Chapter 6: The Proposal
The key scraped against the lock twice before it caught, her fingers too clumsy, too tired to find the groove. Charli pushed the door open and stepped into the dim hallway, the familiar smell of their flat washing over her like a blanket. Stale coffee. Jamie's deodorant. The faint mustiness of a place that hadn't been aired out properly in days.
She didn't bother with the light. She could see the soft blue glow of the television spilling from the living room, and the shape of him on the sofa, half asleep, one arm draped over the armrest. He'd waited up for her.
The thong was a damp, cold line against her skin. She'd been aware of it the whole walk home, the way it clung and chafed with every step, a constant reminder of where she'd been and what she'd let happen. The memory of Trey's hand cracking against her ass, the low rumble of his laugh in her ear, the way his friend had watched her like she was a piece of meat. And then the grinding, the heat of him through his joggers, her body moving on its own while her mind screamed at her to stop.
She didn't stop. She couldn't.
"Charli?" Jamie's voice was thick with sleep, cracking as he shifted on the sofa and blinked at her. "You're home early."
She didn't answer.
She crossed the room and collapsed into him, her knees hitting the cushion as she buried her face against his chest. Her hands fisted in his t-shirt, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold in the sob that clawed at her throat. He smelled like sleep and laundry detergent, like safety, like everything she was slowly eroding.
"Hey, hey," he murmured, his arms coming up around her, startled but warm. "What's wrong? What happened?"
She shook her head against his chest, breathing in jagged bursts. His palm moved up and down her back, patient, soothing, and it only made her want to cry harder because he was so good, so gentle, and she was lying to him again.
"Baby, talk to me." His voice was soft, coaxing. "Did something happen at work?"
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes wet but dry. The lie came easier than it should have.
"There was this guy," she said, her voice quivering in a way that felt almost real. "A gangster type. Trey. He had a whole crew with him." She shuddered, and it wasn't entirely performative. "He made me sit with him. Made me dance. He wouldn't take no for an answer."
Jamie's face tightened. "What do you mean, made you? Did he touch you?"
"Yes. I mean, no. Not like that." She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "He slapped my ass. Hard. And I had to grind on him, just to get out of there. Jess said he's a regular, that he's dangerous, and I didn't want to make it worse."
"Oh, Charli." He pulled her back into his chest, and she let him, letting out a shaking breath against his shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I hate that you have to deal with that."
"It's fine. I'm fine. I just..." She trailed off, and then straightened, sniffing. "Also, Ben messaged me again tonight."
Jamie's eyebrows drew together. "Ben? The Reddit guy?"
The WhatsApp group. The photos. The explicit praise. She'd told Jamie about Ben's crude compliments, about the dick pic, and he'd laughed it off, part of their new shared game. But tonight, the game felt heavier.
"He asked for a photo," she said, keeping her voice light, almost bored. "I sent him one of my outfit from the club. From the dressing room." She shrugged. "No big deal. I thought you'd want him to have something new."
Jamie studied her for a long moment, and she held his gaze, keeping her face open and tired. She wasn't lying, exactly. She had sent a photo of her outfit. The fact that she'd been wearing only a white cotton thong in that photo was just a detail.
"That's kind of hot, actually," Jamie said slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
"It is, isn't it?" She let out a small, nearly genuine laugh, and the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. Then she got up, went to the bedroom, and returned a moment later with Harry's gift.
She'd hidden it in the back of her underwear drawer, wrapped in one of Jamie's old t-shirts. She'd taken to thinking of it as hers now, Harry's cock made flesh and silicone, something she could use without any of the mess of actual betrayal. The fact that it was a clone of an old-money physics student's dick was just texture.
"What's that?" Jamie asked, sitting up straighter, watching her carry it over.
She held it out to him, unzipping the bag and letting him see. The silicone was a pale, fleshy tone, and it was thick, far thicker than Jamie, longer too, with a pronounced ridge along the underside and a flared base. It was obscene and beautiful, and Jamie's eyes went wide.
"Where did you get this?" he asked, his voice hushed.
Charli sat beside him on the sofa, letting her shoulder brush his. "There's a boutique near campus. Specialised stuff. I saw it and..." She shrugged, aiming for casual. "I thought we could try it. You know, for the whole thing."
"The whole thing?" His voice was careful, but she could see the interest flickering in his eyes.
"Your thing. The cuckold thing." She kept her tone soft, curious. "All those videos you watch. The idea of a bigger man with me." She reached out and ran a finger along the silicone ridge. "This is practice. Training."
Jamie licked his lips. "Training for what?"
"Training for taking a bigger cock," she said plainly.
Jamie didn't flinch. He didn't blush or look away. Instead something else flickered in his eyes, something she'd seen only in the blue glow of his laptop screen when he thought she was asleep. Hunger.
He reached out, not for the dildo, but for her. His hand found the back of her neck and pulled her in, and when his mouth met hers it was desperate, needy, nothing like the gentle kisses she was used to. She felt his tongue slide against hers, and his other hand found the waistband of her jeans, working the button loose with frantic fingers.
"Jamie," she breathed against his lips.
"I want to do it," he said, and his voice was raw. "I want to use it on you. I want to watch you take it."
She was already wet when he pushed her jeans down her thighs. The thong came next, peeled off with a reverence that made her chest ache, the damp cotton peeling away from her slick skin. He looked at her then, really looked, at the swollen bare line of her cunt glistening under the television's blue light, and she saw his throat work.
"God, Charli," he whispered.
He bent down and kissed her. Not her mouth this time. Lower. His mouth found her folds and she gasped, her hips bucking off the sofa cushions as his tongue dragged through the slick heat of her. He moaned against her like he was tasting something forbidden, and his hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider as he lapped at her clit in long, slow strokes.
"That's it," she breathed, her fingers finding his hair. "Just like that."
He ate her with his whole face, nose pressing into her mound, tongue sliding down to her hole and back up, flicking at her clit until she was trembling. He slipped two fingers inside her, pushing deep, curling, and she cried out, her back arching hard. He worked her like that for minutes, alternating between sucking her clit and fingering her, driving her up toward an edge she kept dancing on without falling over.
"Please," she gasped. "Jamie, please, I need it inside me."
He pulled back, his chin slick with her, and reached for the dildo. He held it in his hand and for a moment he just stared at it, at the thick shaft with its pronounced ridge, and she saw the doubt creep into his eyes.
"It's huge," he said quietly.
"It'll fit," she told him, and it wasn't a lie. "I've been thinking about this all week. Practicing. On my own." The half-truth tasted bitter but she swallowed it down. "I can take it."
He positioned himself between her thighs, the tip of the silicone pressing against her entrance. His hand was shaking slightly, and he looked at her for permission.
"Do it," she said.
He pressed. The head pushed into her and she gasped at the stretch, so different from the familiar snugness of Jamie's own cock. This was bigger, thicker, and even though she'd taken it before, alone in her bedroom with Harry's voice in her ear, it felt like a new thing entirely with Jamie guiding it.
He pushed deeper, slow and careful, and she felt herself open around him. The ridge dragged along her inner walls, catching on sensitive spots she'd forgotten existed, and she moaned, long and low, as the base finally pressed against her.
"I'm... I'm all the way in," Jamie breathed. "Fuck."
"Move," she begged. "Please move."
He started slow, pulling out until only the head remained, then pushing back in. His eyes were locked on the place where they joined, watching the thick silicone disappear inside her, and she saw his cock straining against his joggers, hard as steel. He grew bolder with each stroke, less careful, and soon he was fucking her with real purpose, the wet sounds of her cunt filling the small living room.
"Harder," she said. "You can go harder."
He grabbed her hips and angled her up, and the next thrust drove the dildo deep against a spot that made her see white. She cried out, her hands fisting the cushion, and he did it again, faster. The ridge caught on her g-spot with every stroke and she was climbing, climbing, the pressure building in her core until she thought she'd burst.
He flipped her over without pulling out. She ended up on all fours, face down on the cushion, and the new angle changed everything. He pulled her ass up and drove back in, and she felt the base slap against her, felt her cheeks compress against his hips as he fucked her deep.
"Jesus, Jamie," she moaned. "Yes, just like that."
He wasn't gentle anymore. He was pounding into her, the dildo so deep she could feel it pressing against her cervix, and the pleasure had turned sharp and bright, edged with pain that only made it better. She grabbed the armrest and pushed back into every thrust, meeting him stroke for stroke, and the sofa slid an inch across the carpet from the force of it.
Another flip. She was on her back again, legs over his shoulders, the deepest position there was. He folded her nearly in half and drove the dildo straight down into her, the full length disappearing inside her with a wet squelch that made her scream.
"Take it," Jamie gritted out, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead. "Take all of it."
He fucked her like a machine, fast and relentless, his hips slapping against her ass with a rhythm that had no mercy in it. She felt the coil in her belly tighten to a breaking point, felt her orgasm rising like a wave she had no control over, and when it hit, it hit her like a truck. She came with a scream, her cunt clenching around the thick intruder, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through her. She felt herself soak the cushion beneath her, her climax so intense it left her shaking.
Jamie slowed, then stopped, panting hard. He pulled the dildo out slowly, and she felt the emptiness rush in, a void where she'd been so full. He set it aside and gathered her in his arms, pulling her against his chest, his heart slamming against his ribs.
"That was..." he started, but didn't finish.
She tucked her face into his neck, breathing him in. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she knew she'd just crossed another line. The dildo in her dresser wasn't for practice. It was Harry's cock, poured in silicone, and somehow Jamie had just fucked her with her lover's phantom.
But under the weight of exhaustion and the ache between her legs, all she felt was safe.
"Good, Jamie," she whispered. "That was so good."
The sofa still smelled like them, like sex and sweat and the faint clean scent of the silicone they'd cleaned and tucked away. Charli lay in the dark of the bedroom, Jamie's arm thrown across her waist, his breath slow and even against her shoulder blade. Her body ached in that deep, satisfying way that she'd never felt before tonight, and sleep came easier than she expected, wrapped in the warmth of him.
Two days passed in a blur. A shift at the Velvet Club that had her dancing on the pole with her back to the floor, avoiding Trey's booth entirely, and he didn't push it, just watched her from a distance with those dark hungry eyes. A lecture on quantum mechanics where Harry sat two rows ahead and turned his head every few minutes to stare at her, his gaze heavy and knowing, a small smirk on his face when she finally looked back. She'd taken her phone out under the desk twice, almost texting him, then stopped herself both times.
The second time they used the dildo, it was her idea. She'd been lying on the bed in nothing but one of Jamie's old t-shirts, scrolling through her phone, and she'd caught him watching her, his eyes dark with that familiar hunger. She'd taken him in her mouth first, the way she'd been thinking about all day, her hand wrapped around the base of his small cock as she licked and sucked, working him toward a hard dripping length in her palm. He'd moaned her name, fingers in her hair, and when she was done, she'd reached over him for the dresser drawer and pulled out the silicone monster.
She'd sucked Jamie to completion while the dildo pressed against her slit, riding the thick length of it with slow rolling hips, her mouth stuffed with him. He'd come with a shout, his release spilling down her throat, and she'd followed seconds later, grinding herself against the base of the fake cock, her cunt clenching around nothing but air.
It was good. It was a game they played now, something they shared.
On the third day, she sat in a lecture on statistical mechanics, the professor's voice a low drone in the back of her mind. She was two rows from the back, her notebook open, her pen tracing idle spirals in the margin. Her phone buzzed in her bag, and she fished it out, her pulse quickening when she saw the name.
BigGameHunter.
The message was short. Two words and a question mark. "Tits ?"
She stared at it for a long moment. The last message she'd sent him had been the white cotton thong photo from the dressing room, and before that the black lace photo Jamie had been part of. He'd gone quiet since, and she'd told herself it was fine, that the game had run its course, that she didn't need to keep feeding the flame.
But the message sat there, waiting, and she could feel the weight of it in her hand.
She glanced around the lecture hall. The professor was at the whiteboard, his back to the room. The girl next to her was asleep, head resting on her textbook. Harry wasn't in this class; he was in the seminar after this one, and the thought of his knowing eyes, the way he'd smirked at her those days ago, made her stomach flutter.
She could ignore it. She could put the phone away and focus on the electromagnetism equations and go home to Jamie and pretend the thing with Ben was a closed chapter.
Her thumbs typed the reply before her brain caught up.
"Be right back."
She stood, gathered her bag, and walked out of the lecture hall with a practiced calm. The corridor was empty, the fluorescent lights humming overhead. She pushed open the door to the bathroom, checked the stalls all empty, and leaned back against the sink, her heart hammering.
The mirror showed her a version of herself she was starting to recognize. Tired eyes. A flush of color on her cheeks. The same face she wore to lectures every day, the same face that had sent a photo of her pussy outline through white cotton to a stranger she'd never met.
She should stop. She knew she should stop. But her hands were already unbuttoning her shirt, the dark floral print parting to reveal the smooth plane of her stomach, the curve of her ribs, the lacy edge of her bra. A simple black bra tonight, nothing fancy, the kind she'd thrown on in a rush this morning. The cups were lined, not transparent, and she realized that if she did this properly, she'd have to take it off.
She looked at the phone in her hand. The message was still there, the two words a command she couldn't ignore.
She reached behind her back and unclasped the bra. The straps slid off her shoulders, and she let the cups fall forward, baring herself to the cold bathroom air. Her breasts felt heavy, pendulous as she leaned forward slightly, the dark brown disks of her areolae shrinking as the cold hit them, her nipples stiffening into hard, sensitive points. She arranged herself for the camera, holding her phone up at a flattering angle, one hand cupping the underside of her breast to lift it, her thumb brushing over her nipple in a way she knew would look intentional.
The click was loud in the empty bathroom.
She looked at the photo. It was explicit in a way her other photos hadn't been. Her bare chest, the full weight of her breasts on display, the dark circles of her nipples catching the fluorescent light. There was no mistaking what it was. No cute outfit, no lace disguise. This was just her, exposed, offered.
She sent it.
The message sent with a soft whoosh sound, and for a second she watched it disappear into the space between them. Then she stood there, her shirt open, her bra around her waist, staring at her own reflection in the mirror, and the reality of what she'd just done crashed into her like a wave.
She'd never sent a nude.
Jamie didn't know. Jamie thought the last photo had been an outfit pic, her club clothing, a game they both played. He didn't know she'd sent a stranger her body. He didn't know she'd sent Ben her bare tits, her nipples hard, her skin flushed. He didn't know she'd sent it from a university bathroom between lectures, that she'd positioned herself against a sink and made her body into a gift for a man she'd never met.
She looked at the photo again in her sent messages. It was still there. She couldn't take it back.
Her phone buzzed. Ben's reply came fast, just a few seconds later.
"Fuck, baby. Perfect tits. I want to see those wrapped around something."
A voice note. She pressed play, held the phone to her ear, and heard his deep, gravelly voice, slow and appreciative, talking about what he'd do with those tits if she were in front of him. The words were filthy. The words were exactly what she wanted to hear. She felt herself growing damp between her thighs, a heat that made her press her legs together.
She typed a reply, her fingers moving on autopilot.
"Maybe someday. Gotta get back to class."
She put her bra back on, doing it up with practiced efficiency. She buttoned her shirt, smoothed her hair, and looked at herself in the mirror one more time. Her face was flushed. Her nipples were still visible through the thin fabric, hard points against her chest.
She was halfway back to the lecture hall when the guilt hit her, a cold wave that made her station blank for a second in the middle of the corridor. She didn't go back to the lecture. She turned on her heel, walked out of the building, and sat on a low wall outside, her bag clutched in her lap, her phone heavy in her hand.
What the hell was she doing?
She scrolled to the WhatsApp group. Jamie's last message was a photo he'd sent her that morning, a selfie of himself with a coffee cup, the caption "Thinking of you." She added a heart reaction and then stared at it, her chest aching.
He didn't know.
He didn't know any of it.
The lecture hall doors opened behind her, students streaming out, and she stood quickly, pulling her phone into her pocket. The next class was the seminar with Harry. She could feel his eyes on her before she even looked up, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth as he passed her on the steps.
"Another lecture missed today?" His voice was light, friendly, the voice of a classmate who didn't know anything about the physical clone in her underwear drawer.
She forced a smile. "Feeling a bit off. Might skip the whole day."
He studied her for a beat too long, his gaze sharp. Then he shrugged, his eyes lingering on her chest. "You look fine to me. Take care, Charli."
She watched him walk up the steps and disappear through the doors, and the weight of her secrets pressed down on her so hard she thought she might buckle under it.