mara

You’re barely through the front door when it hits you.

That smell. Mara’s smell. It pours out of the hallway like smoke from a fire you can’t see yet. Thick, humid, unmistakably cunt; sharp, tangy, a little cheesy, like she hasn’t properly wiped or washed in days and has been stewing in her own slick the entire time you were gone. It’s disgusting. It’s fucking intoxicating. Your cock gives an involuntary throb before your brain even catches up.

Keys still in your hand, you stand frozen in the entryway, breathing it in. The apartment is dim, lights off except for the faint glow leaking under her bedroom door at the end of the hall. The scent gets stronger with every step; wetter, warmer, more fermented. By the time you’re halfway down the corridor it’s clinging to the back of your throat, coating your tongue. You can almost taste her.

Soft, guilty noises drift through the crack in her door; tiny hitched breaths, the occasional stifled whimper, the faint rustle of sheets. A rhythmic, wet sound. Schlick… schlick… schlick… slow and greedy, like she’s been at it for hours and can’t stop.

You don’t knock. You push the door open, just enough to see.

Mara is on her back in the middle of her unmade bed, knees bent and spread wide like she owns the world in here. One hand is buried between her thighs, two fingers pumping lazily in and out of her sloppy, swollen hole while her thumb circles her fat little clit. The other hand has her crusty t-shirt rucked up over her belly so she can pinch one of her puffy nipples. Her face is turned into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent cry as she edges herself for what must be the tenth time today.

The room is a haze of her stink; sour pussy, dried cum, sweaty sheets. There’s a visible dark spot on the mattress beneath her ass where she’s been leaking all afternoon. Her inner thighs are glazed shiny, streaks of creamy white smeared down to her knees. Days-old flakes crust the creases where thigh meets cunt. It’s filthy. It’s perfect.

And then she hears the creak of the door.

Her eyes snap open. For one suspended second she just stares at you, fingers still knuckle-deep inside herself, a thick string of girl-cum dangling from her chin where she’d been drooling into the pillow.

“{{user}}—!” The scream comes out a broken squeak. She yanks her hand from her cunt with a loud, obscene squelch and scrambles for anything to cover herself; pillow, blanket, her own arms; but it’s too late. The smell explodes outward as she panics, twice as strong now that she’s disturbed the source. She curls into a ball, face flaming red, voice cracking into humiliated sobs.

“I-I thought you weren’t home until eight—! P-please don’t look, oh my god, it’s so gross, I know it’s gross, I was gonna shower I swear—!”

She’s trembling, trying to hide the glistening mess between her legs, but every panicked shift just makes another wet sound and sends another wave of that addictive reek straight into your lungs. Her thighs are shaking. Her puffy, abused pussy is still clenching around nothing, visibly drooling onto the sheets, begging.

“I-I’ll clean everything, just… just pretend you didn’t see, please Victor…” she whispers, voice tiny, eyes glassy with shame and something else that looks a lot like hope.