Chapter 11: The Wednesday Session
My phone buzzed on the desk, a soft hum against the wood grain. The group chat name glowed up at me, Lucy's contact picture a blur of dark hair and red lipstick. I stared at it for three full seconds before I opened the message.
"Special session this Wednesday, 7pm. Got a surprise for our girl."
Emily's reply came in before I could even process it. A string of emojis, hearts and sparkles and a little grinning face with hands pressed together. She'd never typed that fast in her life. I watched the bubbles appear and disappear, her message landing like a stone in my chest.
"Awww Luce what is it? I can't wait!
I thumbed out a response. My fingers felt clumsy. "I have a class conflict Wednesday. Engineering lab runs late."
Lucy's reply was instant. "That's fine, we'll record it. You can watch after."
Emily sent another heart. I set the phone down and stared at the wall of my dorm room. The cinderblock was the same dull beige it had been all semester. I counted the water stains on the ceiling until my breathing evened out.
The lies were getting easier. That was the worst part.
Wednesday came the way all Wednesdays came. I sat through my morning lecture, took notes I couldn't read back, and walked to the dining hall for lunch. My phone stayed quiet in my pocket. The quiet was worse than the pictures had been. I knew what was happening in that apartment. I knew what she was practicing for.
My engineering lab ran from two to four. I let the professor's voice wash over me, soldered a few resistors, filled a page with calculations I'd double-check later. The whole time, my phone sat silent on the bench beside me, and the silence ate at me like a slow acid.
At four o'clock, I walked back to the dorms. The hallway smelled like burnt popcorn and cheap body spray. I unlocked my door, kicked off my shoes, and dropped onto the bed. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. A video. Twenty seconds of it.
The screen filled with Emily's apartment, her living room, the familiar cream couch and the throw pillows Lucy had picked out. Emily was on her knees between two men I'd never seen before. Both massive. Both Black. Football players, from the build of them, thick necks and shoulders that strained the fabric of their t-shirts. One of them had his cock in his hand, thick as my wrist and dark, already slick at the tip. The other was unzipping his jeans.
Kaleb stood behind Emily, his hands resting on her shoulders with a casual ownership that made my stomach flip.
"Say hi to your fiancé, baby girl," Kaleb said.
Emily looked at the camera. She smiled. A real smile, bright and open, like she was showing me her flower arrangements. "Hi, Caleb. I love you."
The video cut off.
I lay there with the phone in my hand, my heart hammering against my ribs. My cock was already half hard. I hated it. I hated the way my body responded before my mind could catch up. I hated the heat spreading through my groin, the shameful pulse of want.
Another video. Thirty seconds this time.
Emily was on all fours on the couch now, the first man behind her, his massive hands gripping her hips. He was huge. I'd watched Kaleb take her enough times to know what a big cock looked like inside her, but this man made Kaleb look average. The head of his cock spread her open, thick and dark, pushing deeper with each slow thrust. Her moan came through the phone speaker, tinny and raw.
"That's it, baby girl," the man grunted. "Take it."
The second man was in front of her now, his cock heavy against her lips. She opened her mouth and let him feed it to her, inch by inch, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Kaleb had moved to the side of the couch, stroking himself, watching her with a lazy smile.
The video cut off.
I was fully hard now. My hand drifted down, unbidden, and wrapped around my swollen shaft. I told myself to stop. I told myself to put the phone down and go take a cold shower. Instead I hit play on the next video.
Emily was sandwiched. The first man inside her pussy, the second in her mouth, and Kaleb behind them, waiting. The camera angle caught it all. The way her body shook, caught between those two bodies, the way she moaned around the cock in her mouth.
"Swap," Kaleb said.
The man behind her pulled out. Wet, shining. He moved to the front, taking her mouth. The man in her mouth pulled out and slid behind her, his cock finding her cunt again with practiced ease. They kept a rhythm, trading her body back and forth, each one taking his turn in her holes while the other filled her mouth.
She was swallowing their cocks and moaning, her hips rocking back to meet every thrust. Her eyes were red from crying, but she was smiling too. A strange, open smile between thrusts, a look of abandon I'd never seen on her face in all the years I'd known her.
I stroked myself faster. The shame burned in my chest but I couldn't stop.
A fourth video. Thirty seconds.
The men had her upright now, suspended between them, one in her pussy from behind, the other in her mouth from the front. Kaleb was behind the first man, his cock in the man's ass, thrusting in the same rhythm. The whole train moved together, a machine of flesh.
"Come on, Emily," Kaleb said. "Show him how tight you are."
She cried out around the cock in her mouth. Muffled, desperate. Her body shuddered, convulsing between them. She was coming. I watched her come on that man's cock while his thrusts drove deeper and deeper.
A fifth video popped up. I opened it without hesitation.
Lucy was there now. She'd stripped down to nothing, her olive skin gleaming under the apartment lights. She was on her knees on the floor, over Emily, who was lying on her back on the couch. The men had retreated, panting, stroking themselves, watching.
Lucy's thighs were around Emily's head. Her hips worked in slow, grinding circles over Emily's mouth. Emily's hands had come up to grip Lucy's hips, holding her in place.
"Lick me, baby girl," Lucy purred. "Lick my pussy and swallow that cum."
On Emily's chest, a smear of white. Kaleb's cum, thick and pooling in the hollow of her collarbone. Lucy leaned forward, her tongue trailing across Emily's chest, lapping up the mess while her hips kept grinding over Emily's face.
The video showed it all. Lucy's cunt pressing against Emily's mouth. Emily's tongue working, driven, desperate. And on the bed behind them, the two football players, their cocks in their hands, stroking themselves to the sight.
The video cut off.
I was already past the edge. My hand moved in a frantic rhythm, my hips bucking up against my palm. The last image burned in my mind: Emily's mouth open and hungry on Lucy's pussy, Kaleb's cum smeared across her skin, the look of pure, animal need in her eyes.
I came. No tissue, no preparation. Just my hand and the hot rush of my release splattering across my stomach, my fingers, the inside of my boxers. I arched off the bed, a strangled noise caught in my throat, and then I collapsed, my chest heaving.
The phone buzzed again.
Another video. Twenty seconds. Emily, in the aftermath, lying on the couch with Lucy nestled beside her. Both of them naked and shiny. Emily looked at the camera, her hair a wreck, her face flushed, her lips still slick.
"Did you watch all of them, Caleb?" she asked.
I couldn't breathe.
"Lucy says I did so good today. I practiced three different ways." She smiled, that same bright, trusting smile. "I love you. I'll see you Saturday for the wedding planning, okay?"
The video ended.
I lay there in my own mess, staring at the ceiling. The cum was cooling on my skin, sticky and wrong. I hated myself. I hated the fact that I was already getting hard again. I hated the feeling of something cracking inside me, something I couldn't name, something that had happened over a year and had only just reached the point of breaking.
My hand was still trembling when I finally sat up. I peeled off my soiled boxers, balled them up, and threw them in the corner of the room. I'd deal with them later.
I looked at my phone. The videos sat in the chat, a line of thumbnails I couldn't bring myself to delete.
Four days from now, I'd be back in that apartment. I'd sit in that chair and watch her practice some more. And I'd keep pretending it was all for our wedding night.
I didn't know what hurt worse. Watching her with those men, or knowing that what I'd felt watching her wasn't anger.
It was hunger.