. I’m going to picture your cock in her the whole way there.”

Adam’s voice drops. “When you bring her in, you don’t perform. You put her in front of me. You keep the glasses on. You film her face when she realizes the size. If you angle away from her cunt, you don’t get the fifteenth. Mia is on a plane waiting for your eyes.”

“I’ll give her the eyes,” Lana says. “And I’ll be dripping in the chair while you ruin a girl I found. That’s my kind of wife work.”

He reaches to the shelf and holds out the glasses.

Lana puts them on. The little camera light sits at the edge of her vision. She looks at him through them, a beat too long, then opens the door. She leaves.

Adam sits on the couch. Phone in his hand. He does not text Mia. He scrolls nothing. The apartment is quiet. His cock stays half-hard in his sweats because the door is going to open again and a new girl is going to walk through it with Lana’s glasses already recording.

At eight the bell goes.

Lana comes in first. Behind her, a woman in a simple black dress, hair down, nervous in the shoulders and not in the mouth. Mid-twenties, maybe a little older. Pretty in a way that does not look arranged. She looks at Adam on the couch and then at Lana, like she needs the introduction to make the room real.

Lana does not take the glasses off.

“Adam,” she says. “This is Kyler.”

Kyler looks at him. Her throat moves.

“Hi,” she says.

Adam looks at her. Then at the glasses on Lana’s face. Then back at Kyler.

“Hi,” he says. “Come in.”