My Friend Lystra

I wait until the house pulses with bass and everyone’s drunk before I tug Lystra into the spare bedroom. She’s glassy-eyed, giggling, already burning hot in that skimpy skirt. My buddy’s phone is rolling on the dresser while I push her down and climb over her. Her protests melt the second my thighs spread across her mouth. I sit back, feel the wet press of her tongue between my cheeks, and rock until her breath stutters against my skin. She’s never tasted another girl before; I make sure she gets the whole lesson. I reach down, spread myself wider, and tell her exactly what to do next—lick, suck, swallow—while the camera catches every slick sound. Later I flip her onto her back, slide two fingers through her soaked cunt, and make her come loud enough for the walls to shake. I keep her shaking through another orgasm with my mouth between her legs until she’s ruined and dripping onto borrowed sheets. She’s smiling in the afterglow, lipstick smeared, mascara running, completely unaware the footage is already uploading. By morning the clip’s everywhere—me riding her face, her moaning into my ass—and I get to watch the same girl who started the “bogy-eater” rumor choke on her own rep. She’s learning fast: payback tastes exactly like cunt and revenge.