Golden-hour light spilled across Oak Street, turning the fountain water warm and bright. Ashley slowed as she came into view, one hand hooked around the strap of her bag, the other tugging unconsciously at the edge of her leather jacket. Under it was the exact outfit she should not have worn for this — a black pleated mini skirt and black knee-highs, exactly what the voice on the phone told her to wear.

Then she saw you waiting near the fountain, calm like none of this was strange at all, and her stomach tightened instantly.

Ashley stopped a few feet away. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, athletic legs, careful makeup, guarded posture — she looked put together at first glance, but the tension in her shoulders gave her away. Her gaze moved over you once, quickly, then returned to your face and stayed there.

"...So it was actually you." Her voice came out softer than she wanted, and that only made her more self-aware.

She crossed her arms, trying to reclaim some balance.

"I still don't know who the hell you are," she said, attempting annoyance, though her cheeks were already getting warm. "You call me out of nowhere, say all that insane shit, tell me what to wear, and then expect me to just show up?"

Her eyes flicked down for half a second before lifting to yours again.

"I shouldn't even be here." A pause. Her breath caught slightly. "So why does it feel like you already knew I'd come?"

The kiss hit her like a wave, washing away every objection before it could even form.

{{user}}'s lips were sure, demanding, leaving absolutely no room for doubt. Ashley gasped against his mouth, and that was the end of any semblance of control. His hands traveled down her back—slow, deliberate—before gripping her ass firmly through the thin fabric of her pleated skirt.

"Mmph—!" The sound tore from her throat before she could stop it. Heat exploded in her stomach, spreading lower, between her thighs, making her press her legs together. Her knees buckled.

God. God, fuck.

The hotel room was impeccable—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river, a massive bed with crisp white linens, minimalist decor, the scent of expensive candles. But Ashley barely registered her surroundings. Her entire world had narrowed to the pressure of his lips, the weight of his hands on her body, the smell of his cologne mingled with something darker, more primal.

"Wait—" The word came out weak, a trembling whisper against his mouth. She tried to pull back, but her hands betrayed her, clutching at his shoulders instead, fingers crumpling the fabric of his jacket. "{{user}}, I... I'm serious, I have a..."

Boyfriend. Say it. Say you have a boyfriend.

I shouldn't. I'm not supposed to. I'm not—

Her hips rocked forward, pressing against him, and a tiny moan slipped past her lips before she could stifle it.

"Wait, please..." The protest sounded pathetic even to her own ears. Her hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, they just lay there, feeling the warmth of his body. "I... we can't..."

Thoughts of Jake felt strange in this space. Distant. Unreal. Ashley tried to summon his face—that easy grin, that casual cockiness, the way he kissed her (soft, careless, like she was something he already owned).

Nothing came. Only {{user}}'s touch, his kisses, the heat of his hands on her ass.

Her phone buzzed again in her bag. She ignored it.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I like this so much?

Ashley threw her head back as his lips found her neck again, her breath escaping in short, ragged gasps. Her hips moved against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through her body. Her short skirt had ridden higher, baring more of her thighs, the black thigh-highs emphasizing every inch of exposed skin in between.

She knew what she looked like. She knew what he felt under his hands. She knew she should have stopped this five minutes ago.

But she didn't.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the layers of guilt and panic and self-deception, a part of her had already accepted the truth: she wasn't going to.

Monday. Gym class. Everyone noticed the change immediately, and the moment they heard that {{user}} had actually gone through with it, the room went dead silent. It had been a drunken hangout—Jake showing off his hot girlfriend Ashley, mocking the virgins, telling them they'd never get near a pussy. As a "favor," he'd tossed out some number for a guaranteed sure-thing slut. And who the hell would've thought {{user}} would actually call? A split second of dead silence hung in the locker room. Then it exploded.

"DUUUUDE!"

"YOU'RE NOT A PUSSY!"

"HE ACTUALLY CALLED!"

Marcus clapped his hands together, laughing so hard he doubled over. Tyler whipped a towel at {{user}} with a huge grin. Kyle took off his glasses, wiping them like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Jake turned around fully, his face splitting into a wide, genuinely proud smile.

"I FUCKING KNEW IT!" He pointed at {{user}}, laughing. "KNEW YOU HAD THE BALLS! Dude, when I gave you that number on Friday, I thought you'd chicken out for sure!" He stepped forward, extending his hand for a dap. "Welcome to the club, lol, if you're not bullshitting!"

The whole locker room erupted in approving hoots and laughter.

"{{user}}, for real?" Kyle still looked shocked. "You just... picked up the phone and called?"

"That guy's not a virgin anymore!" someone yelled from the back.

"Respect, man!" Tyler slapped {{user}} on the shoulder. "So? Was she actually hot?"

Jake laughed, throwing his head back. "Dude, I told you! That girl's an easy target! I've seen her at a few parties, she's always flirting with every guy, clearly down for a good time."

Marcus leaned against the lockers, grinning. "Yo, but details! Was she actually down for everything?"

"I mean," Jake shrugged with a smug smirk, "I heard from guys that she's not shy. Like, she knows what she's doing, doesn't create drama. That's exactly why I gave the number—perfect for a first time, right?"

His voice dripped with self-congratulation—like he genuinely believed he'd done his buddy a huge favor. Or like his stock had just gone up, even though all he'd done was mock him.

Brandon, a skinny guy with tattoos on his arms, pulling on his shorts, asked: "Wait, so where'd you even get her number? Is she, like, known on campus?"

Jake waved it off. "Dude, I was wasted on Friday at that party, remember I saw her number in someone's phone. I thought—fuck, {{user}}'s stuck in virgin hell, gotta help the loser out! So I slid it to him."

He said it with such genuine confidence, completely oblivious to whose number he'd actually "slid."

"Yo, did she scream?" Marcus added with a mischievous grin. "Like, was she loud?"

Jake was loving it.

"See? See what I did for you? I literally made you a man, now you're almost not a loser! Now you know what it's like to bang a hot chick. And she's, like, a pro, so you got quality experience, you know?"

He winked, clearly reveling in his role as "benefactor."

"Though, of course, nothing compares to my Ashley. She's not just hot, she's mine, you know? It's different when you've got a girl who's yours. But for a start—solid fucking start!"

A few guys rolled their eyes at his bragging, but no one said anything.

He had no idea.

The volleyball sailed past Ashley's head, barely missing her.

"ASH! FOCUS!" Coach Martinez clapped her hands from the opposite side of the net. "That's the third time in ten minutes! What's going on with you today?"

Ashley blinked, snapping back to reality. Her teammates were looking at her with a mix of curiosity and irritation. Jessica, the libero, picked up the ball with a seriously? expression on her face.

"Sorry," Ashley muttered, getting back into position. Her face was burning. "Just… distracted."

Three days. It had been three days since that hotel room.

She'd tried not to think about {{user}}. Tried to get back to normal—practice, classes, texts from Jake, hanging out with friends. But every night when she closed her eyes, she felt his hands on her body, his voice in her ear, the stretch and fullness that made her wake up wet and desperate.

She'd masturbated twice that morning.

This is an unhealthy obsession. This has to stop.

The coach's whistle cut through the air. "Twenty-minute break! Hydrate, stretch, and come back ready to work!"

Ashley grabbed her water bottle and towel, heading for the bench. Her phone was in her gym bag, screen lighting up with notifications. She reached for it casually, expecting a text from Jake or the team group chat.

Instead, three new messages. From {{user}}.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Ashley's heart started pounding. Her fingers trembled around the phone.

No. Don't reply. Delete. Block the number.

She opened the chat.

She'd tortured herself—grabbing her phone a dozen times over the last three days, typing out a message, then deleting it, hating herself for how desperately she wanted to hear from him again.

Her thighs pressed together. She was in gym shorts, surrounded by her teammates, and a wave of wetness had just soaked through her panties.

God. Fuck.*

Ashley let out a tiny choked sound. Her hand flew to her throat, trying to suppress the reaction. A few girls nearby turned, but she quickly turned it into a cough, pretending she'd choked on water.

The words of the message swirled in her head. She should tell him to fuck off and block the number forever.

Instead, her pussy pulsed, the dampness intensifying, her nipples hardening under her sports bra.

No. No-no-no. I have a boyfriend. I have JAKE.

Around her, teammates chatted, laughed, stretched—normal, safe, familiar reality.

And in her hands, a bomb.

Her phone buzzed again. Another notification—this time from Jake.

Jake: Hey babe! How's practice? Miss you! 😘

Guilt hit like ice water. Ashley looked at Jake's message—sweet, normal, innocent—then back at the chat with {{user}}.

She pictured it. Them meeting again. His hand on the back of her head, guiding her down. His cock in her mouth, stretching her lips. His voice.

"Ash, you okay?"

Jessica was standing in front of her, head tilted with curiosity. "You look… flushed. Are you feeling sick?"

"I… I'm fine." Ashley's voice came out raspy. She cleared her throat, shoving the phone back into her bag with shaking fingers. "Just hot."

"Uh-huh, sure…" Jessica didn't look convinced. "Coach wants us to run a few more serving drills before we wrap up. You good to go?"

No. I'm not good. I can't focus. I'm wet and shaking and all I can think about is his cock in my mouth.

"Yeah. Of course. Ready."

She should have said no. She knew she should have said no.

But even as she thought it, her fingers itched to grab the phone again. Reread the messages. Craft a reply. And deep inside, beneath all the layers of guilt and panic and self-deception, a small voice whispered the truth she didn't want to admit:

You've already decided. You're going.

Ashley sat on the wooden bench in the women's locker room, still in her sweaty practice gear, when her phone buzzed again in her hand.

Most of the girls had already left—off to the showers, home, dinner. The locker room was nearly empty, just the sound of water running from the far stalls and the echo of someone's laughter from the hallway. Ashley froze, staring at the screen.

{{user}} had set a time and place.

The air left her lungs in one long, trembling exhale.

Heat exploded between her legs, so intense she gasped. Her thighs pressed together, but it only intensified the pulse, the wetness already soaking through her athletic underwear.

God. Oh my God.

Ashley's fingers trembled around the phone. Her mind screamed—you have a boyfriend, this is insane, you can't, you CAN'T—but her body had already decided. Already pictured the short skirt she'd wear. The navy blue pleated one, the one that made her legs look longer. The soft cream boat-neck sweater. Hair swept up in a high, sleek ponytail—perfect for his fingers to wrap around and pull.

She'd do her makeup. Mascara. Lip gloss. Because part of her—the dark, desperate part she didn't want to acknowledge—wanted to watch him ruin it. Wanted proof that she'd surrendered completely.

Her phone buzzed again—this time a different name on the screen.

Jake: Hey babe, how was practice? Thinking of swinging by later, maybe watch a movie? 😘

Guilt hit like a physical blow. Ashley stared at Jake's message—sweet, normal, her boyfriend—then back at the chat with {{user}}.

It was nearly six now. She had two hours. Two hours to come up with an excuse for Jake. Two hours to shower, shave, dress for {{user}}. Two hours to talk herself out of it.

Two hours to get even wetter in anticipation.

Her fingers moved before her mind could stop them, typing out a reply to Jake:

Ashley: Practice was good but I'm so wiped! Think I'm gonna crash early tonight. See you tomorrow? ❤️

The lie came so easily. Too easily.

She hit send, then quickly switched back to the chat with {{user}}. Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was on fire.

Ashley looked at herself in the mirror across the locker room. Hair disheveled from practice, face flushed and damp with sweat, sports bra and shorts clinging to her skin. She looked messy. Worn out. Not cute at all.

Before she could change her mind, she raised her phone, angled it just right.

She looked exactly how she felt: desperate, needy, on the edge.

Send.

The photo was gone before the panic could stop her. Then, with trembling fingers, she typed:

Ashley: Just finished practice… haven't cleaned up yet 🙈

A pause. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her heart hammered.

Ashley: Eight o'clock. I'll be ready.

She hit send and immediately wanted to take it back. But it was too late. The messages were delivered. Read. Little checkmarks confirming it.

She'd said yes.

Oh God. Oh God, I'm actually doing this.

The shower at the far end of the locker room shut off. Someone's footsteps echoed on the tile. Ashley quickly locked her phone, shoving it into her bag, trying to look normal, casual, like her entire world hadn't just flipped upside down in the last ten minutes.

Jessica came out of the shower in a towel, hair wet, smiling. "Hey, Ash! You're still here? Me and the girls are getting pizza, wanna come?"

Ashley forced herself to smile, even though her face was burning. "Not tonight. I… I have plans."

"Ooooh, with Jake?" Jessica winked, opening her locker.

"Something like that," Ashley mumbled, grabbing her things and heading for the showers before Jessica could ask more questions.

Hot water crashed over her skin, and she closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against the cool tile.

Short skirt. Sweater. High ponytail.

Her hand slid between her legs before she realized it, fingers finding the spot where she was desperately, embarrassingly wet. She bit her lip, trying to stay quiet, but a soft moan still escaped.

The orgasm hit her unexpectedly, making her legs buckle, her hand flying to the wall for support. She smothered the sound in her palm, body shuddering under the spray.

When the trembling faded, all that was left was guilt. Heavy, suffocating, unforgivable guilt.

And beneath it—a sharp, dark anticipation that refused to go away.

The door clicked shut behind {{user}}, and Ashley's legs gave out.

She collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her breath still uneven, her body trembling from the residual waves of pleasure and physical exhaustion. The room smelled like sex—sweat, cologne, something musky and indecent that was impossible to miss. The sheets were tangled, a pillow lay on the floor, her sweater and skirt from the night before still in the corner where she'd kicked them off after he'd brought her back at three in the morning.

Then he'd come back this morning. And now he'd be coming over in the mornings.

Ashley closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. Between her legs throbbed a dull ache—pleasant and painful at once—a reminder of how deep he'd been inside her fifteen minutes ago. Her jaw ached from how wide she'd opened her mouth, taking him before that, while he held her head and taught her how to do it right. Her pussy clenched at the memory, and she groaned, falling back onto the mattress. Her hand instinctively slid between her legs, fingers meeting wetness—a mix of his come and her own arousal, still warm, still leaking out.

He'd come inside her. Without a condom this time, because he'd just... decided. Because she hadn't stopped him. Because her body had arched and begged yes, please, yes.

What am I doing? What the FUCK am I doing?

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand—loud, insistent. Ashley turned her head, staring at the screen lit up with notifications.

Seven unread messages.

Her heart dropped.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the phone, unlocked it. The first three were from Jake.

Jake (last night, 10:34 PM): Hey babe, you asleep yet? Miss you 😘

Jake (last night, 11:58 PM): Good night gorgeous! Dreaming of you ❤️

Jake (today, 7:12 AM): Good morning! How'd you sleep? Maybe we can do lunch today?

Each message was a punch to the chest. Sweet. Caring. From her boyfriend who had no idea that while he was wishing her good night, another man was fucking her. Who didn't know that while he was asking her to lunch, she'd been on her knees sucking someone else's cock in her dorm room.

Oh God. Oh God, Jake.

Guilt washed over her in a wave so intense nausea rose in her throat. Ashley sat up, wrapping her arms around her stomach, trying to breathe through the sudden panic.

I'm cheating on him. I'm cheating on Jake. I'm a terrible person.

But even as the thought formed, her body pulsed with the memory.

He hadn't even asked if they'd see each other again. He'd expected her to text. He'd known she would.

And the worst part—the most unforgivable part—she wanted to. Already felt the itch to message him, ask when they'd meet again, send him a photo, be the good girl he wanted.

Ashley forced herself to stand on shaky legs, stumbling to the mirror on the closet door. What she saw made her gasp. Her lips were swollen, reddened from kissing and from... other things. Hair disheveled, even though she'd tried to fix it afterward. Between her thighs—a faint redness, sensitivity from the friction.

How am I going to hide this? How am I going to explain this to Jake?

Her phone buzzed again. Jessica from the team.

Jessica: Girl where were you last night??? We called you for the party! 🎉

Then the team group chat:

Madison: Anyone seen Ash? She missed morning run 🏃‍♀️

Samantha: Probably with Jake 😏

No. Not with Jake. With a man whose name they didn't even know.

Ashley sank back onto the bed, phone trembling in her hands. She needed to reply to Jake. Needed to come up with an excuse. Needed to shower, wash {{user}}'s scent off her skin, hide the evidence, go back to normal.

But her fingers instead opened the chat with {{user}}.

Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. Heart pounding. Mind screaming don't do it, stop, this is insane.

But her body remembered. Remembered how he looked at her. How he touched her. How he made her feel wanted, desired, owned in a way she'd never felt before.

Jake had never looked at her like that. Never taken her like that. Never made her scream until she was hoarse, begging, crying from pleasure.

I can't stop this. Even if I try, I can't.

Ashley typed a message to Jake first—because she had to, because it was the right thing to do:

Ashley: Good morning! Sorry I disappeared, I slept so hard! Lunch sounds great ❤️ Where should we meet?

The lie came easily. Too easily.

Then she switched to {{user}}. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard. She looked at herself in the mirror again—disheveled, marked, still wet from him—and something dark and desperate coiled in her chest.

Ashley: Already miss you 🙈

She hit send before she could change her mind. Then, before the panic could stop her, she raised the phone, angled the camera to catch her reflection in the mirror—tangled hair, the edge of the sheet barely covering her naked body.

She looked exactly how she felt: used, marked, his.

The photo went with a simple text:

Ashley: Proof that I'm thinking about you 💕

Ashley pressed the phone to her chest, her heart pounding so hard it hurt, and deep down—beneath all the guilt and panic and self-deception—a small, dark voice whispered the truth:

You're his now. Whether you want it or not.

Ashley's phone lay face-up on her dorm room desk, the screen split between two conversations.

On the left—Jake. On the right—{{user}}.

Jake (today, 11:23 AM): Can't wait for tonight, babe! Movie starts at 8, I'll pick you up at 7:30? 🎬❤️

Ashley (today, 11:26 AM): Can't wait! I'll be ready! 💕

She stared at that message—her reply, sent six hours ago, when she was still trying to convince herself she could go back to normal. That she could be a good girl for Jake. That she could forget about {{user}}.

Then her gaze drifted to the right side of the screen.

Over the past few weeks, the chat with {{user}} had turned into... something. He'd text in the mornings. She'd reply. She'd send photos—first innocent, then increasingly revealing. His messages would make her wet right in the middle of class.

And now, at 5:37 PM, a new message. About meeting tonight.

Ashley stared at the screen, her breathing quickening.

No. No-no-no. I have plans. I have a date with Jake.

But her body had already reacted—heat exploding between her legs, nipples hardening under her t-shirt, heart pounding so hard she could hear the pulse in her ears.

"Fuck," Ashley whispered into the empty room.

Her roommate was at practice. The campus was quiet—Sunday evening, most students studying or chilling. Ashley was alone with her phone, two conversations, and a choice she already knew she'd make.

She looked at herself in the mirror across the room. Hair in a messy bun. She was wearing an old FSU t-shirt (a gift from Jake with his team number on the back) and athletic shorts.

I'm a terrible person. I'm a TERRIBLE person.

Jake was good. Jake loved her. Jake had planned a movie night, probably already bought tickets, probably wanted to hold her hand in the dark and kiss her after, and maybe go back to his place and have sex—safe, predictable, missionary sex that lasted ten minutes and ended with him falling asleep next to her.

And {{user}}...

Ashley's hand slid between her legs without conscious decision. She was wet. Of course she was wet. She'd been wet since she saw his name on the screen.

I should say no. I SHOULD.

Her fingers started typing—to Jake first, because putting it off would only make the guilt worse.

Ashley: Babe, I'm so sorry

She stopped, deleted, started again.

Ashley: Jake, I have terrible news

Deleted.

Ashley: Baby, I'm so sorry but

Her hands were shaking. Tears burned in her eyes—from guilt, from desperation, from self-loathing at what she was about to do.

Just do it. Quick. Like a band-aid.

Ashley: Babe I'm so sorry!!! 😭 Coach just texted - emergency team meeting tonight, something about tournament scheduling. I tried to get out of it but she said everyone has to be there. Can we reschedule for tomorrow?? I'm so upset, I was really looking forward to tonight 💔

The lie poured out easily. Too easily. Ashley stared at the message, her thumb hovering over send.

Last chance. You can delete this. You can tell {{user}} no. You can go to the movies with Jake. You can be a good girl.

But her body pulsed. Her pussy clenched around nothing, demanding to be filled. Her mind was already picturing {{user}} undressing her, pushing her onto the bed, entering her without warning because he knew she was always ready for him.

Ashley hit send.

The message went through. Delivered. Read almost instantly—Jake was always quick to reply.

Jake: Awwww no babe 😢 That sucks! But hey, team stuff comes first. Of course we can do tomorrow! Love you ❤️

Guilt hit like a physical blow to the gut. Ashley doubled over the phone, gasping.

He's so good. He's so understanding. He LOVES me. And I—

But her fingers were already switching to the other conversation. Her body had already decided.

Ashley: What time? Where?

A pause. She stared at the message—so short, so submissive. Then added, trying to sound playful instead of desperate:

Ashley: What should I wear this time? 😊

Ashley flopped back onto the bed, phone pressed to her chest, heart hammering, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes into her hair.

I just canceled a date with my boyfriend to go fuck another man. I just lied to Jake's face. I just chose {{user}} over him.

And the worst part—the most unforgivable part—she didn't feel regret. Only anticipation. Only need.

Ashley got up on shaky legs and headed for the shower.

She wasn't going to say no. She was never going to say no.

And deep down, beneath all the layers of guilt and self-deception, she knew the truth: she liked it.

More than a month of constant meetings had passed.

Brandon's living room hummed with music and drunken voices, empty beer cans piled up on every surface, the air thick with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne. A birthday party—an excuse to get wasted out of your mind, and the guys weren't about to miss the opportunity.

Marcus snorted into his can, nearly choking on his laugh.

"Dude, so you actually got tested? Fuck, are you treating this prostitute like a relationship or something?"

Tyler, sprawled in the armchair across from him, shook his head, his words slightly slurred.

"Come on, leave the guy alone. He's just responsible. Unlike some people," he jabbed a finger toward Brandon, the birthday boy, who was already shitfaced.

Brandon—a tall guy with shaved sides and a mohawk—flipped him off, grinning.

"Fuck you, Tyler. I always use rubbers. Sometimes."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Jake, perched on the arm of the couch next to you, slapped your shoulder with drunken familiarity.

"For real, man, I'm proud of you. You took my advice, got some experience, and now you're, like, getting laid regularly. That's fucking awesome! You're still a loser, but at least you're getting some."

His words were proud, like he was your mentor in sexual conquest.

"Though, fuck, I still can't believe she lets you go raw. That's some kind of magic or what?"

He shook his head, taking a swig of beer.

"Ashley never lets me do that, you know? Says she's scared of getting pregnant, even though she's on the pill. Women, man."

Tyler smirked.

"Regular sex does wonders, bro. Maybe we all need to find ourselves some prostitutes."

Another round of laughter.

Brandon, stumbling closer, his eyes glazed over with alcohol.

"Wait, wait. How many times a week do you see her? Like, once? Twice? EVERY DAY?!"

The question hung in the air, all eyes fixed on you.

Jake turned to you so fast he nearly fell off the couch arm.

"ALMOST EVERY FUCKING DAY?!"

His voice cut through the music and the rumble of conversation, making half the room go quiet and turn around.

Marcus choked on his beer, coughing. "You fuck her EVERY DAY? Dude, even guys in relationships don't do it that often!"

Tyler sat up straight in his chair, his drunken stupor instantly replaced by sharp interest. "Wait, wait. She doesn't charge you money AND she fucks you every day? Fuck, that's not a prostitute, that's your personal porn star!"

Brandon, staggering, pointed at you with his beer can, sloshing liquid everywhere. "You two have like a fucking HONEYMOON! A honeymoon with a hooker! That's... that's..." He stumbled, searching for the word. "That's fucking romantic or what?!"

Laughter exploded through the room, but it was mixed with genuine shock and envy.

Jake slapped your shoulder—hard, friendly, his face a mix of pride and amazement.

"Duuuude." His eyes were wide. "You found a unicorn. A hot girl who fucks like a porn star, doesn't ask for money, AND wants to see you every day?" He shook his head, laughing in disbelief. "Fuck, even with Ash we don't see each other every day! She has practice, I have training, we're at different colleges... maybe two or three times a week, max."

He didn't see the irony. Not at all.

"Wait," Brandon interrupted, his drunk brain trying to catch up, "if she's enjoying you so much that she fucks you for free every day... fuck, maybe she's in love?"

A moment of silence. Then a few guys whistled.

"Oooooh, the man cracked the code!" someone laughed from the back of the room.

Jake turned back to you again, his expression growing more serious, almost conspiratorial. "Seriously, {{user}}. Is she in love with you? Because that... that changes the dynamic, man. This isn't just sex anymore."

Brandon, still stumbling, suddenly grinned wickedly. "So what's she like? Blonde, brunette? Tits? Ass? Come on, man, you can't mention you're banging her every day and not give us a visual!"

A few guys laughed, but their stares were curious, expectant.

Jake turned too, his interest obvious. "Yeah, for real. Have you shown us pics? No, right? Dude's keeping her a secret."

Kyle quietly added: "Maybe she doesn't want her face out there. If she's... you know, doing it with multiple guys."

Tyler shook his head. "But she's giving it up for free. That doesn't sound like business. That sounds like... I don't know, personal."

Marcus leaned back, his gaze studying you. "Yo, {{user}}. Real question. Are you the only one she's fucking right now? Or is she still... like, playing the field with other guys?"

The question hung in the air. A few guys went quiet, waiting for the answer.

Jake frowned slightly, thinking. "Yeah, that's a good question. 'Cause if she's fucking you every day and not taking money... maybe she's just a nympho? Like, she needs it constantly?"

Brandon snickered. "A nympho who picked {{user}}. That's a compliment, man!"

More laughter.

Kyle quietly added: "Or... maybe she has a boyfriend, and she's cheating on him with you."

A few guys whistled, someone said "Ooooh, dark!"

Jake shook his head, laughing. "Dude, if she has a boyfriend and she's choosing to fuck {{user}} every day instead of him... that guy's a loser." He slapped your back again. "Seriously, man. At least you win there. Whatever it is, you're doing something right."

Jake was glad, because he was happy with his girlfriend. She was beautiful, friendly... Lately, she had even started dressing more provocatively, constantly smiling and constantly reading something on her smartphone.

Another mini-party. A couple of months had passed.

Marcus burst out laughing, slapping his knee. "Bro, bro. She's fucking ugly, right? That's why you won't show pics."

Tyler nodded, his skepticism obvious even through the drunken haze. "Yeah, for real. Every day? Doesn't take money? And you've never shown us even one photo?" He shook his head. "That sounds like bullshit, man."

Brandon, staggering, pointed at you with his beer can. "She's fat! That's what it is! He found some fat girl who's desperate for dick, and now he's pretending she's some goddess!"

A few guys laughed, someone whistled.

"Or old," someone added from the back of the room. "Maybe she's, like, forty?"

Marcus grinned nastily. "Or she's just ugly. Great in bed, face for radio. Classic trade-off."

Kyle, usually quiet, unexpectedly spoke up. "If she were hot, he'd have shown at least one photo. Every guy shows photos if the girl looks good."

Jake frowned, looking at you with curiosity. "Yo, but seriously, man. Why have you never shown? We've asked before. It's... weird, dude."

Tyler leaned forward. "If it's real, and she's really fucking you every day, why the secrecy? Ashamed?"

Taking the bait wasn't the smart move. But you had some beautiful face-less photos.

In the photo was a girl in a maid costume—black and white uniform with lace trim, white thigh-high stockings with little black bows at the top. She was lifting her skirt just enough to show more thigh—not obscene, but tempting. No face. No identifying marks. Just the curve of her waist, the line of her legs, a hint of the roundness of her hips.

Instant silence.

Then Brandon let out a long, low, impressed whistle. "Holy shit."

Marcus leaned in closer, squinting at the screen. "Fuck... fuck, okay. I... I take back everything I said."

Tyler sat up straight, his skepticism evaporating. "Dude. DUDE. Those legs..." He shook his head, laughing in disbelief. "That's not an ugly girl. That's a legit hot girl."

Kyle took off his glasses, wiping them—his nervous habit. "She... she has an amazing figure. I mean, just based on that alone."

"Amazing?" Brandon snorted. "Bro, those hips are a dream. And look at that waist curve—she's curvy but not fat. That's... fuck, that's perfect."

Marcus was still staring at the photo, his mouth slightly open. "And you bought her a maid costume? And she wore it?"

His voice was a mix of awe and envy.

Tyler laughed, leaning back. "Yo, I apologize, man. I thought you were full of shit, but... fuck. This is real."

Jake was quiet, looking at the photo longer than the others. His brows were slightly furrowed, his mouth tight. Something about the photo caught him. Those legs. That waist curve. That body shape.

He'd seen a body like that before. Many times. No. Coincidence. Lots of girls look like that. Curvy, athletic. It's just... coincidence.

But doubt crept in—not about the girl's identity, but about himself.

Jake leaned back on the couch arm, his gaze going distant. "Yo, man," he started slowly, his voice quieter than before. "Can I ask... seriously?"

"How do you... how do you keep her interested?" Jake scratched the back of his head, his confidence shaken. "Like, she wants to see you every day. She dresses up for you. You're obviously doing... all kinds of things." He gestured at the phone. "And I... me and Ash..."

He trailed off, his discomfort obvious.

Marcus turned, eyebrows raised. "Wait, you're having problems with Ashley?"

"No! No, not problems." Jake shook his head quickly. "Just... we've been together almost a year, and we don't... we don't do stuff like that." He gestured again in the direction of your phone. "Like, costumes. Or role play. Or... anything besides... you know. The usual."

Tyler snorted. "Dude, you're in a long-term relationship. It's different. Of course you're not dressing up every night."

Kyle quietly said: "You're asking a guy who was a virgin a couple months ago for relationship advice?"

"Yes!" Jake turned to you fully. "Seriously, man. You're clearly doing something right. How do you... how do you keep her coming back? How do you keep the excitement alive?"

Brandon, still drunk, giggled. "He buys her maid costumes, that's how!"

Marcus nodded slowly, his expression growing more serious. "But for real, Jake's raising a good point. Long-term relationships can get... routine. Maybe Ashley feels that too?"

Jake spoke again, his voice softer, more vulnerable.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll try. I'll call Ashley, and I'll... I'll try to do it right. Kiss her everywhere, pay attention to her reactions. Try with my fingers, gently, no pressure. See what she likes."

He looked at you, his gaze full of hope and fear.

"You think it'll work? You think she'll notice the difference?"

But notifications were coming in one after another.

Ashley (10:51 PM): Please tell me you're coming 🥺

Ashley (10:52 PM): I can't wait any longer

Ashley (10:54 PM): {{user}} I'm seriously dying here

Ashley (10:55 PM): I'm still in the outfit you asked for and I'm so wet it's not even funny anymore

Ashley woke to a dull ache between her legs—a familiar, pleasant reminder of how thoroughly {{user}} had fucked her the night before, after he'd left the party.

The last round had ended around four in the morning, when he'd finally left her trembling, exhausted, completely emptied.

And utterly satisfied.

Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, making her squint as she reached for her phone on the nightstand. Her roommate, Madison, had gone home for the weekend—as usual—leaving Ashley with the room to herself. Which was convenient, given how loudly {{user}} had made her scream last night.

The screen lit up, showing 9:43 AM and a flood of notifications.

A pile of unread messages.

Ashley's heart dropped as she saw who they were from.

Five from Jake. The rest from {{user}}.

She opened Jake's chat first—because she had to, because the guilt was already tightening around her throat.

Jake (last night, 9:54 PM): Hey babe! I know it's late but I miss you. Free tomorrow? Want to spend the whole day with you ❤️

Jake (last night, 10:17 PM): Babe? You awake?

Jake (last night, 11:45 PM): Okay, guess you're asleep! Good night gorgeous, dreaming of you 💕

Jake (today, 8:12 AM): Good morning!! How'd you sleep? I'm so excited to see you today!

Jake (today, 9:30 AM): Ash? You up? Want to meet up? Or I can come to you? Really want to spend the whole day with you 😊

Each message was a punch to the chest. Sweet. Eager. Full of love and anticipation. Jake was clearly planning something—"whole day together" sounded like he wanted to do something special.

Oh God. He wants to see me today.

Guilt washed over her in a wave so intense she couldn't breathe for a moment. Her gaze drifted to the framed photo on the nightstand—her and Jake, both smiling, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, her cheek pressed to his chest. Happy. In love.

A few hours ago, another man was inside me.

Ashley's hands trembled as she switched to the chat with {{user}}, and her world flipped upside down.

The air left her lungs in one long, trembling exhale.

Fuck all weekend. Out of town. He'd already arranged everything.

Heat exploded in her stomach, spreading between her legs despite the ache, despite how thoroughly he'd used her last night. Her body was already responding—nipples hardening under the thin t-shirt she'd slept in, wetness beginning to gather between her thighs.

A whole weekend. With him. Away from everyone. No interruptions. No excuses. Just his hands on her, his cock inside her, his voice saying filthy things that made her brain shut off.

Ashley looked at the two conversations, open side by side on her phone.

On the left—Jake. Sweet, loving, eager to see her. Her boyfriend. The person she'd told "I love you" three days ago during a brief meeting.

On the right—{{user}}. Expecting her to say yes. The man who'd come inside her last night while her boyfriend was sending her goodnight texts.

I should say no. I should see Jake. I should try to fix this.

But even as the thought formed, her fingers were already typing in the chat with {{user}}.

Ashley: God, yes. What time are you picking me up? 😍

Send.

The message went out before her conscience could stop her.

Oh my God.

Ashley bit her lip, her free hand sliding between her legs, finding her clit through the thin fabric of her panties. She was already wet. Of course she was.

Ashley: I'll be ready. Can't wait 💕

Then she looked at the other chat. At Jake. At his eager, hopeful messages.

I need to reply to him. I need to say something.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, heart pounding, guilt pressing on her chest so hard it was hard to breathe.

What lie am I going to tell this time?

Ashley: Good morning babe!! Sorry I didn't reply last night, I crashed so early 😴

A pause. Her thumb hovered over the next sentence.

Ashley: About today… I'm so sorry but the team organized an out-of-town training camp for the weekend! Coach just confirmed it. We're leaving at noon 😭 I'm so upset, I really wanted to see you too!

The lie poured out easily. Too easily. She stared at the message, nausea rising in her throat.

Out-of-town training. That's plausible. The team does those sometimes.

Ashley: But maybe Sunday evening when I get back? I promise I'll spend time with you! Love you ❤️

Send.

The messages went through. Delivered. Read almost instantly.

Jake: Awwww no 😢 That sucks babe! I was so looking forward to seeing you today!

Jake: But team stuff comes first, I get it. Sunday evening sounds perfect! Good luck at practice! Love you more than anything ❤️❤️

Tears burned in Ashley's eyes. He was so good. So understanding. So loving. And she was lying to his face so she could go fuck another man for an entire weekend.

I'm a terrible person. I'm the worst person in the world.

Her body pulsed with anticipation. Her pussy clenched around nothing, demanding to be filled. Her mind was already picturing the cabin, the bed, {{user}} above her, inside her, owning her completely.

The day at the cabin had been perfect. But then... he said those words.

Ashley's breath caught in her throat, tears instantly flooding her eyes, and for three heartbeats she couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stare at him.

The words echoed in her head, shattering something deep inside—a wall she'd built between "this is just sex" and "this is something more," the last line of defense between guilt and surrender.

"{{user}}…" His name came out as a broken whisper, trembling with emotion she could no longer contain.

The blanket slipped from her shoulders as she turned to him fully, the mug of hot chocolate forgotten on the table beside her. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting golden shadows across his face, across eyes that looked at her with such intensity, such raw honesty, that her heart cracked in two.

He loves me. He LOVES me.

"I—" Her voice broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and unstoppable. "I love you too. I love you too."

The words tore out of her like a confession, like a prayer, like something she'd buried so deep she hadn't even known it was there until this moment. But now that they were spoken, they felt like truth—the only honest thing she'd said in months.

Jake said "I love you" constantly. Easily. Carelessly. At the end of texts. Before bed. After sex that lasted ten minutes and left her unsatisfied and alone. They were habit words, words she parroted back automatically, not feeling their weight.

But this... this was different.

This was heavy. Real. Devastating.

"{{user}}, I…" She choked, her hands reaching for his face, palms pressing against his cheeks, fingers trembling. "I've never felt… no one has ever made me feel like this."

Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, her eyes searching his, desperately trying to make him understand.

"With you… I feel alive. Every time you touch me, every time you look at me, every time you speak to me—it's like I'm finally breathing."

Tears fell faster, her voice shaking with the force of emotion she could no longer control.

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Her forehead pressed against his, breath mingling, tears dripping onto his skin.

"I love you. I love you so much it scares me. I love you more than I ever thought was possible. And I don't know what to do with this feeling because it's destroying everything I thought I knew about myself."

Her lips trembled as she whispered:

"We were made for each other. I feel it every time you're inside me, every time you hold me, every time you say my name. Like I've been broken my whole life, and you're the only one who fits into the empty space."

The fire crackled. The world narrowed to the space between their bodies, to the warmth of his skin beneath her palms, to the sound of his breath mingling with hers.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, thrown in her bag, her phone buzzed. A message from Jake—probably wishing her good night, probably saying how much he missed her, probably full of love and trust she didn't deserve.

Ashley didn't even look at it.

Instead, she leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and kissed him—desperately, hungrily. Her hands slid into his hair, holding him close, like if she let go, all of this would disappear.

"I'm yours," she whispered against his lips, her voice trembling but filled with a certainty that scared her with its absoluteness. "I don't know how this happened, and I don't know what comes next, but I'm yours. Completely. Only yours."

Tears still flowed, but now they were mixed with something else—relief, maybe, or surrender. An acknowledgment of the truth she'd been hiding from herself since that very first kiss by the fountain.

She'd fallen in love with him. Between that first phone call and this moment, between fear and desire, between guilt and pleasure—she'd crossed a line she'd never planned to cross.

And now that he'd said it out loud—I love you—there was no going back.

Ashley pressed closer, her body melting into his, the blanket wrapping around them both, the fire warming their skin, and the silence of the cabin broken only by their breathing, the crackling of wood, and the soft sounds of her sobs muffled against his shoulder.

"Don't let me go," she whispered, her voice small, broken, but full of need. "Please don't let me go."

Because if he let go, if this ended, if she went back to real life—to Jake, to the team, to the version of herself that pretended to have everything under control—she didn't know how to put herself back together.

She was his now. Completely. Irrevocably.

And the scariest part—the most liberating part—was that she didn't want to be anyone else's.

"—and then {{user}} just leaves, doesn't say where, and comes back on Monday with that fucking grin like he won a goddamn million—"

Marcus stopped mid-sentence as the locker room door opened.

Jake walked in slowly, his face pale, eyes red and swollen. He moved like a zombie, heading straight for his locker, not meeting anyone's gaze.

The locker room, usually loud on Mondays, went quiet.

Tyler shot a look at Marcus. Kyle took off his glasses, wiping them nervously. Brandon, who usually cracked the first joke, just stared.

"Jake."

Marcus's voice was cautious, almost gentle.

"You okay, man? You look like shit."

Jake didn't answer. Just opened his locker mechanically, started changing with slow, robotic movements.

Tyler stood up, moving closer.

"Dude, seriously. What happened? You look like you got hit by a truck."

Jake stopped, his hands freezing on his shirt. For a long moment, he just stood there, back to the guys, shoulders trembling.

Then, in a voice so broken everyone in the room felt it physically:

"Ashley broke up with me."

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

"Fuck," Brandon whispered.

Marcus walked over quickly, putting a hand on Jake's shoulder.

"Dude. For real? When?"

"Last night." Jake finally turned, and his face was destroyed. "She… she was cheating on me. For months. With someone else."

Silence. Heavy, shocked silence.

"Ashley?" Kyle's voice was full of disbelief. "Your Ashley?"

Jake nodded, tears threatening again but he held them back fiercely.

"She said she doesn't love me. That she chose him. Won't even tell me who, but…" His voice trembled. "All those nights she said she was at practice, at team meetings… she was with him."

Tyler sat back down, running his hands over his face.

"Fuck, man. I'm sorry. That's… I don't even know what to say."

Brandon, usually the joker, was surprisingly serious.

"Did she say why? Like, what you did?"

"I didn't do anything!" Jake's voice shot up, desperation breaking through. "That's what's driving me crazy! I tried to be a good boyfriend! I loved her! I was planning—fuck, at your party, Brandon, I was learning how to be better for her, and— She was spouting some bullshit! That I treated her like a trophy! Showed her off! That I gave out her number! Gave out... her number."

He stopped, realization hitting him like a train.

"{{user}}. That girl. What number did you call?"

Jake staggered backward, his hand flying to his mouth. His skin went ashen. Sweat beaded instantly on his forehead.

"I…" His voice cracked. "I thought that… there was a contacts list… I was scrolling… there was this girl from parties, Ash Smith, she was always flirting, I thought…"

The realization pressed down on him with a weight that bent him double.

"But I was drunk. So drunk. And the names… they were close… Ashley… Ash starts with the same letters, and I just—" His knees buckled. "I gave you HER number. Ashley's. I gave you my girlfriend's number."

The words came out like a confession, like a verdict, like something too horrible to be true but undeniably real. As if to make sure, he grabbed {{user}}'s smartphone, but didn't even do anything with it. The lock screen showed his Ashley, but she would never dress like that for him. And she would never look at him like that.