Yesterday afternoon, I told my boyfriend that we needed to take a break. I explained that I needed time to think and that it would be better for both of us. To avoid too many questions, I also told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place for a few days...

A few hours later, I sent a message to my colleague. I asked him if I could come over. His response was quick and blunt: “Come. And by the way, you’re an idiot for breaking up with your boyfriend; he’s a good guy.” His words hit me, but I ignored them. I grabbed my things and left.

When I arrived at his place, he shut the door behind me and immediately grabbed me by the neck. “Take off your clothes,” he said in a sharp tone. I didn’t argue. I took off my clothes, one by one, until I was left wearing only my thong. He made me get on all fours on the bed and started fiddling with his phone behind me. I wasn’t sure if he was recording or taking pictures. I stayed still, waiting for his orders.

“You’re still super sexy,” he said. “A small package like you is rare. Too bad you’re a slut. Otherwise, we could’ve been a couple.”

I didn’t reply. He set his phone down, came closer, and slid two fingers inside me. His movements were precise and confident. As he continued, he added, “I’m going to lend you to a friend. He asked if he could fuck you, and I told him it was possible.”

He paused for a moment, his fingers still moving... “It is possible, right?”

I turned my head slightly and nodded as a sign of acceptance, unable to form a verbal response. But he insisted: “You have to want it.”

I simply replied, in a low voice, “Yes, yes.” He smiled, satisfied. “I knew you’d agree,” he said calmly.

He pulled his fingers out, grabbed my hips, and tore off my thong before entering me roughly. His thrusts were fast, powerful, and intensified over time. My body reacted despite myself, pleasure building, but I knew it wasn’t the right day for this.

When he finished, he pulled out and sat on a chair. He spread his legs, started masturbating, and stared at me intently. “Get down here,” he said, pointing to the floor in front of him. I sat at his feet, eyes lowered, feeling his gaze on me.

I started touching myself. Not for him, but because I needed to. All the tension inside me had to be released somehow. My movements were mechanical at first, but I eventually came, a physical release more than true pleasure.

He kept masturbating as he watched me, his smug smile never leaving his face. Then he stood up, grabbed my hair, and told me to open my mouth. He came on my tongue and then on my face. Afterward, he ran his hand over my cheeks and hair to spread it around as if it didn’t matter.

Before I could move, he took out his phone. “Stick out your tongue,” he said. I complied without thinking. He quickly took a picture, checked the screen, and smiled, satisfied.

“Get dressed,” he then ordered in a detached tone. But instead of handing me my clothes, he picked them up and threw them out into the hallway. He pushed me outside and slammed the door shut.

I found myself standing on his doorstep, naked, with my clothes scattered around me. Heart racing, I dressed as quickly as I could to avoid anyone seeing me like that. My hands were trembling as I picked up my belongings. Once dressed, I left quickly without looking back.

When I got to my friend’s place, she saw me and looked at me curiously. “You look exhausted, was it a rough night?”

I didn’t answer. I went straight to the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw the traces on my face and in my hair. My body remembered the pleasure, but my mind was elsewhere. I don’t know if I’ll go back to him. But I know he thinks I will. And for now, I’m happy to be staying at my friend’s place.