"Abby, I'm home,"

I wasn't supposed to be. It was going to be a great evening and a better night. My off-the-shoulder midnight-black evening gown with a delicious split for easy access was covered in mud. I picked off a burr stuck to my perfectly straightened hair.

Am I proud I spent the evening hiding from Dylan's wife?

No.

Did it excite me?

I plead the fifth.

The worst part was listening to him fucking her. He had no choice, of course. She was about to open the closet, and my lipstick was still smudged across my face. I'd gone a little crazy when he pulled out his cock. But Dylan knew how to calm his wife down. Through the crack in the door, I saw him tear her bubblegum pink panties and lay her out on his giant mahogany desk—her accusations overtaken by moans, whimpering, and grunts. I hate watching. I wanted to be the one getting railed.

Or maybe join in.

Instead, I did the smart thing. I waited for him to lift her and carry the delighted bride into the other room, then I slipped out the window. The plan was not flawless. My heel snapped, and I got a face full of dirt. Dylan had picked me up in his limo, so I had to Uber after walking nearly a mile.

Fucker will pay for all of it.

Literally.

But it had been a minute since I'd had an evening with my precious Abby.

There wasn't the slightest doubt in my mind she'd be home. Sure, she had a date tonight, but being real that meant nothing. Imagine a 90s comedy. Ok. Abbey is the sorta frazzled best friend, cooky and friendly. Large square glasses that hide most of the face. But she doesn't understand all that boy stuff. Basic bitch for sure. But the sweetest, kindest, and best friend you could ask for.

Earlier that day, she'd picked out her "date" outfit. It was a striped sweater with jeans and a beenie. Nothing matched. It was an assault on the senses. And on top of all that, she didn't seem particularly excited about the date.

"His name is Lucas," she tried to smile, looking at the blurry picture. "He's an Orthodox Minister. So I guess that's nice."

"What's an Orthodox," I asked while I debated wearing underwear.

"Oh, not sure. Christian, right?"

And even if this minister had secretly been Prince Charming. Abbey didn't go home with folks on the first date. Slightly paranoid, my friend. But what can you do?

"Abbey?" I call again, locking and bolting the door behind me. I hear the shower running. I'll get the details later.

I drop the keys on our dish.

Or I would but it's not there.

More specifically, the porcelain lies shattered on the floor. Everything is on the ground. Coats, wall hooks, our photos.

"Britanny..." a weak voice calls from the living room. "Britanny..."

I move, passing more shattered objects. The sofa has been flipped over, the stuffing torn out of a few pillows, and the TV on the floor.

"Abbey, where are you?" my heartbeat pounds, almost deafening me.

"Here..."

There. On the kitchen island. She's naked, sweat coating her body, glistening under the lights. Her glasses rest between her breasts. One hand is curled in her tangled hair, the other waves weakly in my direction.

"How did your date go..." I've never seen a grin like that, certainly not on Abbey. Satisfied didn't even begin to cover the look of total bliss. "Mine went super-duper."

I could smell the sex now. It was overwhelming. Moving closer, I saw her inner thighs shine as her juices pooled under her ass, mixed with a thick white cream. Abbey's hand trembled, but she reached down, soaked her finger inside, and brought it to her lips, sucking them dry.

"Delicious. Oh, god, so fucking good. Do you wanna taste, Brit?"

I did. The world spun around me. I'm like 92 percent straight, but seeing her there. Especially since I knew Abbey. Or thought I did. Never noticed that grabbable hair before or those massive nipples engorged on heavy breasts, or her muscular thighs. She hid it all from me. And I wanted to make up for lost time and almost fell in between her legs for a midnight snack. But I heard the shower stop.

Abbey giggled. "He's back."

I turn, and he's there. Six foot four, hair messed even wet, long arms, lanky but athletic build, and a surprised though not embarrassed grin.

Even as I stare at his erect cock.

It's not the largest I've ever seen, but thick and curved.

"Britanny, right?" He holds out his hand as if we were chatting at a PTA. "Nice ta meet ya, I'm Lucas."

His grip was strong, and as he pulled me closer, I didn't resist. Why should I? This wouldn't be my first threesome and Lucas certainly seemed to know what he was doing.

The sharp smell of his shaving cream hit me harder than I expected. Or maybe at the end of the day, I'm a slut.

I can live with that.

"Abbey told me about you," he tucked an unruly hair behind my ear. "Told me you were a sinner. A bad little girl."

"Sorry," Britanny hissed and I realized she was gently stroking her clit right next to us on the island, the other hand holding both her glasses and nipple. Squeezing.

The lens broke.

And she didn't stop.

"I'm the worst," grinning, I pushed my finger into his chest. No give whatsoever. "Basically a devil."

"No," Lucas took that word seriously. He squeezed and then guided my wrist gently against the wall. "Just led astray. But we'll fix that."

Without thinking, I put the other palm shoulder length apart and spread my legs. He lifts my dress and drops it over my shoulder. My back bare, and ass covered by the tiniest red strings of my thong.

"Should I take these off," I wiggle but he presses a single hand against my lower back.

"Unnecessary. Now spread... wider. You'll need the leverage."

Been told that before. Everyone thinks their cock is a gift from god.

"Shit," I howled.

His slap reverberated through every part of my body. I started to gasp, forcing my face against the wall; a spasm erupted through my legs. It wasn't pain so much, though the stinging burn on my left ass cheek didn't fade. But that he'd just switched on nerves I'd never known existed.

"What the fuck?!" I managed to say.

"In order to be rewarded, we must repent," Lucas gently squeezed the other unsuspecting side. "Confess your sins."

"Or-"

His hand came down again and I didn't finish my bratty reply. Instead, I moaned and arched, hoping he'd skip the foreplay and push that cock inside.

"Confess or continue to suffer."

One. two. Four. Ten. I don't remember. Each time his hands came down, I sputtered, maybe begged? I know there was drool cause I could feel the spit hitting my chest.

"Fuck me!" I screamed and Abbey giggled.

"Not until you confess."

"Fine. Fine." Where to start? "Uh, I'm sleeping with a married man."

"Does his wife know?"

"No."

Another spank, but this one feels soothing. The burning arousal still threatens to drive me crazy but my breathing begins to steady.

"We'll have to fix that. What else?"

"I... am a liar. A filthy dirty liar."

"We're all sinners. No need to be dramatic."

This time, the impact feels light. His fingertips play with my burning flesh. It's agonizing, frustrating, and delightful. I've never been kept in this kind of orgasmic purgatory before. I couldn't cum until he let me, and every action he took stopped me from cooling down.

"Anything else?"

But I'm just mewling. Language is beyond me. I'm thrusting back, trying to find his cock, but he kept me in place. The fucker was strong.

"Ok. Good start. Tomorrow, if you're good. I'll reward you."

What?

"WHAT!"

I turn and his crystal blue eyes are so clear they burn hotter than my well-punished ass.

"Tomorrow if you're good. Longer if you're not."

He puts a finger to my lips and I stop talking. His smile is gentle and I wanna rip him apart. But I can't because dead, he can't fuck me.

"Sit down over there." He points to the overturned sofa and I do. Not even bothering to turn it over but simply plopping down on what was once the back.

Lucas turns towards Abbey. Glorious, delectable, and fuckable Abbey. She squeals in joy.

I've no words for the next three hours. But I will do anything to be good.

Anything.