Epilogue
Mark was asleep. It was a deep, boneless sleep, one arm flung over his head, his mouth slightly open. The candle had burned low, the flame a tiny, flickering thing. The room was perfectly quiet except for the rhythmic sound of his breathing.
I slipped out of bed, my movements slow and cautious.
Every single muscle in my body protested.
My thighs ached. My hips felt bruised. And my ass ...
my ass was a single, throbbing epicenter of a dull and glorious pain.
I still felt … full. A messy, sticky trail of his semen and lube was trickling a snail’s path down my inner thigh..
I needed to clean myself.
I limped to the bathroom, keeping my hand flat against the wall for support. I didn't turn on the light. I didn’t want to wake Mark. The little nightlight near the floor cast a soft, forgiving glow. I closed the door. The click of the latch sounded impossibly loud.
I stood in front of the toilet for a long moment, my body trembling with a strange, nervy exhaustion.
I sat down, and as my muscles relaxed, a gush of his cum, thick and warm, spilled out of me and into the bowl.
It was ... him. A physical, undeniable piece of Mark that had been pumped deep inside my guts.
I watched, fascinated and a little horrified, as the thick, milky fluid swirled and sank in the clear water.
This was real. It had happened.
I reached for the blue douche bulb, which was still sitting exactly where I’d left it on the edge of the tub. It looked different to me now.
The process was the same, but the feeling was entirely different.
Kneeling on the rough bathmat again, my body was no longer a terrified stranger's.
It was a map I had just explored. The hard plastic nozzle slid in easily this time, slipping past a ring of muscle that was no longer an unwilling virgin.
It felt tender, puffy, and thoroughly fucked.
As the warm water rushed in, I welcomed it as a soothing, cleansing balm on a raw, well-used part of my body. It actually felt ... good.
I held the water in, my head bowed again, my hands flat on the cool tile.
I wasn't fighting cramps this time. I was replaying the last hour in my head.
A highlight reel of pure, brutal sensation.
The feeling of his fingers stretching me wide.
The terrifying, magnificent pressure of his cockhead pushing its way inside.
The slow, deep, grinding friction of him claiming my depths.
The violent, possessive grip on my hair.
The final, soul-shattering, high-pressure flood of his release deep into my guts.
A shudder went through me—a phantom echo of my own orgasm. My cunt, which I hadn't even been thinking about, gave a wet, greedy clench at the memory.
I released the water into the toilet. And then I did it again. And again. Methodically, patiently, I rinsed myself out, washing away the physical evidence. But I couldn't wash away the feelings. I could still feel his cock inside me.
When I was finally done, when the water ran completely clear, I stepped into the shower.
The hot spray on my skin came as a relief.
I washed myself, my hands moving over my own body with a brand-new kind of awareness.
I soaped my ass, my fingers tracing the swollen, tender ring of my asshole. It felt different. Swollen. Used. Mine.
I thought back to the woman who had knelt in this exact same spot an hour or so ago—a trembling, deeply insecure mess, trying to convince herself she was in control. What a fucking joke. She had no idea.
I turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping a thick, soft towel around my aching body.
I looked at myself in the mirror, evaluating my reflection in the dim, soft light.
I looked wrecked. My eyes were heavy-lidded, my lips were swollen, and my curls were a damp, tangled mess.
There was faint bruising blooming on my hips where his fingers had dug in like talons.
I looked exactly like a woman who had been thoroughly, completely, and utterly fucked.
And I smiled. A slow, deep, genuine smile.
I slipped quietly back into the bedroom. Mark was still dead asleep. I slid into the bed, the clean sheets cool against my skin, and curled up against his warm back, pressing my body flush into his.
He stirred in his sleep, murmuring my name into his pillow. He reached back blindly, his hand finding my ass, cupping the soft flesh with a familiar, sleepy possessiveness.
He held me there, and I finally closed my eyes, perfectly content.
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