Chapter 14: The FaceTime Revelation
Friday night had a way of making silence feel like a verdict. Four days since I'd walked out of that apartment, since I'd seen Emily's face slack with that first squirt, since I'd left her calling my name to no answer. Four days of dodging texts, ignoring calls, staring at the ceiling of my dorm room like it held the answers to questions I was too afraid to ask.
The room was a tomb. Desk lamp buzzing its low orange hum, my engineering textbook open to a page I hadn't turned in an hour, the cheap clock on my nightstand ticking past ten. My hand hovered over my phone every few minutes. Her name glowing in my notifications like a wound I kept picking at.
Emily: Are you okay?
Emily: Caleb please.
Emily: Can we talk? Just talk.
Lucy: You're being sulky. It's a bad look.
I'd read them all. Answered none. The hollow ache in my chest had calcified into something harder, something I didn't have a name for. The images wouldn't leave me. The sounds. The way her body had opened up under Lucy's fist like it was made for it. I hated that I couldn't stop thinking about it. I hated that a part of me kept replaying it.
Then the phone rang. FaceTime. Lucy's name, black and white against the hash of my recent calls.
I stared at it, my thumb hovering over the red decline button. The ringtone went on. Twice. Three times. I should have declined. Should have let it go to voicemail, let it die the way everything else had been dying between us. But my thumb moved, and the screen lit up with Lucy's face.
"Caleb," she said, like she was greeting a stray dog. "There you are. I was starting to think you'd crawled under a rock and died."
My jaw tightened. "What do you want, Lucy?"
"Straight to business. I like that." She smiled, and the camera tilted. She was moving, walking down a hallway I recognized. The carpet was the same tired beige as Emily's apartment building, the walls the same cream. The angle shifted, and I caught a flash of bare skin. Her breasts, small and firm, bouncing gently with her stride. She was naked. Of course she was naked.
"Where's Emily?" The words came out rougher than I meant them to.
"She's busy," Lucy said, and there was a lilt in her voice, a wicked little ripple. "But I thought you might want to watch. You've been so good this week. Thoughtful. Respectful. I figured you'd earned a reward."
"I don't want a reward."
"Liar." She said it softly, with affection, like she was calling me darling. The camera swung to a door, and she pushed through it. The acoustic change hit me first. Voices, many of them, layered over a heavy bass thrum. Dim light, red and amber, splashed across walls. And there, in the center of it all, was Emily.
She was on a mattress on the floor. Naked. Her body bent like a bow, spine arched, one ankle hooked over the shoulder of a man I didn't recognize. A massive Black man, shoulders like boulders, driving into her with a rhythm that made my breath catch. Behind her, another man, equally huge, had his thick cock buried in her ass, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises. She was stretched between them, open, raw, a moan escaping her throat in a broken cascade.
The fraternity. The black fraternity. I'd heard Lucy mention them in passing, a joke about needing specialized equipment for a specialized job. I hadn't put it together. Now I was watching it happen.
"Where is Emily?" I asked again, my voice cracking.
"That's her," Lucy said, and she propped the phone against something on a table. The angle shifted to a wide shot, the whole scene laid out in front of me. Emily. The men. The mattress. A train. "She's been waiting for you to come around. We all have."
I should have hung up. My thumb twitched toward the red button. But my hands were shaking, and my dick, that traitorous little thing between my legs, was already straining against my sweatpants. Three inches hard, maybe less, but it didn't care about size. It cared about this. It always had.
Lucy's face appeared in the corner of the frame, her hand coming down to stroke between her legs. "You're still there," she said, not a question. "Good. I want you to watch this. All of it. Don't hang up. Don't look away."
The man in front of Emily pulled out, and she gasped, her chest heaving. He was huge, easily nine inches, glistening with her wetness. He climbed up her body, straddling her chest, and guided his cock between her lips. She took him in with a muffled moan, her hands coming up to grip his thighs. Behind her, the other man kept pounding into her ass, faster now, harder. She was full. Everywhere. Her hands gripping, her mouth full, her cunt and ass stretched wide.
"Isn't she beautiful?" Lucy's voice came from the side. The camera panned to her, and I saw her straddling a fourth man, some young guy with a lean frame and a hungry grin, riding him in a slow, deliberate grind. She watched Emily the way a painter watches a canvas. "Two months ago she couldn't take a finger without crying. Now look at her."
I couldn't answer. My hand was already around my cock, stroking through the fabric of my sweatpants, the friction a cruel tease. The shame hit me in a wave, hot and nauseating, but the arousal swallowed it.
The man at Emily's mouth groaned, his hips bucking, and Emily's eyes went wide. She looked at the camera. Looked at me. Mascara smeared, hair plastered to her forehead, lips stretched around that cock, and she blinked. Recognition. Something flickered across her face, guilt or gratitude or something I couldn't name, and then her eyes rolled back as the man behind her sped up, a deep growl tearing from his chest.
He was close. I could see it in the way his balls tightened, the way his rhythm turned ragged. Emily's muffled cry rose, higher and higher, and the man in front of her pulled out just in time, ropes of cum splashing across her face and chest. She didn't flinch. She opened her mouth, swallowed the last pulse, her tongue flicking out to catch it.
Air rushed out of my lungs. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath.
The man behind her let out a shout, and I watched him pull out, watched his release explode across her gaping asshole, watched it drip down the crack of her ass. Emily lay there, trembling, coated, and for a moment she looked like a corpse. Then she turned her head toward the camera, and she smiled. A real smile. Peaceful.
"Still there, Caleb?" Lucy's voice, sing-song.
I swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Good. Watch."
Hours passed. It blurred together. Man after man, cock after cock, Emily used in every position, her body folding and bending and taking it. She was fucked beyond recognition, her face a mask of bliss, her limbs loose and boneless. Lucy rotated in and out, sometimes riding a man, sometimes eating Emily's cunt clean, always with a smug little smile at the camera. The train didn't stop. It just kept coming.
I came twice. Three times. My hand ached, my sheets soaked, my release thinning to a dribble as the last man pulled out and came across Emily's stomach. She laughed, a delirious sound, and Lucy helped her sit up, kissing her cheek. The phone was still on the table, propped up, both of them looking at it.
"Caleb?" Emily's voice, hoarse but soft. "Are you still there?"
I looked at my phone. At her. At the mess of cum smeared across her skin, the tattoos that marked her body like claims, the piercing glinting in the dim light.
"Still here," I said.
"I missed you," she whispered. "I asked Lucy to do this. For me. For us. I wanted you to see that I'm getting ready, really ready, for our wedding night."
My chest cracked open. Not with anger this time. Not with shame. Something else. Something darker and warmer.
I watched her smile, watched her paddle toward the camera on all fours, and I realized the hollow ache was gone. In its place was something I'd been fighting for months, and it finally owned me.
"I'm coming over," I said.
Lucy's grin split her face. "Good boy."
I hung up and sat in the silence, my hand on my soft, spent cock, feeling the last shivers of release rolling through me. I couldn't cum anymore. My body was empty. But my heart was racing, pounding with a thrill I couldn't deny.
I loved this. I loved watching her become this. I loved that she'd done it for me.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.