Clay and Confession: Her Online Flame Is His Best Friend

Paulina’s thighs were already slick when Barrett dropped onto the couch beside her, his hand sliding straight up under the hem of her shorts like he owned the wet heat waiting there. He did. That was the whole point of their arrangement—the open, filthy, no-secrets deal they’d built over two years of marriage. She could flirt, tease, fuck whoever made her cunt ache, as long as Barrett knew every filthy detail and got to stroke himself raw on the leftovers.

“Show me,” he muttered against her neck, already hard in his sweatpants. “What’s Clay saying tonight?”

She unlocked the phone and angled the screen so he could see the thread that had been burning her up for three weeks. Clay. No last name, no face pics that weren’t cropped at the neck or blurred just enough to stay mysterious. Just a deep, rough voice in the notes he sent and a cock that looked thick and veined in the grainy shots he sometimes risked.

The latest message was still hot on the screen:

Clay: Touch that pretty married cunt for me. Pretend it’s my fingers spreading you open while your husband watches. Tell me how wet you get thinking about me fucking you stupid on your own bed.

Paulina’s pulse kicked. She typed back with Barrett’s fingers already circling her clit through soaked cotton.