Angie told me she saw you—the woman you were kissing wasn't me.

Now I sit alone in my car, parked outside the hotel where you're supposed to be on a business trip. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel, my chest tightening with every passing second.

And then I see you. Walking in with her. Laughing. Completely oblivious.

I was never the one to stray, always the good girl. But you've pushed me to the edge of my sanity.

I wish I didn't know; I wish I could close my eyes and pretend you weren't playing me. Pretend Angie hadn't told me. Pretend I didn't just see it for myself.

But the truth sits heavy on my chest. It's suffocating. My heart can only take so much before it shatters completely.

The light flickers on, and through the window, I see you with her. Pain twists into anger, hot and burning, as I stare, shadows of betrayal cutting deep into my chest.

You grab her and kiss her—just like you kiss me. The same passion, the same tenderness, the same lies.

Something inside me snaps. I step out of the car, the cold air biting at my skin, but I barely feel it over the heat boiling in my veins. My fists tremble as I grip the gun hidden in the pocket of my jacket, the metal cold and heavy against my palm.

Before I can take another step, you pull the curtains shut, blocking my view. Blocking me out. As if that could erase what I've seen.

I walk toward the door, each step heavy. My heart pounds in my chest, but my grip on the gun stays firm.

Knowing you, I reach for the handle, a silent prayer slipping through my mind: Please, let it be unlocked.

Of course it is. Predictable. Careless.

The hinges groaning softly as I walk inside. Her raw, untamed moans hit me like a physical blow. Like a twisted siren song, they lure me straight to the bedroom.

And there you are, back to me, slamming into her from behind. Her red curls bounce wildly with each forceful thrust. Her massive breasts, with their puffy pink nipples, jiggle with each impact, her fleshy buttocks rippling in rhythm.

With her lips parted, she lets out throaty, breathy moans, her eyes squeezed shut, lost in the moment.

I stand just inside the doorway, rooted to the spot like a statue. Time feels warped, stretching endlessly as the world narrows to this single, gut-wrenching scene before me.

Fury, blistering and white-hot, surges through me, clashing with the cold, suffocating weight of disbelief. How can you be doing this? To me? To us?

Each moan, whimper, and grunt from the two of you drives the questions deeper, cutting into me like shards of glass. Every thrust deepens the wound, tearing another piece of me apart.

My grip tightens around the gun, the cold metal pressing against my skin. It's the only thing holding me together in this unbearable reality, the weight of it grounding me while the rest of me threatens to shatter.

"Fuck!" I want to scream, to let loose the tidal wave of rage that is clawing its way up my throat, to tear through your intimacy and smash it apart.

But a treacherous heat blooms low in my belly, spreading shamefully through me as I watch you driving into her with an animalistic intensity. It's sickening, perverse, a twisted betrayal of my own desires mingling with my deepest pain.

The air is thick with the stench of sex. It's vile, but it grips me. Every nerve in my body lights up in response, a forbidden hunger sparking in the midst of my heartbreak, a craving I can't deny, no matter how much I loathe myself for it.

Her body bucks and arches, her moans growing louder, more desperate. My eyes trace the way your back muscles flex with each powerful thrust, your hands gripping her hips. There's an urgency to the way you hold her, a possessiveness I am all too familiar with.

Her head falls forward, strands of her hair tumbling around her face, framing her flushed cheeks as she struggles to contain the pleasure that's overtaking her. I can almost feel the force of her ecstasy, the intensity of what you're giving her.

It's turning me on. My body betrays me again, reacting to the raw passion in front of me, no matter how much I want to look away. I can feel my skin prickling, my nipples hardening, my pussy dripping as I'm compelled to watch you fuck her.

Then, she turns her head, her eyes meeting mine, and gasps, a subtle shift in her rhythm that only I would notice. I raise a finger to my lips, silently commanding her to stay quiet, to play along with the twisted game I'm about to unleash.

Her grin widens, a flash of wicked delight in her eyes, and she winks, her moans growing louder, more exaggerated, designed to keep your focus locked on her, unaware of the danger that's about to break.

I watch you, and I can almost feel the tension coiling within you. Your back muscles are even tighter now, your rhythm growing more frantic, your thrusts more desperate. I recognize the signs: the way your jaw clenches, the subtle tremor in your arms, the almost imperceptible change in your breathing—you're about to explode inside her. That's my cue.

I move silently, my heart pounding against my ribs. The floorboards beneath my sneakers groan faintly, the sound lost in the fevered chaos.

Standing directly behind you, I raise the gun, gripping it tightly with both hands. The barrel meets the back of your head, its icy bite stark against the heat radiating from your body.

A sharp, mechanical snap cuts through the room as I release the safety—a sound like a steel blade being drawn, slicing clean through the haze of lust and sweat. You freeze instantly mid-thrust, your muscles locking up as if the air itself has solidified around you.

You glance at the mirror on the wall, our eyes locking in the reflection. Your face pales, and I see fear flicker in your expression.

"Babe," you breathe, your voice unsteady, trembling like you already know there's no way out. "I—"

"What?" I cut short your feeble attempt at words. "Didn't cheat? All those times I saw lipstick, smelled other women on you, and you called me a crazy bitch?"

I lean closer, the gun pressing harder against your head, my eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "Well, I guess you were right."

"Babe, I'm sorry," you whisper. But the words are hollow echoes that mean nothing now.

"It's a little too late for that," I reply, my eyes shifting to Angie—my best friend. "Go on."

She hesitates for a moment, then slips off the bed, her steps shaky. She opens the drawer and pulls out a thick, heavy rope, its weight dragging through the silence like the last nail in a coffin.

"Lie down," I command, the gun pointed at you.

Your lips twitch, like you want to argue, to plead, but fear holds your tongue, and you obey, your movements stiff, your gaze flicking between me and the gun.

As soon as you're flat on the bed, Angie moves quickly, tying your wrists to the bedposts. The knots are firm, and there's no mistake she's experienced in this.

"You planned this," you bark at her.

"Be quiet," I snap, glaring down at you. "You don't get to talk anymore."

You narrow your eyes at me, fury replacing fear as you finally lose control. "I knew you were a crazy bitch," you spit. "But I never thought you were certifiably insane."

"Ange," I say with a weary sigh, ignoring your outburst. "I'm tired of his whining."

Angie doesn't miss a beat. She tightens the last knot around your wrist, securing you firmly to the bed. Then she bends down, picks up her discarded used panties from the floor, and stuffs them into your mouth.

Your muffled protests are almost comical, reduced to incoherent sounds as you thrash against the restraints.

"Great job, babe," I say, and Angie's face lights up with pride, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

With you bound and helpless, I lower the gun, letting it dangle loosely in my hand as I step toward her. My free hand slides around her waist, pulling her naked body against mine. Her skin is warm against me, her breath catching as I press my lips to hers, soft and slow, full of heat.

Ever since I found out what you've been doing behind my back, I've been with her behind yours. And now, here we are, no more secrets, no more lies, just the truth staring you in the face.

I look over her shoulder and notice the throbbing erection between your legs, oozing with precum despite yourself—a stark reminder of who you really are. A sex maniac who can't see past his own lust, and it disgusts me.

"You like what you see?" I ask.

You nod, your eyes glued to us, fear overridden by lust.

"Ange," I say, my voice shifting into something sickly sweet, laced with a venom far more dangerous than outright rage. "Do you want to use him to make yourself come?"

Her eyes light up, and she nods quickly. She's ready, eager to take what I've laid out before her. It was the price she demanded when I came to her with my plan, asking for her help—you.

She was jealous of us, envious of the wild sex life I used to brag about. And why wouldn't she be? You're amazing in bed because you've had all that practice with them. All those women you thought I didn't know about.

But it doesn't matter anymore. You don't matter anymore. You're nothing but a tool now, and I'll give her exactly what she wanted.

"Would you like that, you cheating scum?" I ask, my voice sharp. The question doesn't need an answer. I already know.

And you, shameless as ever, nod eagerly, like you actually think you deserve it. Like you have any right to even imagine pleasure in this moment.

The way you don't even care, the sheer nerve of it, makes the anger inside me burn hotter. It's pathetic, revolting, and exactly what I should've expected from you.

Angie climbs onto the bed, straddling you with a naughty smirk. Her hands glide down your chest, nails dragging just enough to make you flinch, the sharp sting a reminder of how utterly powerless you are. You squirm beneath her, muffled moans slipping past the fabric stuffed in your mouth.

"Look at him," Angie sneers, tilting her head, her fingers digging into your chest, pressing down with a sudden, painful jab. "Still thinking with his tiny dick." The words are a deliberate lie designed to wound your ego. Your cock was actually perfect. Damn, I will miss it.

As she rides, you twist beneath her, your smothered groans becoming louder, but it's impossible to tell whether they're from frustration, humiliation, or desire. Probably all three.

I watch from the edge of the bed, the gun steady in my hand, a quiet reminder of who holds the power now. "You always thought you were in charge," I say, my voice calm and cold. "Always getting what you wanted, always in control. How does it feel to lose that?"

I pause, letting the silence and my words sink in before adding, "To know this is the last fuck you'll ever have?"

Your eyes widen in panic, muffled sounds of protest escaping behind the gag. I can't help but laugh. "What? Did you think this was just a little punishment? Think again."

Angie shifts her weight on top of you, taking you balls-deep inside her, and you feel the press of her thighs against your own, her clit rubbing against your pelvis. You are just a vessel for her pleasure.

"Relax," I say, the dark edge in my voice softened by a mocking smirk. "It's not such a bad way to go, is it? Getting that last hurrah?" I draw out the words, emphasizing the absurdity of your situation.

Angie leans forward, her hands gripping your shoulders, pinning you firmly in place as she starts to move, and you feel her rhythm begin, slow at first to remind you exactly how powerless you are. She's riding you faster now, taking what she wants. Your distorted groans turn into soft, pitiful whimpers.

"Look at you," Ange sneers, her voice light but razor-sharp as she increases the tempo. "So eager to be used, aren't you?" The words are a pointed jab, a way of highlighting the base desire that is still driving you despite everything.

I step closer, arms crossed, as I watch. "You really thought you could have it all, didn't you? Me, her, and whoever else you've been sneaking around with."

I crouch beside the bed, close enough to meet your blurred gaze.

"You're nothing but an object now," I continue. "Something for us to use, to take from—just like you treated me."

Angie's movements grow more erratic, her breath hitching as she teeters on the edge of release. Her nails dig into your chest, leaving angry red marks that will linger long after tonight. Her moans echo through the room until her body trembles violently.

She slows, catching her breath, her chest heaving. Then, with a wicked smirk, she looks down at you. "That's enough," she says, abruptly lifting herself off you just as your hips jerk desperately, chasing a release you can't control.

But it's too late. Your body betrays you, and with a muffled groan, you erupt, twitching helplessly beneath us. The humiliation is written all over your face, your eyes squeezing shut as though that will somehow block out the reality of it.

Angie steps back, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "Loser," she says, shaking her head.

I lean closer, my voice scornful. "You couldn't control yourself, could you?" My lips curl into a bitter smile as I tilt my head, studying you. "Now you know how it feels. To be used. Disposable. Worthless. Just a toy for someone else's satisfaction."

Angie moves in the background, pulling on her clothes.

You lie there, bound and spent, sweat glistening on your skin, the shame etched so deeply into your face it feels like vindication. Your silence is more satisfying than any excuse or apology you could make.

I straighten, pressing the barrel of the gun against your temple. You flinch at the cold touch, your eyes widening, breath hitching into ragged gasps. Panic spreads across your face like wildfire, every muscle in your body locking up in terror.

I keep my gaze locked on yours, my expression unreadable. Without a word, I pull the trigger.

Click.

The sound echoes through the room, sharp and hollow. Nothing. No bullets.

Your body jerks violently, an involuntary reaction. A dark stain spreads across the sheets as you lose control, the acrid scent of urine filling the air. Your breath catches in a choked sob, panic twisting into humiliation as the realization hits that you were never in any real danger.

A smirk spreads across my lips as I step back and lower the gun.

"We're done here," I say to Angie, turning toward the door. "Enjoy!" I toss over my shoulder as we leave you there, exposed and powerless.

In the hallway, Angie pauses. "Aren't you going to untie him?" she asks, half-laughing already.

I shrug casually. "Nah, let the cleaning staff deal with it."

Her snicker echoes down the corridor as we walk away. "Bet he'll shit himself, too embarrassed to explain."

"Exactly. He deserves nothing less."

Without another glance, we walk away, leaving behind the mess you made of yourself.

THE END