CHAPTER 4

AVA'S POV

I stand in the doorway with water still running down my back, the oversized T-shirt sticking to my damp skin. Marcus doesn’t move from the edge of Lisa’s bed. He just looks at me like he has all the time in the world.

My nipples are hard against the thin fabric. I know he can see them. The shirt is too short and too light, clinging to every place I’m still wet from the shower. I should have locked the bedroom door. I should have gotten dressed properly. Instead I just stand here like an idiot, heart hammering so hard it hurts.

“You’re staring,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. It doesn’t work.

“You’re standing there wet in my daughter’s shirt.” His eyes drop to my thighs. “What do you expect?”

I should tell him to get out. I should pull the shirt down and walk past him like this is normal. Instead I stay where I am, frozen, because the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip and my pussy throb at the same time.

Marcus leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies me for a long second. Then he asks, calm as anything:

“How long have you been fucking Ryan?”

The question hits me like a slap. My stomach drops so hard I feel sick.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His voice stays low, but there’s a sharp edge under it now. “I saw you. Last week. Behind the café. His hand up your skirt. You looking around like a guilty little slut before you pulled him into that storage room.”

My face goes hot so fast it burns. Shame and fear smash into me at the same time. My mind starts racing — how much did he see, how long did he watch, does he know how many times it’s happened?

“You—you watched?”

“I was driving past. Recognized your skirt. Then I recognized the way you opened your legs for him.” He stands up slowly, and suddenly the room feels smaller. “Does Lisa know her best friend is taking her boyfriend’s cock?”

“Please don’t tell her,” I whisper. The words come out fast and desperate, tumbling over each other. “Marcus, please— she can’t know. She can’t.”

He walks toward me. I back up on instinct until my shoulders hit the wall. He plants one hand beside my head and looks down at me, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath and the soap on his skin.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asks quietly. “You’re in her house. Wearing her clothes. Standing here half-naked after using her shower. And if I had to guess…” His other hand grabs my thigh and pushes the T-shirt up. I gasp at the contact. “You’re still wet from him, aren’t you?”

I try to close my legs. He forces them apart with his knee and cups my pussy through my panties. The heat of his palm is shocking. His eyes darken the second he feels how soaked I already am.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice drops even lower. “You’re dripping. He fucked you today, didn’t he?”

I nod, eyes burning with humiliation. My throat feels too tight to speak.

“Say it.”

“He fucked me,” I whisper.

Marcus makes a low, ugly sound of approval. He yanks my panties to the side like they offend him and drags two thick fingers through my folds, spreading the wetness around. I flinch hard at how sensitive I am. I’m still swollen from Ryan, and every brush of his fingers feels too much.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, watching my face while he does it. “Your best friend is out on a date with him right now, sitting across from the same cock that was inside you a few hours ago… and you’re here leaking onto my hand.” He pushes one finger inside me. Then a second. The stretch makes me moan before I can stop it. “You gonna cry if I tell her? Or are you just gonna open your legs wider like the slut you are?”

“Please… don’t tell her.” My voice cracks. I’m shaking. His fingers are moving now, slow and deliberate, curling against a spot that makes my knees weak.

“Then be useful.” His mouth is right next to my ear, voice rough. “Get on the bed. Now.”

My legs are shaking so badly I almost can’t do it, but I obey. I climb onto Lisa’s bed on my back, face burning, heart slamming. Marcus pulls the T-shirt up and off me completely in one motion, leaving me naked under him. The air feels cold on my wet skin. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to pull his cock out.

It’s thick. Heavy. Already hard. Bigger than Ryan’s. The sight of it makes my stomach flip with a mix of nerves and raw want. I hate how much I want it.

He climbs over me, pushes my thighs wide apart with his knees, and rubs the fat head of his cock up and down my slit, coating himself in the mess Ryan left and the new wetness I can’t control. Every time it bumps my clit I twitch.

“First time I’m getting this cunt,” he says, voice rough with something ugly and hungry, “and it’s already been used today. Still loose and creamy from another man’s cum. Dirty fucking girl.”

Then he pushes inside me in one long, slow thrust.

I cry out. The stretch burns — he’s thicker than I’m ready for, thicker than Ryan, and he doesn’t stop until he’s buried all the way to the hilt. My hands fist in Lisa’s sheets. I can feel every inch of him. It hurts in the best and worst way.

“Fuck—wait—”

“No.” He pulls back and slams back in. The bed creaks hard under us. “You don’t get to play innocent now. You walked into this house knowing what you are. You came upstairs wearing almost nothing. You stood there and let me touch you.”

He starts fucking me hard. Deep, steady, punishing thrusts that force broken sounds out of my throat. One hand pins my wrist to the bed. The other grips my jaw so I have to look at him while he uses me.

“This what you wanted?” he growls. “Your best friend’s dad stretching your used little pussy while she’s out with the boy you just fucked? Huh?”

“Yes,” I choke out. Shame makes my eyes sting. It also makes me clench hard around him. I hate that it turns me on. I hate that the degradation only makes me wetter.

“Slut.” He thrusts harder, the wet sound of his cock driving into me filling the room. “Say it.”

“I’m a slut—”

“Louder.”

“I’m a slut—fuck—please—”

He drops his head and bites the side of my neck hard enough to sting as he pounds into me. I can hear how soaked I am. I can feel myself dripping down onto the sheets. My orgasm builds terrifyingly fast, sparked by the shame and the stretch and the fact that we’re doing this in Lisa’s bed.

I come suddenly, hard, with a broken cry, squeezing him like I’m trying to pull him even deeper. My vision goes white at the edges. Marcus doesn’t slow down. He fucks me straight through it, relentless, until my legs are shaking violently and I’m sobbing from how intense it feels. Every thrust forces another weak pulse out of me.

Then his rhythm turns rough and uneven. He shoves himself as deep as he can go one last time and comes with a low, guttural curse, pulsing inside me, flooding me with thick heat. I feel every spurt. Feel it painting my insides. Feel it start to leak out around his cock when he finally stills, breathing hard against my neck.

For a long moment the only sound in the room is both of us trying to catch our breath.

Marcus pulls out slowly. The loss of him makes me wince. His cum immediately drips down between my cheeks onto Lisa’s sheets, warm and messy. He sits back on his knees and looks at the wreck he’s made of me — spread open, shaking, cum leaking out of my used pussy — and gives a dark, satisfied smile.

“Clean yourself up,” he says, already tucking his cock back into his sweatpants. “And if you tell anyone about this… I tell Lisa everything. About Ryan. About tonight. Everything. Clear?”

I nod, still spread open on the bed, chest heaving, unable to close my legs yet.

“Good girl.”

He walks out of the room without looking back, leaving me naked, used, and dripping on my best friend’s bed.

I stare at the ceiling, heart still racing, his cum leaking out of me in slow pulses, the threat sitting heavy in my chest.

I already know I’m not going to say a word.

And the worst part is that part of me is already wondering when he’ll do it again.

CHAPTER 5

AVA'S POV

I lie on Lisa’s bed for a long time after he leaves, staring at the ceiling.

His cum is leaking out of me, slow and warm, soaking into the sheets. I can feel it every time I shift — thick, messy, sliding down between my cheeks and onto the soft blue fabric. My thighs are sticky. My pussy feels used and swollen, stretched in a way that still throbs with every heartbeat. There’s a dull, deep ache inside me from how hard he fucked me, a reminder that will probably still be there tomorrow.

I should get up. Shower again. Change the sheets. Pretend none of it happened. Pretend I didn’t just let my best friend’s father come inside me on her bed while she was out on a date with the other man I’m fucking.

Instead I stay exactly where I am, naked and cooling in the open air of the room. My hand slides down almost on its own, fingers trailing through the mess he left between my legs. It’s disgusting. It’s still hot. I push two fingers through the slick combination of both of us and shiver at how sensitive I am. My clit is swollen. Even the lightest brush makes my hips twitch.

I am so fucked up.

The door opens without a knock.

Marcus steps back in like he owns the room — which, right now, he does. He’s still in the same black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. His hair is slightly messy. His eyes go straight to my hand between my thighs and a slow, mean smirk pulls at his mouth.

“Couldn’t help yourself,” he says.

I snatch my hand away, face burning with fresh shame. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click and walks closer, unhurried.

“Lisa texted,” he says, holding up his phone so I can see the screen for a second. “They’re leaving the restaurant soon. She said she’ll be home in about an hour.”

My stomach drops hard. An hour. Sixty minutes before my best friend walks back into this house. Into this room. Sixty minutes before she could smell sex in the air or notice her sheets are ruined.

Marcus stops at the edge of the bed and looks down at me. I’m still completely naked, legs slightly open, his cum visibly wet and shiny on my pussy and inner thighs. He doesn’t look away. He takes his time looking.

“You should clean up,” he says mildly. Then he tilts his head, considering me. “Or maybe not. Maybe I should send you downstairs just like this when she gets home. Let her see what her best friend looks like after taking her dad’s cock. Legs shaking. Cum dripping down her thighs. That fucked-out look on her face.”

Fear spikes through me, sharp and cold. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” He reaches down and drags two thick fingers through the mess between my legs, scooping up the cum leaking out of me. He holds them up between us so I can see the thick, sticky strings stretching between his fingers. “You’re the one who spread your legs. You’re the one who came on my cock while I called you a slut. Don’t act shy now.”

He pushes the same two fingers into my mouth. The taste hits my tongue immediately — salty, filthy, the mix of both of us. He watches me with dark eyes as I suck them clean like he expects it. Like it’s the least I can do. My face burns, but I don’t pull away.

“Good,” he mutters, voice rough with approval. “At least you’re useful.”

He pulls his fingers out of my mouth with a wet sound and stands there for a second, looking down at me like he’s deciding something. Then his hand wraps around my ankle and he drags me closer to the edge of the bed in one strong pull. I gasp, hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock. He’s already hard again — thick, heavy, the head still slightly shiny from earlier.

“Wait—”

“We have time.” He rubs the fat head of his cock through my soaked, used folds, smearing the mess around, tapping it against my swollen clit. “Unless you want me to stop right now and let you explain to Lisa why her sheets are ruined and why her room smells like sex.”

I shake my head quickly, almost frantically.

“That’s what I thought.”

He pushes back inside me in one long thrust. I’m still sensitive and puffy from the first time, and the sudden stretch makes me cry out. Marcus doesn’t give me a second to adjust. He hooks my legs over his arms, bending me open, and starts fucking me deep and steady, eyes locked on the place where his cock is disappearing into my body.

“Look at that,” he groans. “Taking it like you were made for it. No wonder Ryan keeps sneaking around with you. This greedy little cunt just swallows everything up.”

Every filthy word makes me clench around him. I hate how much it turns me on. I hate that the shame only makes me wetter. I hate that I’m already getting close again like the desperate slut he keeps calling me.

He fucks me harder. The bedframe starts knocking lightly against the wall. The wet, obscene sound of his cock driving into my cum-filled pussy fills the room. I’m moaning too loud and I can’t stop myself.

“Quiet,” he snaps, though there’s no real anger in it — just control. “Unless you want the neighbours to hear what a whore you are. Unless you want someone to tell Lisa how you sound when you’re getting railed in her bed.”

I bite my lip hard enough that it hurts, trying to smother the noises while he pounds into me. He reaches down between us and starts rubbing my clit with rough, precise circles. The pressure builds terrifyingly fast. My back arches off the bed. My hands fist in the sheets.

“I’m gonna—fuck—Marcus—”

“Come,” he orders, voice low and hard. “Now.”

I do. The orgasm rips through me so hard my whole body locks up. I come around his cock with a broken, choked-off cry, squirting a little from how intense it is, pulsing and clenching like I’m trying to milk him. Marcus curses under his breath and keeps thrusting through it, using the way I’m squeezing him, chasing his own release with short, brutal snaps of his hips.

A few seconds later he slams as deep as he can go and holds there, groaning low and guttural as he empties himself inside me for the second time. I feel every thick pulse. Feel him filling me up again. Feel the heat of it when there’s no more room and it starts to push back out around his cock.

When he finally pulls out, the mix of both rounds of cum spills out of me in a warm, messy rush onto Lisa’s sheets.

He stands there for a moment catching his breath, looking down at the complete wreck he’s made of me — legs open, chest heaving, pussy red and used and overflowing. Then he checks his phone.

“Forty minutes,” he says, voice almost normal again. “Get in the shower. Change the sheets. Open a window if you have to. If Lisa walks in and smells sex in her room, I won’t cover for you. You’re on your own.”

He tucks himself back into his sweatpants and walks to the door. Before he leaves, he glances back at me one more time over his shoulder.

“And Ava?”

I look up at him, still spread open, still trembling, his cum leaking out of me in slow ticks.

“Next time you let Ryan fuck you,” he says, quiet and clear, “remember whose cum is going to be dripping out of you after. Clear?”

I nod shakily.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him.

I lie there for a few more seconds, heart still racing, body aching in that deep, used way, his threat sitting heavy in my chest right next to the sick heat that hasn’t fully faded. Forty minutes. Maybe less.

I force myself to move.

I get up on unsteady legs, strip the sheets with shaking hands, and carry them to the laundry basket like that will somehow erase what just happened. I open the window. I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand it and step under the spray, watching the evidence of what we did swirl down the drain.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

Forty minutes isn’t a long time.

And Lisa is already on her way home.

CHAPTER 6

AVA'S POV

It’s been almost five weeks.

Five weeks of being a complete slut behind Lisa’s back.

Five weeks of lying with a straight face while my body stays permanently sore in ways I can’t explain to anyone. Marcus fucks me whenever he wants. In his bed while she’s in the shower, one hand over my mouth so I don’t make noise. In the kitchen with my skirt shoved up around my waist and my palms flat on the counter he makes coffee on every morning. Once in the laundry room, bent over the washing machine, his hand clamped hard over my lips while Lisa watched TV in the next room. He doesn’t ask anymore. He just takes, and every single time I spread my legs for him like I’ve been trained to do it.

But it’s not only him.

I’m still fucking Ryan too.

Last Tuesday he pulled me into the same storage room at the café again and bent me over the metal shelves like he owned me. Two days ago he fingered me under the table in the library while we were supposedly studying, his fingers slick and rude inside me while people walked past. Afterward he made me suck his cock in the stairwell until my eyes watered and I had to swallow everything. He likes the risk. He likes knowing I’m also taking her dad’s cock and not giving him the details. It makes him rougher. Meaner. He leaves bruises on my hips that Marcus later presses his thumb into while he fucks me.

I should feel worse than I do.

Some nights the guilt sits so heavy on my chest I can barely sleep. Most of the time it just makes me wetter.

Today I’m at Lisa’s house after class. She thinks we’re studying for midterms. In reality Marcus had me on my knees in the garage twenty minutes before she got home. My throat still feels used and raw. I swallowed every drop like he told me to, then wiped my mouth and walked inside like nothing had happened. My jaw aches. My pussy is still slick and sore from both of them this week.

Now we’re sitting on the living room floor with textbooks open between us. Lisa is highlighting notes in bright yellow, legs crossed, completely focused. I’m pretending to read the same page I’ve been staring at for ten minutes while my body throbs in quiet, steady pulses. Every time I shift, I feel how sensitive I still am.

Marcus walks through the room on his way to the kitchen. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything, but as he passes behind the couch his fingers brush the back of my neck — slow, deliberate, a quiet claim. My whole body reacts instantly. Nipples tightening. Pussy clenching. I have to press my thighs together and pretend I’m just adjusting my position.

Lisa doesn’t notice a thing.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she says suddenly, looking up from her notes. “I’m leaving Friday.”

I blink and force myself to focus. “Leaving where?”

“My mom’s place. She’s been pushing me to visit since she married David. I’m flying out Friday morning and staying ten days.” She makes a small face, the one she always makes when she feels obligated to do something. “I don’t even really want to go, but the ticket’s already paid for and she’ll guilt me forever if I cancel.”

Ten days.

The number hits me like a drug.

Ten full days. No Lisa in the house. No risk of footsteps on the stairs. No having to muffle every sound. Just Marcus and me and whatever he decides to do with the time.

“That’s soon,” I say, and I’m proud of how normal my voice sounds.

“I know. Ryan already said he’ll miss me.” She smiles, soft and genuine, the kind of smile that used to make me feel safe. “You’ll be okay while I’m gone? I know your mum’s been worse lately. You can always call me if things get bad.”

Guilt twists hard in my gut. She’s worried about me. She’s planning how to take care of me even while she’s away. Meanwhile I’ve been letting her boyfriend and her father pass me back and forth like a toy for over a month.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Really. Don’t worry about me.”

“You can still stay here if things get bad at home,” she continues. “Dad doesn’t mind. He actually said you’re welcome anytime. He likes having you around.”

I almost laugh. If she knew what her dad does to me when she’s not looking — how he bends me over, how he talks to me, how he fills me up and tells me to keep it in — she wouldn’t be offering. She’d be looking at me the way she should: like a traitor.

Marcus comes back into the living room with a glass of water. His eyes meet mine for a split second over Lisa’s head — dark, hungry, already full of everything he’s going to do to me once she’s gone — then he looks away like nothing in the world is going on.

“Ten days,” he says casually, dropping onto the armchair. “Quiet house.”

Lisa nods, already packing mental lists. “Yeah. Try not to burn it down while I’m gone.”

He smirks into his glass. “No promises.”

Later, when Lisa goes upstairs to call her mom and talk through the visit, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Ryan.

**She’s leaving Friday. You free this week or is the old man keeping you busy?**

I stare at the message, still sore from Marcus’s cock in the garage, still tasting him faintly at the back of my throat, and feel myself get wet all over again. My body doesn’t care about guilt. It just wants.

Before I can reply, Marcus walks back into the room. He stops behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him. He leans down, one hand braced on the couch, and speaks against my ear so only I can hear.

“Ten days,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “I’m going to use this cunt until you can’t walk straight. Every morning. Every night. And if you’re still letting Ryan have it too… good. Means you’ll stay nice and loose for me.”

My thighs squeeze together so hard it almost hurts. A fresh pulse of wetness soaks into my panties.

He straightens up and walks off like he said nothing at all.

I sit there on the floor with my phone in one hand and Lisa’s textbook open in front of me, heart beating too fast, pussy aching, already counting down the hours until Friday.

She has no idea what her best friend has been doing.

And for the next ten days, she won’t be here to find out.