Trying to work all week with the thought of Friday night on my mind was tough
The week stretched like a wound refusing to scab over. Days bled into each other with a sickening sameness, mornings spent scrubbing my skin raw in the shower, afternoons staring blankly at spreadsheets until the numbers dissolved into meaningless pixels. My keyboard collected a fine layer of coffee droplets where I'd zone out mid-sip, the liquid cooling unnoticed until my fingers brushed the mug's ceramic chill.
The bus window reflected my face back at me, pale and smudged with exhaustion, but movement beyond the glass snagged my attention. A leather jacket rounding a corner, broad shoulders unmistakable even at this distance. My breath fogged the pane as I pressed closer, but the crowd swallowed him before I could be sure. Just a trick of the light. Just paranoia chewing through my sanity like termites through softwood.
The espresso machine hissed like a live thing behind me, the sound fraying my already raw nerves. I gripped my cup tighter, the heat biting into my palms, but the pain barely registered. Across the street, just beyond the café window, a familiar shape moved, broad shoulders, that cocky swagger. My breath hitched. Jay's leather jacket flashed between passing pedestrians before vanishing down an alleyway. The coffee turned to acid in my throat.
The leather jacket flickered again at the edge of my vision, just beyond the produce aisle this time, between a pyramid of oranges and the fluorescent glare of the dairy section. My fingers clenched around the shopping basket handle until the plastic groaned. The supermarket speakers pumped out some soulless pop song, the kind designed to make you move faster, spend more, get the fuck out. I turned slowly, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Nothing but an elderly man examining avocados where Jay’s broad shoulders had been seconds ago.
Everywhere I went that week, I kept seeing glimpses. A flash of leather in a crowd. A familiar rasp of laughter cutting through the hum of a coffee shop. Shoulders broad enough to belong to him turning a corner just as I looked up. Each time, my pulse would spike, my breath catching in my throat like a fishhook, but by the time I blinked or turned my head, the phantom would dissolve into the ordinary. A stranger in a similar jacket. A laugh that wasn’t his. Just another man with the same careless swagger.
The phone screen burned against my palm, those six words glowing like a branding iron against the dark interface. *Wear something sexy for tonight.* No greeting, no signature, just Jay’s blunt command hanging between the spreadsheets I was supposed to be auditing. My coffee cup sat untouched beside my keyboard, a greasy film forming on its surface. Around me, co-workers tapped diligently at their keyboards, oblivious to how my pulse had started hammering against my ribs.
I stood abruptly, my chair scraping loud enough to draw glances. The ladies’ room tiles were cold through my tights as I leaned against the sink, staring at the hollow-eyed reflection staring back. The tap squeaked when I turned it, icy water shocking my wrists as I scrubbed at phantom fingerprints on my skin. *Something sexy.* The words echoed with every drip from the faucet.
The dampness between my thighs wasn’t just sweat, it was slick and unmistakable, the kind that made my cheeks burn as I hurried toward the bathroom stall. My heels clicked too loudly against the tile, each step a mortifying reminder of how my body had betrayed me yet again. The stall door swung shut behind me with a metallic groan, and I pressed my forehead against the cool partition, trying to steady my breathing. My fingers trembled as I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my tights, the elastic snapping against my skin like an accusation.
The fabric clung as I peeled it down, the wet spot dark against the nude material. A traitorous throb pulsed between my legs at the memory of Jay’s voice on the phone, his command slithering through my thoughts like smoke. The stall’s fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting sharp shadows across my bare thighs as I spread my knees just slightly, just enough to feel the humid heat rising from my skin. My fingers hovered, trembling, before skimming lower.
My fingers went straight for my clit, pressing hard through the slickness before I could stop myself. The stall walls pressed in around me, too close, too hot, the scent of industrial cleaner mixing with the musk rising from between my thighs. My breath hitched as I circled faster, the rough pad of my thumb dragging against my swollen flesh, too much, too rough, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down, needed the sharpness of it to drown out the phantom feel of Jay’s hands on my hips.
The office bathroom stall reeked of bleach and stale urine, but all I could smell was leather and sweat. My fingers worked faster under my skirt, the rough press of my thumb against my clit sending sparks up my spine. Eyes squeezed shut, I saw Jay’s smirk reflected in the DVD playback burned into my eyelids, the way his fingers had dug into my hips as he’d fucked me raw from behind, Abid's cock stuffed down my throat.
Monday night played on loop behind my clenched eyelids, Jay’s growl vibrating through my bones when he’d ordered me to crawl, the way Matt’s calloused hands had mapped my thighs like he owned them, the thick slide of Tyler’s virgin cock against my tongue. My breath came in shallow gasps against the stall door, my free hand braced against the partition to keep from buckling as pleasure coiled tighter. The memory of Jay’s cum dripping from my ass while Matt laughed twisted something low in my belly, a dark thrill I couldn’t suppress.
My free hand slapped over my mouth too late, a choked whimper escaped anyway, muffled against my palm but still loud enough to make me freeze. The office bathroom was empty except for the drip of a faulty tap, yet my pulse hammered as if someone had heard. My thighs trembled where they pressed against the cold porcelain, my fingers moving faster now with reckless urgency, chasing the shameful heat coiling low in my belly. The harder I tried to suppress it, the more my body rebelled, every ragged breath through my nose carried the phantom scent of leather and cigarette smoke, Jay’s voice growling in my ear like a live wire.
The orgasm hit me like a car crash, sudden, violent, leaving me trembling in the wreckage. My teeth sank into the meat of my palm to stifle the cry clawing its way up my throat, the pain a distant counterpoint to the electric shockwave radiating outward from my clit. My thighs clamped tight around my hand, trapping it there as aftershocks rolled through me, each pulse drawing another bead of wetness onto my already ruined tights. The stall walls pressed closer, the buzzing fluorescent light too bright against my clenched eyelids.
Outside, the restroom door creaked open, followed by the crisp tap of heels on tile. My breath froze in my lungs as someone entered, the scent of vanilla body spray cutting through the musk hanging thick in my stall. The faucet squeaked on, water splashing into the sink as I peeled my sticky fingers away, wiping them hastily on the inside of my skirt. My reflection in the metal partition was distorted, but I could still see the flush creeping up my neck, the swollen redness of my bitten lips.
The toilet seat was cold against my bare thighs as I perched there, trying to steady my breathing. My pulse still throbbed in my fingertips, echoing the aftershocks between my legs. The faucet squeaked again outside my stall, two short bursts, then silence. I pressed my forehead against the cool metal partition, counting the drip-drip-drops from the faulty tap like a metronome. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.
My fingers trembled as I tugged the damp tights back up my thighs, the elastic snapping against my overheated skin with a sound like a reprimand. The nylon clung stubbornly to my sweat-slick legs, each inch of fabric whispering accusations against my bare flesh. Outside the stall, the tap dripped its mocking rhythm, drip, drip, drip, as I adjusted the waistband with hands that still smelled faintly of musk and shame.
The soap smelled clinical, like alcohol and synthetic lavender, but I scrubbed until my skin burned anyway. Water sluiced pink between my fingers, not blood, just raw flesh protesting the abuse. The paper towel tore when I yanked it from the dispenser, leaving flecks of white clinging to my damp palms. I tossed the wad toward the bin. It missed.
My reflection in the restroom mirror looked hollowed out, mascara smudged beneath eyes too wide for my face. I dabbed at the streaks with a damp fingertip, but it just smeared further, giving me the look of some tragic silent film star. The door squeaked when I pushed through it, releasing me back into the fluorescent purgatory of the office.
The open office was practically empty, everyone had gone home. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the space where keyboards and chatter should have, casting everything in a sickly greenish glow. My computer screen blinked off with a soft sigh, the last spreadsheet dissolving into blackness. The desk phone’s display flashed 5:14 PM in accusatory red digits.
My heels clicked too loudly against the hardwood flooring as I headed for the door. Something, instinct, paranoia, the ghost of Jay’s smirk, made me glance over my shoulder. Nothing but empty chairs and dormant monitors, their power lights winking like sleepy eyes. Still, my fingers tightened around my purse strap until the leather bit into my palm.
The shower spray hit like needles, hot enough to turn my skin pink within seconds. I braced both palms against the tiles, letting the water sluice down my back while my mind raced through the contents of my wardrobe. *Something sexy,* Jay had said, two words that left too much room for interpretation. My fingers trembled as I reached for the shampoo, squeezing too hard so that a glob splattered against the shower wall. The scent of coconut filled the cramped space, cloying and sweet, nothing like the leather-and-smoke stench still haunting my dreams.
Towelling off left my skin tingling, the fabric catching on every raised follicle. My reflection in the fogged mirror was blurred at the edges, a watercolour version of myself, pink-cheeked, damp-haired, lips parted just slightly. The steam curled around my silhouette as I wiped a hand across the glass, revealing the dark circles under my eyes, the tense set of my jaw. *Where were they taking me?* The question slithered through my mind as I padded to the bedroom, trailing wet footprints that evaporated almost immediately.
The knock came at exactly 7:03 PM, three sharp raps that vibrated through the apartment door like gunshots. My stomach dropped. I knew without checking the peephole. Jay had never been one for patience, and the precision of his timing felt like another way to assert control. My fingers clenched around my dressing gown, still unsure what to wear.
The third knock rattled the doorframe before my fingers even touched the latch. Jay's impatience bled through the wood like a physical presence. My dressing gown slipped open as I reached for the knob, one deliberate inch of bare thigh revealed, before I cinched it tighter with suddenly unsteady hands. The peephole warped his face into something grotesquely broad, his smirk stretched wide beneath hooded eyes.
The door flew inward before I could fully turn the knob, the force sending me stumbling back as Jay shouldered his way inside. "Bitch, don't be leaving me out there that long in future..fuck." His leather jacket creaked with the movement, the scent of cold night air and cigarettes rolling off him as he crowded me against the entryway wall. His palm slapped against the plaster beside my head, his other hand already yanking the belt of my robe loose.
Jay's fingers twisted in the silk belt of my robe, yanking it open with a sharp tug that sent the fabric slithering down my shoulders. The air hit my bare skin like a slap. He didn't even look at me, just shoved past toward the bedroom, his trainers tracking damp prints across the hardwood. "Let's find you something to wear," he tossed over his shoulder, the words curling with mock sweetness.
Jay's fingers scraped against the hangers with deliberate cruelty, metal screeching like nails on a chalkboard as he rifled through my wardrobe. The pink dress emerged like a carcass from a butcher's case, the one I'd bought on a whim during a lunch break, the tags still dangling from the sleeve like a guilty secret. "This," he said, holding it up by the spaghetti straps as if inspecting roadkill. The chiffon rippled under the bedroom light, too bright, too girlish, the exact shade of bubblegum you'd find stuck under a school desk.
Jay tossed the dress at my face, the chiffon fluttering against my lips before sliding to the floor in a pool of pink. "Put it on. And no underwear," he ordered, already turning toward the dresser. His fingers dug through my jewelry box, scattering earrings and tangled necklaces until he found what he wanted, a thin silver choker with a dangling pearl. "This too," he said, holding it up with a smirk that made my pulse stutter.
The pearl choker clicked shut like a handcuff around my throat, cool metal kissing the pulse point that hammered beneath. Jay's fingers lingered, pressing just hard enough to make me swallow against the pressure. "Perfect," he murmured, breath hot against my ear. The pink dress clinging to curves still damp from the shower.
The stiletto heels hit my ribs with a sharp crack before clattering to the floorboards, six inches of glossy black vinyl and a toe box so narrow it looked like a torture device. "Put them on," Jay said, already turning toward the door like the conversation was over. My stomach knotted at the thought of walking any distance in them; the arches were practically vertical, the kind of heels that turned ankles into pretzels after half a block.
I crouched to pick them up, the cold vinyl sticking to my damp palms. The buckles jingled like handcuffs as I fumbled with the ankle straps, my fingers trembling against the tiny clasps. Jay watched from the doorway, arms crossed, the leather of his jacket creaking with impatience. "Hurry the fuck up," he muttered, checking his phone with a flick of his thumb. The screen's blue glow illuminated the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he knew exactly how unstable I'd be in these death traps.
The mirror showed a stranger, pink fabric barely grazing the tops of my thighs, the hemline so high that the curve of my ass peeked out when I shifted. The chiffon clung transparently to every dip and swell, my nipples standing rigid beneath the thin material, darker than the dress’s saccharine hue. Jay’s reflection loomed behind me, his hands sliding around my waist to yank the fabric tighter, making the pearl choker dig into my windpipe. "Fuck," he muttered against my ear, his thumbs pressing into my hipbones hard enough to leave bruises. "You look like a whore who forgot her price tag."
My pussy fluttered as he said the word, "whore", the syllables curling from his lips like smoke, settling hot between my thighs. The pink chiffon suddenly felt too tight, the fabric catching on every traitorous swell of damp skin as Jay's fingers dug deeper into my hips. His reflection smirked behind me, watching the way my breath hitched when he applied just enough pressure to the choker to make my vision blur at the edges.
"Like that, don't you?" His chuckle vibrated against my nape as his free hand slid down my belly, fingers splaying possessively over the sheer fabric stretched taut across my pelvis. "Fucking soaked through already." The pad of his thumb circled my clit through the material, the friction deliciously rough, and I bit my lip to stifle the moan clawing its way up my throat. The dress might as well have been tissue paper for all the protection it offered, the damp patch darkening the pink to near-crimson where his fingers worked.
Jay's fingers clamped around my wrist like a steel cuff, jerking me forward before I could adjust my footing. The stilettos wobbled treacherously as he dragged me toward the door, my toes curling inside the vinyl prisons to keep from face-planting. "Come on, we're going to be late for the party," he growled, the words sharp with impatience. His grip tightened when I stumbled, fingers digging into my pulse point hard enough to leave crescent imprints in the soft skin.
The night air hit my bare legs like a physical slap as Jay dragged me toward the curb where the VW camper idled, its exhaust puffing little white clouds into the freezing air. The engine rattled like an old man's cough, the faded yellow paint peeling around the headlights in jagged scabs. Someone had slapped a "Peace & Love" sticker across the bumper, the irony curdling in my stomach as Jay yanked open the sliding side door with a metallic shriek.
The van's interior reeked of weed and stale fast food, the scent hitting me like a punch as Jay shoved me inside. Tyler lounged across the bench seat, his acne scars flushed red under the dim dome light, fingers drumming against his thigh to some internal rhythm. His eyes flicked to my bare legs first, then higher, lingering where the pink chiffon clung to every curve. Abid slouched beside him, rolling a joint between his fingers with practiced ease, the paper crinkling softly as he smirked up at me. "Nice dress," he said, the words slow and syrupy.
Jay's shove sent me sprawling across Tyler's lap, the vinyl seat squeaking beneath us. The van's dome light flickered as Tyler's hands shot up like I was radioactive, his fingers hovering inches from my bare thighs. His Adam's apple bobbed violently above the collar of his oversized hoodie. "I—uh—" The stammer died in his throat when Jay slammed the side door shut with a metallic clang.
"Tyler needs to lose his V before we get to the party," Jay announced, like he was ordering fries. He climbed into the passenger seat without looking back, the leather of his jacket sighing against the upholstery. The engine revved twice, the vibration traveling up through the floorboards to where Tyler's knee trembled against my hip.
The vinyl flooring was cold against my palms as Tyler maneuvered me onto all fours, his hands trembling where they gripped my hips. Behind me, the camper's engine thrummed through the floorboards, matching the erratic pulse I could feel where his knees bracketed my thighs. The pink chiffon dress rode up, exposing me completely as Tyler fumbled with tracksuit bottoms.
Abid's laughter curled through the cramped space, punctuated by the wet sound of him licking the joint's adhesive strip. "Fucking hell, mate," he drawled, stretching out across the bench seat with his phone angled toward us. The flash blinked once, click, freezing my humiliation in pixelated perpetuity. Jay didn't even turn around from the passenger seat, just adjusted the rearview mirror with deliberate precision until our reflection filled the glass.
Tyler's cock nudged against me with the tentative pressure of someone pressing an elevator button, unsure if it would work. His breath hitched when the tip caught, wetness betraying my body's readiness despite the tremor in his hands. "Oh fuck," he whispered, more prayer than profanity, his hips jerking forward before he could stop himself. The stretch burned, just slightly, just enough to make my fingers dig into the van's vinyl flooring.
Tyler's thrusts were clumsy at first, each one accompanied by a sharp intake of breath like he'd never imagined anything could feel this good. His fingers dug into my hips, his grip tightening with every shallow push, his knees sliding against the van's floor as he struggled to find rhythm. The vinyl squeaked beneath us, the sound punctuated by Abid's occasional chuckles and the rustle of his phone adjusting for another shot.
Tyler's rhythm faltered when the van hit a pothole, his hips slamming forward with sudden, graceless force. The impact knocked my palms flat against the floor, my cheek pressing into the cold vinyl as he groaned above me, a sound caught between pain and pleasure. Behind us, Abid exhaled a stream of smoke that curled around my bare thigh like a possessive finger. "Christ, Ty, you gonna last five seconds?" he taunted, tapping ash onto the floor beside my splayed fingers.
Tyler's hips jerked against me with the spastic rhythm of a faulty piston, his fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to leave crescent-shaped welts. A choked gasp escaped him—part surprise, part reverence—before warmth flooded my core in short, pulsing bursts. His body slumped forward, forehead pressing between my shoulder blades as he panted against my skin. "God... that was awesome," he mumbled into my sweat-slicked back, his voice thick with dazed satisfaction. His fingers traced idle patterns on my hipbone, sticky with perspiration. "Do all women get this wet?"
"Just the sluts," Jay laughed from the front seat, his voice curling around the words like smoke. The rearview mirror caught his smirk, the reflection warped by the curve of glass until his teeth looked sharp enough to draw blood. My knees ug into the floor as Tyler pulled out with a wet sound that made Abid snort. The van's heater kicked on, blowing stale air across the dampness between my legs.
"Here we are," Jay laughed as the van pulled up with a screech, tires skidding slightly on the gravel driveway. The headlights illuminated a sprawling ranch-style house, its windows glowing amber behind drawn curtains. Music pulsed through the walls—a bassline thumping like a distressed heartbeat. Tyler's fingers still trembled where they gripped my thigh, his breath hot against my neck as he peered over my shoulder at the unfamiliar property.