Chapter 13: The Walk of Shame and Karen's Revenge
The sun hit her like a slap.
Melissa stood at the edge of Karen's driveway, squinting against the morning light, her oversized sunglasses doing nothing to hide the fact that she was moving like a woman who'd been ridden hard and put away wet. Which, technically, she had been.
Her thighs ached with every step. Not the pleasant soreness of a good workout—this was something else entirely. A deep, bone-level exhaustion that radiated from her core outward, reminding her with every shuffled step exactly what she'd done the night before.
And the leaking.
God, the leaking.
Victor's come had been seeping out of her all morning, a warm, sticky reminder that she'd let her stepson pump four loads into her married cunt. She'd shoved a wad of toilet paper into her underwear before leaving the house, but it had long since given up the fight. Every time she moved, she felt another trickle.
She'd rehearsed her confession a dozen times in the car.
Karen, I did something terrible.
Karen, you were right about Victor.
Karen, I fucked my stepson and I liked it.
But standing here now, staring at Karen's pristine white door, her carefully constructed words evaporated like mist.
She knocked.
The door swung open almost immediately, like Karen had been waiting.
Karen stood there in her silk robe, hair still wet from the shower, coffee mug in hand. Her eyes swept over Melissa—the hunched posture, the grimace, the way her legs were pressed together like she was trying to hold something in.
Then Karen burst out laughing.
"Oh my God," she wheezed, doubling over, coffee sloshing over the rim of her mug. "Oh my fucking God."
"Karen—"
"You're waddling!" Karen gasped, grabbing the doorframe for support. "You're waddling like a penguin with a butt plug!"
"I am not—"
"You absolutely are!" Karen straightened up, tears streaming down her face. "I told you! I fucking told you he'd wreck you! Didn't I tell you? 'That boy is going to ruin you, Melissa.' Those were my exact words!"
Melissa's face burned. "Can I please come inside?"
"Oh, absolutely. Please. Waddle on in." Karen stepped aside, still cackling. "I want to see this from all angles."
Melissa shuffled past her, every step a reminder of the previous night. The living room was bright, sun-drenched, the floor-to-ceiling windows painting everything in shades of gold. The scent of coffee and citrus hung in the air.
She made it three more steps before her legs gave out.
She collapsed onto Karen's cream-colored couch in a heap, a sound escaping her that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper.
Karen closed the door. Leaned against it. Pulled out her phone.
"Karen," Melissa said warily. "What are you doing?"
"I'm showing you something."
"No—"
Karen was already scrolling. She turned the phone around, and there it was: a video. Of Melissa. Walking from her car to Karen's front door.
Her legs bowed. Her steps tiny. Her face a mask of barely-contained agony.
"I took it while you were walking up," Karen said, grinning. "From the window. This is art, Melissa. Pure art."
"Delete that."
"Absolutely not."
"Karen—"
"This is going in the group chat."
Melissa lunged.
Or tried to. Her body betrayed her—her thighs screamed, her core seized, and she flopped forward like a fish, landing face-first on a decorative pillow. The movement sent a fresh gush of Victor's come seeping into her underwear.
"Fuck," she groaned into the pillow.
Karen's laughter filled the room. She was bent over again, phone clutched to her chest, tears running down her cheeks.
"Oh, honey," she managed. "Oh, honey. You are so fucked. In every sense."
Melissa rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "I hate you."
"You love me. And you're going to tell me everything."
"I'm not—"
"I'm getting mimosas." Karen was already walking toward the kitchen. "And you're going to spill every filthy detail, or that video goes to Jessica, Amanda, and—"
"Fine!"
Karen returned with two champagne flutes filled with orange juice and cheap prosecco. She handed one to Melissa, then settled into the armchair across from her, tucking her legs beneath her.
"Start talking," she said. "And don't skip anything."
Melissa took a long drink. The bubbles burned her throat. She closed her eyes.
"I don't even know where to start."
"The beginning is usually a good place."
"The beginning was... we were working out. Like normal. But not normal." She opened her eyes, stared at the ceiling. "There was this energy. This tension. He kept looking at me, and I kept looking at him, and then we were wrestling."
"Wrestling?"
"On the mat. He pinned me. And then I..." She trailed off.
"You what?"
"I kissed him."
Karen's eyebrows shot up. "You kissed him? You made the first move?"
"I know."
"Holy shit."
"I know."
"And then?"
"And then he kissed me back. And then his hands were everywhere. And then his mouth was..." She closed her eyes again. "Everywhere else."
"Specifics, Melissa. I need specifics."
"He ate me out."
"On the mat?"
"Against the wall first. Then on the mat."
Karen took a slow sip of her mimosa. "And?"
"And I came. Hard. And then he was inside me."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"No condom?"
Melissa was silent.
"Melissa."
"I know."
"You let your stepson fuck you raw?"
"I know, Karen."
"On the first time?"
"It wasn't planned!"
"It never is, sweetheart." Karen leaned forward. "How many times did he make you come?"
Melissa's face burned. "I lost count."
"You lost count?"
"Four. Maybe five. I don't—there was a lot."
"A lot?"
"He kept going. After he finished, he just... kept going. He flipped me over. Fucked me from behind. Then on my side. Then on my back with my knees pushed up to my chest."
"Jesus Christ."
"He came four times. Inside me. Every time."
Karen was quiet for a moment. Then she said, very softly, "And what did he say?"
Melissa opened her eyes. Turned her head to look at her friend.
"What?"
"While he was doing it. What did he say?"
She should lie. Should keep some shred of dignity. But the words came out anyway, pulled from somewhere deep and shameful.
"He said I was his."
Karen's breath caught.
"He made me say it back. Made me say 'I'm yours.' And I did. I said it." Melissa's voice cracked. "While he was pumping his seed into my married cunt, I told him I was his."
The silence stretched.
Karen set down her glass.
"Melissa."
"What?"
"You're in deep."
"I know."
"No, honey. I mean you're in deep." Karen stood, walked to the window, stared out at her perfect garden. "This isn't a one-time thing. This isn't a mistake you can take back. He fucked you like he owns you, and you let him."
"He didn't—I didn't—"
"You did. You absolutely did." Karen turned back around. Her expression had shifted. The laughter was gone. Something hungrier sat in its place. "And you liked it."
Melissa couldn't deny it. Didn't try.
"The question is," Karen continued, "what happens now?"
"I don't know. I came here because I didn't know where else to go."
"You came here because you knew I wouldn't judge you."
"Would you? Judge me?"
Karen laughed—but it was different now. Low. Considering.
"Honey, I've been waiting for something like this to happen to you for years. I've watched you pretend to be happy with that boring husband of yours, pretend to be satisfied with your perfect little life. I knew you were going to crack eventually. I just didn't know it would be your stepson who did the cracking."
"So you're not... disgusted?"
"I'm fascinated." Karen walked back to the chair, sat down, crossed her legs. "And I want in."
Melissa blinked. "What?"
"You heard me."
"Karen—"
"I'm serious." She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "I'll keep your secret. I'll lie to Robert if I have to. I'll cover for you. But in exchange..."
"In exchange what?"
"I want to watch."
The words hung in the air.
Melissa's jaw dropped. "You want to—"
"Watch. Yes. The next time he fucks you. I want to be there."
"That's insane."
"Is it?" Karen tilted her head. "Think about it. You need someone in your corner. Someone who knows. Someone who can help you navigate this mess. And I need... something. My marriage is just as boring as yours, Melissa. I've been living vicariously through you for years. Now I want a front-row seat."
"You're asking to watch me have sex with my stepson."
"I'm asking to watch you get wrecked by the twenty-three-year-old who's clearly been obsessed with you for months. There's a difference."
Melissa should say no. Should storm out. Should pretend this conversation had never happened.
Instead, she felt her pussy clench.
A small, involuntary contraction around the memory of Victor's cock. A reminder that she was still sore, still leaking, still marked by what he'd done to her.
Karen noticed. Of course she noticed.
"Your body already said yes," she said softly. "Your mouth is just catching up."
"I can't—"
"You can. You just have to decide if you will."
Melissa closed her eyes. Victor's voice echoed in her head. You're mine. Say it.
She'd meant it when she'd said it. Every word.
"You really want to watch?" she asked.
"I really do."
"And you'll keep the secret? From everyone? From Robert?"
"I'll take it to my grave."
Melissa opened her eyes. Karen was watching her with that hungry expression, waiting, patient, certain.
"Okay," Melissa whispered.
Karen's smile was slow. Sharp. Triumphant.
"Good girl," she said.
The words hit Melissa like a slap. The same words Victor had used. The same tone. The same approval.
She shivered.
"Now," Karen said, standing, "let's get you cleaned up. You've got come drying on your thighs, and I refuse to have this conversation with you looking like a crime scene."
"How did you—"
"Please. You think I don't recognize that smell? You reek of sex, Melissa. It's honestly kind of impressive."
Melissa looked down at herself. At her ruined jeans. At the dark stain she hadn't noticed on her inner thigh.
"Fuck."
"Exactly." Karen held out her hand. "Come on. Shower. Then we'll plan."
"Plan what?"
"The next time." Karen pulled her to her feet, steadying her when she wobbled. "I'm not just going to show up unannounced. We need to be smart about this."
"You're really serious about this."
"I've never been more serious about anything." Karen steered her toward the hallway bathroom. "Go. Clean up. I'll make more mimosas."
Melissa paused at the bathroom door. Turned back.
"Karen?"
"What?"
"Thank you."
Karen smiled. Soft this time. Real.
"That's what friends are for, honey."
Melissa closed the door. Leaned against it. Stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her hair was a disaster. Her makeup was smeared. There was a bruise forming on her neck—a small, purple mark that Victor had left with his mouth.
She pressed her fingers to it.
You're mine.
She turned on the shower. Stepped under the spray. Watched the water run down her body, carrying the evidence of the night before down the drain.
When she got out, she was still sore. Still marked. Still leaking.
But she was smiling.
And that, more than anything, was what scared her most.