Chapter 21: The Betrayal
The silence in Nat’s room was a taut wire, humming with every muffied thump and gasp from elsewhere in the apartment. It had been a week of listening. A week of lying perfectly still in her crisp white bed, glasses off, staring at the ceiling as the sounds of ruin traveled through the walls. Conzi’s choked sobs from the balcony. Noa and Nicola’s frantic, furious coupling on the living room couch. The constant, low drumbeat of Chris’s voice, his laugh, the opening and closing of his door.
It had crystallized something in her. The gentle dissatisfaction she felt with Micha had curdled into a sharp, specific hunger. Lucia’s detailed bragging, the whispers about size, the obvious, gloating pleasure her friend took in Nat’s envy—it wasn’t just teasing anymore. It was a map. And Nat was done being lost.
Micha was sitting on the edge of her bed, his posture slumped. He’d come over to watch a movie, to hold her, to be the sweet, predictable boyfriend. He’d asked her, for the third time, if she was okay.
“You seem a million miles away,” he said, his hand rubbing small, nervous circles on her back.
Nat turned to him. The pale city light from the window glinted off her lenses, hiding her eyes. “I’m not miles away,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “I’m right here. And I’m so tired, Micha.”
“Of what? Work? The roommates? We can get away, just us—”
“Of wanting,” she interrupted. The word hung, stark and ugly. “I’m tired of just wanting.”
He flinched, his hand stilling. His gaze dropped to his own lap, as if he could already see the inadequacy there. “Nat… I try. You know I’d do anything.”
“I know.” She reached out, touched his cheek. The gesture felt like a farewell. “That’s the problem. You’d do anything for me. Except be what I need.”
Tears welled in his eyes. “What do you need? Tell me. Please.”
She stood up, walking to her bedroom door. She turned the lock. The click was deafening. Then she walked to her desk, opened her laptop, and typed a single line into the apartment’s group chat, which only she, Chris, and Elia were in. Her fingers didn’t shake.
Nat: Come to my room. Now. The door’s unlocked.
She didn’t look at Micha. She heard his sharp intake of breath.
“Who are you texting?” he whispered.
“Chris,” she said, closing the laptop.
“What? Why? Nat, what’s going on?” His voice climbed, panicked.
“You said you’d do anything,” she said, turning to face him. She took off her glasses, folded them neatly on the nightstand. Without them, her face looked softer, older, resolved. “You want to know what I need? I need you to watch. I need you to see what a real man looks like. I need you to see what I’ve been listening to every night. And I need you to be quiet.”
His mouth opened and closed. Horror and a traitorous, thrilling shock warred in his expression. He didn’t move from the bed. He didn’t get up to leave. He just sat there, paralyzed, as the footsteps approached down the hall. They were heavy, unhurried.
The door handle turned. Chris stepped inside, filling the frame. He wore a simple grey t-shirt and sweats, his hair slightly damp as if from a shower. He looked at Nat, then at Micha cowering on the bed. A slow, understanding smile spread across his face. It wasn’t a kind smile.
“Hey, Nat. Micha,” he said, his tone casually conversational, as if he’d been invited for a beer. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Getting a private show?”
“He’s staying,” Nat said. Her heart was a wild bird in her chest. She could feel Micha’s terrified eyes on her. It ignited something electric under her skin. “I want him to see.”
Chris’s gaze traveled over her—her simple tank top, her soft cotton shorts. He pushed off the door. “See what?”
“See you fuck me,” Nat said. The crudeness of the words in her own pristine room sent a jolt through her. “See you ruin me for him.”
A low noise escaped Micha, a whimper stifled into a cough.
Chris walked toward her, stopping just a foot away. The sheer size of him, the quiet confidence, made the air feel thin. He smelled of clean soap and something else, something fundamentally male. He didn’t touch her yet. “You sure about that? Your boyfriend looks a little pale.”
Nat held his gaze. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
“Okay then.” Chris finally reached out, a single finger hooking under the strap of her tank top. He slid it off her shoulder. “You heard the lady, Micha. Get comfortable. Take a seat in the corner. And don’t make a sound.”
It was a command. Micha stumbled off the bed as if propelled, shuffling to the reading chair in the corner by the window. He folded himself into it, making himself small. His hands clenched on his knees. Nat saw the bulge in his pants, a small, pathetic tent. Her chest tightened with a mix of contempt and dizzying power.
Chris’s attention returned to her. He pulled the tank top over her head, tossing it aside. Her breasts were small, high, nipples already peaked and tight in the cool air. He palmed one, his thumb brushing over the nipple. “You’ve been thinking about this a long time, huh? Lying in your clean little bed, listening through the wall.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Touching yourself while you heard me give it to some other girl?”
“Yes.”
“Filthy,” he murmured, not unkindly. He leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive tip. Nat cried out, her head falling back. The sensation was directly wired to her core, a pulse of pure need that made her legs weak. His hands went to the waistband of her shorts and her cotton panties, pushing them down her hips in one motion. They pooled at her ankles. She stepped out of them, naked now except for her socks.
Chris stood back up, looking her over. “On the bed. On your back. Legs spread. Let him see what he’s been missing.”
Nat obeyed, crawling onto the white duvet, the fabric cool against her back. She opened her legs, exposing herself completely to the two men. The ceiling above her was blurry. She heard a ragged breath from the corner.
Chris stripped off his t-shirt, revealing the defined muscle of his chest and shoulders. He pushed his sweats and boxers down. His cock sprang free, already fully hard, thick and heavy and impossibly long. Nat had seen pictures, heard descriptions, but the reality was visceral, almost frightening. A choked sound came from Micha’s corner.
Chris knelt on the bed between her spread legs. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t tease. He ran the blunt, broad head of his cock through her slick folds, gathering wetness, but not entering. He looked over his shoulder at Micha. “See this, buddy? This is what a woman really wants. Not that little thumb you’ve got. This.”
Micha was crying silently, tears tracking down his cheeks, but his eyes were glued to the scene, his hand pressed firmly against the obvious erection in his pants.
The humiliation, the exposure, the sheer taboo of it all crashed over Nat in a heated wave. This was it. This was the secret thrill she’d never dared name. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” Chris asked, still looking at Micha.
“Fuck me. I can’t wait anymore.”
He turned back to her, his eyes dark. He positioned himself, the head pressing against her entrance. She was wet, but she was small, and he was enormous. He leaned down, his mouth by her ear. “This is gonna hurt,” he said, almost gently. Then he shoved forward.
The pain was a bright, searing stretch. Nat screamed, a short, sharp sound as he buried himself to the hilt in one brutal, claiming thrust. She felt stuffed, impaled, split open on him. The burn was incredible. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Oh fuck,” Chris groaned, his head dropping. “You’re so fucking tight. Like a virgin.”
He didn’t move for a moment, letting her adjust, letting the unbearable fullness become her new reality. Nat panted, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She looked past Chris’s shoulder and saw Micha, unmoving, watching his girlfriend get filled by another man, his own hand now moving slowly, shamelessly over his clothed cock.
Then Chris began to move. He pulled out almost all the way, then drove back in, a deep, punishing rhythm that shook the bed frame. The initial pain was melting, transforming into a devastating, full-body pleasure. Each stroke rubbed a spot inside her she didn’t know existed. The sounds were obscene—the wet slap of flesh, their grunts and moans, the creak of the bed.
“You like that?” Chris grunted, his pace increasing. “You like your boyfriend seeing you get proper dicked down?”
“Yes!” Nat sobbed, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. “Oh God, yes!”
“Tell him. Tell him what this feels like.”
She turned her head, her blurry vision finding Micha’s hunched form. “He’s… he’s so deep, Micha. He’s filling me up. I can feel him in my stomach. You’ve never… you could never…”
Micha’s hand was moving faster now, a frantic rhythm over his pants. He was openly masturbating, his face a mask of agony and ecstasy.
Chris fucked her harder, his balls slapping against her ass. The room was hot, thick with the smell of sex and sweat. Nat’s careful, ordered world was shattering under the relentless, physical pounding. Her orgasm built, a coiling pressure from her toes to her scalp, fed by the sheer deviancy of the act.
“I’m gonna come,” Chris warned, his voice guttural. “You want it? You want me to fill this tight little cunt?”
“Yes! Please, Chris, come in me! Give it to me!”
With a final, driving thrust, he slammed into her and held, his body shuddering. She felt the hot, pulsing release deep inside her, a flood of warmth that triggered her own climax. It ripped through her, violent and mindless, her back arching off the bed as she screamed, her inner muscles clamping around his still-throbbing cock in rhythmic waves.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Chris slowly pulled out of her, a mixture of their fluids leaking onto her white duvet, a stark, wet stain. He stood up, looking down at the wreck of her.
From the corner, there was a muffled, choked cry. Micha’s body jerked, his hand stilling. A dark, damp patch spread across the front of his kh**Chapter 21**
The apartment was quiet except for the occasional creak of floorboards—the kind of quiet that felt like the pause before a storm. Nat sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers drumming against her thigh, her nails bitten down to the quick. She stared at her phone, the text message still open.
*"Come over. Micha’s here."*
Lucia’s reply had been immediate, predictably gleeful. *"Oh, this is happening? Finally. Be there in 10."*
Nat exhaled sharply through her nose. The decision had been made weeks ago, really. Every night lying awake, listening to the muffled sounds of Chris fucking some girl through the thin wall between their rooms, her own fingers working between her legs as she imagined it was *her* being stretched open, *her* taking every inch. The way Lucia had described it—*"It’s like being split in half, Nat. Like nothing else exists."*—had burrowed deep under her skin, an itch she couldn’t scratch.
And now here she was.
A knock at her door. Not Chris’s heavy one, not Lucia’s playful rap—Micha’s hesitant, almost apologetic tap.
"Come in," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
The door opened. Micha stood there, his brown eyes wide behind his glasses, his hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was afraid of what they might do if left free. He looked small in the doorway, dwarfed by the space, by the weight of what was coming.
"Hey," he said softly.
"Hey."
Silence. The air between them was thick with everything they weren’t saying.
Lucia arrived like a whirlwind, throwing the door open without knocking, her long dark hair wild from the wind outside. She took one look at them—Nat perched on the bed, Micha hovering like a kicked dog—and grinned.
"Oh, this is *delicious*," she purred, kicking the door shut behind her. She crossed the room in three strides, her hips swaying, and plopped down on the bed next to Nat. "So? How are we doing this?"
Nat swallowed. "I haven’t… told him yet."
Lucia’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait. *Wait.* You haven’t—? Oh, *fuck* me, this is even better." She turned to Micha, her green eyes alight with mischief. "Micha, sweetheart, your girlfriend’s about to get railed by Chris. And you’re going to watch."
Micha’s breath hitched. His cheeks flushed, but Nat didn’t miss the way his hips jerked slightly, the way his fingers twitched in his pockets.
"You—you want to?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Nat stared at him. "*You’re okay with this?*"
Lucia laughed, low and knowing. "Oh, he’s *more* than okay with it." She leaned forward, catching Micha’s gaze. "Aren’t you, *cariño*? You’ve been *dreaming* about this."
Micha didn’t deny it. His lips parted, his tongue darted out to wet them. His pupils were blown wide behind his glasses.
Nat’s pulse hammered in her throat. She had known—somewhere, deep down, she had *known*—but seeing it laid bare like this sent a hot rush between her legs.
Another knock.
This one *was* Chris’s.
Nat’s stomach flipped.
Lucia didn’t wait for permission. "Come in, *papi*," she called, her voice dripping with anticipation.
The door opened.
Chris filled the frame, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the sides. He was in his usual loose tank top, the fabric stretched tight over his chest, his tattoos peeking out from the sleeves. His gaze swept the room—lingering on Nat, then Micha, then Lucia—and a slow, knowing smirk curled his lips.
"Okay," he said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "Who’s first?"
Nat’s mouth went dry.
Lucia laughed, stretching out on the bed like a cat. "Oh, no. This is *Nat’s* show. We’re just the audience."
Chris’s eyes locked onto Nat. There was no teasing now, no playful banter—just hunger. Raw, undeniable hunger.
He crossed the room in two strides, his presence overwhelming, the scent of him—soap and something faintly musky—filling her space. He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face up to his.
"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice low.
Nat’s pulse roared in her ears. She nodded.
Chris smirked. "Say it."
She swallowed. "I want you to fuck me."
His thumb dragged across her bottom lip. "Louder."
"I want you to *fuck* me, Chris."
His grin turned wolfish. "Good girl."
His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back, and his mouth crashed down on hers. The kiss was *brutal*—all teeth and tongue, claiming, dominating. Nat moaned into it, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders, her body arching toward him.
Behind them, Lucia let out a delighted laugh. "Oh, *fuck* yes."
Micha made a choked sound.
Chris pulled back just enough to glance over his shoulder. "You gonna watch, little man?"
Micha’s entire face was red, his breathing shallow. He nodded.
Chris chuckled. "Then get comfortable. This might take a while."
He turned back to Nat, his hands already moving—grabbing the hem of her blouse and yanking it up over her head in one smooth motion. Her bra followed, tossed carelessly to the floor, and then his mouth was on her tits, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his fingers pinched the other.
Nat gasped, her back bowing. "Fuck—*Chris*—"
"Look at him," Chris growled against her skin, his teeth scraping her nipple. "Look at your *boyfriend* while I play with your tits."
Nat forced her eyes open, her gaze landing on Micha. He was rooted to the spot, his hands clenched at his sides, his cock visibly straining against his jeans.
Lucia sidled up next to him, her fingers trailing down his arm. "You like watching, don’t you?" she murmured in his ear. "You like seeing her *beg* for it?"
Micha whimpered.
Chris didn’t give Nat time to process that. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her leggings and panties, dragging them down her thighs in one rough pull. The cool air hit her bare skin, and then his hand was between her legs, two thick fingers sliding through her slick folds without hesitation.
"*Fuck*," Chris muttered, his voice gone rough. "You’re *dripping*."
Nat keened, her hips jerking against his hand.
Chris laughed, low and dark. "Greedy little thing, aren’t you?" He pressed his fingers inside her, just to the first knuckle, teasing. "You want more?"
"Yes—*please*—"
"Beg."
Nat’s eyes flicked to Micha again. His lips were parted, his chest heaving. The sight sent another rush of wetness between her legs.
"Please, Chris," she gasped. "Please fuck me. I need it—I need your cock—*please*—"
Chris’s grin was feral. "Since you asked so nicely."
He stood, shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—*huge*, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Nat’s breath caught. She had *heard* the stories, but *seeing* it—
Chris gripped himself, giving a few slow strokes, his eyes never leaving hers. "You ready for this?"
Nat nodded, her mouth watering.
Chris chuckled. "We’ll see."
He pushed her back onto the bed, her legs spreading instinctively, and then he was *there*, the blunt head of his cock pressing against her entrance.
Nat tensed.
Chris paused. "Relax," he murmured, his thumb circling her clit. "Just breathe."
She exhaled, and he pushed in.
The stretch was *unreal*. Nat’s nails dug into his shoulders, her whole body trembling as he filled her, inch by relentless inch.
"*Fuck*," Chris groaned, his head dropping forward. "You’re *tight*."
Nat couldn’t speak. All she could do was *feel*—the burn, the stretch, the overwhelming *fullness* as Chris bottomed out inside her.
Lucia let out a low whistle. "Damn. She’s *taking* it."
Micha made a strangled noise.
Chris pulled back, then thrust in again, *hard*, and Nat *screamed*.
"That’s it," Chris growled, his hands gripping her hips, holding her in place as he started fucking her in earnest. "Take it. *Take* it."
Nat’s vision blurred. Every thrust sent sparks up her spine, her body struggling to accommodate his size, her pussy clenching around him like it was trying to pull him deeper.
Chris fucked her like *he owned her*—no gentle buildup, no sweet nothings whispered in her ear. Just raw, *animal* fucking, the bed slamming against the wall with every snap of his hips.
"Look at him," Chris gritted out, nodding toward Micha. "Look at your *boyfriend* while I ruin you."
Nat turned her head, her eyes meeting Micha’s. He was palming himself through his jeans, his lips trembling, his eyes *glazed* with arousal.
The sight sent a bolt of heat straight to her core.
"*Oh God*—" she sobbed, her orgasm crashing over her without warning, her walls clamping down on Chris’s cock like a vise.
Chris groaned, his rhythm faltering. "Fuck—*fuck*—"
He pulled out at the last second, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum splattered across Nat’s stomach, her tits, her *face*.
Silence.
Nat panted, her body still trembling with aftershocks, Chris’s cum cooling on her skin.
Lucia let out a slow, appreciative hum. "Well. That was *hot*."
Micha hadn’t moved. His entire body was rigid, his fingers still pressed against his cock through his jeans. A wet spot darkened the fabric.
Chris smirked, wiping his cock lazily on the sheets before tucking himself back into his sweats. "Guess he came in his pants like a fucking teenager."
Nat’s stomach twisted—with shame, with *arousal*, with something she couldn’t name.
Chris leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "You liked that, didn’t you? You liked him *watching*."
Nat didn’t answer.
She didn’t have to.
Chris straightened, grinning. "We’ll do this again."
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Lucia stretched, sighing contentedly. "Well. That was fun." She glanced at Micha, still frozen in place. "You okay there, *cariño*?"
Micha swallowed hard. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
"*Yes.*"
Nat closed her eyes.
She knew, with terrifying certainty, that this wouldn’t be the last time.