i found out because her phone buzzed while she was in the shower. it was sitting on the nightstand next to her coffee mug, the one that says “don’t talk to me,” and the screen lit up with a notification and there it was. a dick pic. not technically a dick pic, the guy was wearing boxer briefs, but it was the message that did it. want you so bad. when can we do this again?
and then below that: we should invite him.
i didn’t look at anything else. i put the phone face down like i’d never seen it, which was stupid, because of course i had to think about it for the next hour while she finished her shower and got dressed and went to work like it was a normal tuesday. the coffee mug said don’t talk to me and i definitely wasn’t going to talk to her. not yet.
she came home at 6:47pm. i know because i’d been sitting on the couch refreshing my email and not reading anything for two hours. she came through the door smelling like her job (spreadsheets and the perfume she applies at traffic lights) and dropped her bag and said, “we need to talk.”
so she already knew. she’d probably figured out i’d seen the phone, or maybe she just decided today was the day. she sat on the arm of the couch, not on the cushion, which was different, which meant this was serious.
“i’m seeing someone else,” she said. “his name is marcus. he’s bigger than you, and he’s better at sex, and i really like him. and before you say anything—i’m not breaking up with you. but this is happening. you can stay or you can leave, but he’s coming over tonight.”
i didn’t say anything for like three minutes. then i said, “okay.”
“okay you’re leaving.”
“no. okay, he can come over.”
she waited. like there was more. there wasn’t more. she reached over and touched my jaw and turned my face toward her.
“here’s the thing,” she said. “i want you here. but not like this. not sitting on the couch like my boring roommate. i want you to understand what you’re losing. i want you to see it. and the only way i let you stay is if you let me dress you up.”
“dress me up,” i said.
“in my clothes. my panties. my skirt. i’m going to do your makeup. you’re going to look pretty and humiliated and you’re going to watch. and if you can’t handle that, you can go to your mom’s for the night.”
i didn’t go to my mom’s.
she had me in the bathroom at 7:15 sitting on the edge of the tub while she pulled things out of her drawers. black lace panties. a burgundy lipstick that cost $40. she had bought specific things for this, i realized. she’d already planned it. while i was sitting on the couch pretending i hadn’t seen the phone, she’d been planning my humiliation.
“stand up,” she said.
i stripped. she pulled the panties up my legs and tucked me in, and i hated how good they felt. soft against my thighs, the lace sitting high on my hips. my cock was getting hard already and she just laughed.
“look at you. you love this.”
“i don’t.”
“your dick says different.”
she pulled her skirt off and stepped into it and zipped it up my back. it was short, hitting mid-thigh on me, and my cock was still half-hard under it and visible and she said, “we’ll fix that,” and left me in the bathroom while she came back with ice. she held it against my cock until i was soft and shivering, and then she pulled me to the mirror.
“sit,” she said. she had a makeup brush and she was already getting it wet with foundation and she was humming.
“sarah—”
“no. don’t talk. just sit there and look like someone who’s about to lose everything.”
she was good at makeup. she had steady hands and she did my eyes first, a dark smoky thing that made them look huge and wet, and then she did my cheeks and my chin and finally the lipstick, that expensive burgundy, painting it on slow while i watched myself become someone i didn’t recognize. someone prettier. someone she wanted to humiliate.
when she was done she kissed the top of my head and said, “you look beautiful. you look like a whore. you look like exactly what you are.”
there was a knock at the door at 8:03pm.
marcus was huge. like, genuinely, he was probably six foot three and two hundred forty pounds of muscle and tattoos and he stood in our living room looking around like he was trying to figure out how his girlfriend kept herself amused in such a sad little apartment. and then he saw me and he laughed. actually laughed out loud, this deep bark of a laugh that made me want to die.
“oh fuck,” he said. “oh, this is perfect. is he gonna—”
“he’s gonna suck you,” sarah said. she was next to him now, her hand on his chest, and they were looking at me like i was a piece of furniture they’d ordered online and it had just arrived.
she led me to my knees right there in the living room, in her skirt, in her panties, in her lipstick. marcus unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock and it was what i expected. huge. thicker than mine. darker. he didn’t say anything, he just held it out and sarah put her hand on the back of my head and pushed.
i opened my mouth. the head of his cock was salty and warm and he tasted like his deodorant and underneath that just him, male, and sarah made this sound, this pleased sound, and said, “that’s it. keep sucking. you love it.”
i didn’t love it. but my cock was hard again, pressing against the lace panties, and i hated myself for it.
he didn’t last long. fifteen minutes of me sucking him, sarah’s hand in my hair, her telling me what a good girl i was (girl, she said), and then he grabbed the back of my head and came. hot and salty and a lot, and she made me swallow, made me stay there while he softened in my mouth.
when he pulled out, i could taste the lipstick on his cock.
“bedroom,” sarah said. and i followed them like a dog, like a pet, my little skirt swishing and my cock aching and my face still wet.
she had me lie on the bed first, on my back, so i could see. so i could have the best view. and then she was pulling off her clothes and marcus was stripping down and his body was exactly what the text had promised. all of it.
sarah got on top of him first. she sank down on his cock with this moan and he grabbed her hips and she started riding him and i was right there, my cock out of the panties now, leaking, and my face was burning and i couldn’t look away.
“come here,” sarah said. she was looking at me, her eyes dark, and she reached out and pulled me closer, made me lie next to her while she fucked him. “watch,” she said. “watch what a real man feels like.”
marcus was looking at me the whole time. this contempt on his face like i was nothing, like i was a hole to use and then forget. he reached out and grabbed my cock, stroked it once, twice, hard and mocking, and then he let go and went back to focusing on sarah, ignoring me completely.
when he flipped her over he pushed her up onto her hands and knees and fucked her from behind and sarah turned her head to me and pulled me close and held my chin, held my face so i couldn’t look away, so i had to watch my girlfriend getting fucked better than i’d ever fucked her, and she said, right into my mouth, “you feel that? that’s what you’re missing. that’s what i needed.”
my cock was dripping. i reached down to touch myself and sarah slapped my hand away.
“no. you don’t get to come.”
marcus came with a grunt, pulled out and finished on her ass, on her back, and then he rolled off and lit a cigarette like he was the only one who mattered, which, in that moment, he was.
sarah turned to me and grabbed my cock and jerked me off, rough, her lipstick smeared across her cheek where it had rubbed off on marcus’s shoulder. it took like thirty seconds. i came all over her hand, all over the skirt, all over myself, and she held me there after, held my softening cock in her fist and said, “pathetic.”
he left around 10pm, kissed her goodbye at the door, told her he’d see her next weekend. sarah locked the door and turned to me and i was still in the skirt, still in the panties, my makeup smeared, my cock soft, and she leaned against the doorframe and looked at me for a long time.
“there’s lipstick on your neck,” she said finally. “you might want to wash that before your family sees you.”
“sarah—”
“go to bed. we can figure out the logistics tomorrow. he wants to come back next week. apparently he wants to try fucking you next time.”
i didn’t say anything. there was lipstick on my neck. there was cum drying on the skirt. i was still wearing her panties and they felt exactly the same as before, soft, lace, like they belonged there now.
i washed the makeup off in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. underneath, i still looked like me. but smaller somehow. less real. i was still wearing the panties when i got into bed.
she didn’t come to bed that night. she fell asleep on the couch watching netflix with her phone in her hand, probably texting marcus, probably planning what he’d do to me next time, and i lay there in her skirt and her panties and her lipstick on my collar in the morning and waited for next weekend.
