I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you bent over your boss’ desk, your tight little ass jiggling as he pounded into you from behind. The way his fat cock stretched your dripping pussy, the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin—fuck, it made my dick throb in my pants. I should’ve walked away, but I couldn’t. Not when you were moaning his name like that, your tits bouncing with every brutal thrust.
I thought we were past this. Four years of college, endless handjobs, your lips wrapped around my fingers while I teased your nipples until you came all over my hand. You always said you were scared of pregnancy, of ruining your future. But then graduation came, and suddenly you were dressing like a goddamn fantasy—skirt so short it barely covered your ass, blouses unbuttoned just enough to tease, heels that made your legs look like they went on forever. And the perfume—Christ, it was intoxicating, something expensive and floral, clinging to your skin like a second layer of clothes.
You came home late, always with some bullshit excuse about working late or happy hour with coworkers. But I knew. I *felt* it in the way you’d press your body against mine when we hugged, the way your breath hitched when I accidentally grazed your thigh. Then the texts started popping up on your phone when you thought I wasn’t looking. *"Can’t wait to feel you inside me again, baby."* *"Your cock is the only one that fits me right."* And the photos—god, the photos. You, spread eagle on some hotel bed, your boss’ face buried between your thighs while you clawed at the sheets. His dick, thick and veiny, buried to the hilt in your ass in another one.
I should’ve confronted you then. Should’ve thrown you against the wall and fucked you raw right there in the living room. But I didn’t. Instead, I drowned my frustration in the gym, in whiskey, in pretending I didn’t care. Until my best friend, Marco, cornered me at the bar one night.
"Dude, you look like hell," he said, sliding a beer toward me. "What’s eating at you?"
I downed half the bottle before answering. "Isis."
Marco nearly choked on his drink. "That girl? The one who looked like an innocent librarian in college?"
"Yeah."
He leaned in, smirking. "Man, she was *famous* for this shit back in school. Everyone knew. That tight little ass of hers? Straight A’s in chemistry, no problem. And the guys—fuck, she had a reputation. Even the jocks with huge dicks couldn’t handle her after one try."
My stomach twisted. "What?"
Marco laughed, clapping me on the back. "She told me herself. Said she loved the challenge, loved the way they’d beg after she took their cocks deep. Even *I* fucked her once at a party. You remember that?"
I did. I remembered the way she’d come home that night, her lips swollen, her makeup smudged. She’d told me she’d been out with friends, that she’d had too much to drink. I’d believed her.
Marco pulled out his phone, scrolling before turning it toward me. There was Isis, sitting on some guy’s lap in a dimly lit bar, her skirt hiked up to her waist, his fingers buried inside her. The caption read: *"Back for more, baby."*
"Called her up the other day," Marco said, grinning. "Told her you were missing her. She agreed to come over. Said she owed you for not fucking her when she was begging for it."
I should’ve told him to fuck off. Should’ve marched over there and thrown her out. But the thought of her here, in *my* apartment, in *my* bed, her body writhing under mine—it made my blood boil.
When the knock came, I wasn’t surprised. I opened the door, and there she stood—taller in those heels, her lips painted a dark red, her perfume wrapping around me like a vice. She smirked, stepping inside without invitation.
"Emilio," she purred, running a manicured hand down my chest. "Miss me?"
I slammed the door shut, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "You fucking liar."
She laughed, low and throaty. "And you *still* didn’t fuck me when you had the chance." Her fingers traced the outline of my cock through my pants. "But you will now."
I yanked her against me, my mouth crashing onto hers. She tasted like sin and expensive liquor, her tongue tangling with mine as she ground against my thigh. I tore at her blouse, buttons flying, her tits spilling free—perfect, heavy, nipples already hard. I took one in my mouth, sucking hard while she moaned, her fingers tangling in my hair.
"Fuck, you taste good," I growled against her skin. "All this time, and you let me *think* you were innocent."
She gasped as I pinched her other nipple, rolling it between my fingers. "I *was* innocent… until I realized how much I loved being *bad*."
I dropped to my knees, hooking my fingers into the waistband of her skirt and yanking it down along with her panties. Her pussy was already glistening, pink and swollen, her clit peeking out from between her folds. I buried my face between her thighs, my tongue flicking over her clit before I speared it inside her.
"Emilio—oh *fuck*—" Her hips bucked against my mouth as I feasted on her, my fingers joining my tongue, stretching her open. She came hard, her juices coating my chin, her thighs trembling around my head.
Before she could catch her breath, I stood, unbuckling my belt, freeing my aching cock. It was thick, veiny, the head already leaking. She licked