The bed creaks beneath me as I settle against our headboard, laptop balanced precariously on my thighs. Lana's been gone about an hour now, off for a girl's day with her sister that will likely stretch well into the evening. Shopping, lunch, maybe a movie. Normal sister stuff that makes me happy for her. She deserves some family time.
And here I am, already with my sweatpants around my ankles, my hand wrapped loosely around my cock, scrolling through thumbnails on her studio's website.
I click on a video titled "Blonde Beauty and Redhead Drenched in Cum." The thumbnail shows Lana on her knees, face already glazed with white streaks, her mouth open in what appears to be ecstasy. I can't see who the other girl is, just a glimpse of auburn hair at the edge of the frame.
The video buffers for a moment before filling my screen. Lana appears wearing nothing but a thin white tank top and a smile that makes my chest ache. God, she's beautiful. Even here, surrounded by men with their cocks in hand, she looks radiant.
"Are you boys ready to give us a nice shower?" she purrs, her voice sweet and teasing. "We've been very, very bad girls."
I stroke myself slowly, in no hurry to finish. The house is empty, Lana won't be back for hours, and I want to savor this guilty pleasure.
On-screen, the men grunt their approval as Lana kneels down. The camera pans slightly, and I catch a glimpse of another woman joining her. I can only see her back and that distinctive auburn hair as she kneels beside Lana.
Lana peels off her tank top, her breasts bouncing free as she lets out a playful giggle. The sight of her, bare and surrounded by six men, sends a jolt straight to my cock. I tighten my grip, my eyes glued to the screen.
She wraps her hands around two massive cocks, stroking them with practiced ease. Her mouth finds a third, struggling to take it all the way in. A wet, gagging sound fills the air as she chokes on the length, saliva dripping down her chin.
"Fuck, that's so hot!" one of the men groans, stroking himself faster.
Lana's eyes water slightly, but she keeps going, switching between cocks with a hungry enthusiasm that makes my stomach twist in that familiar, delicious way. She jerks two off while bobbing her head on the third, making obscene, wet sounds that echo in my head. The men around her grunt and moan, their fists a blur as they stroke themselves closer to release.
"Gonna cover you in cum, slut!" another man growls, his voice strained with effort.
The first man's hips buck and he explodes across Lana's face, thick streams of cum painting her cheeks and forehead. I watch, mesmerized, as she closes her eyes and smiles, a gentle, almost serene expression on her cum-splattered face. "Thank you," she whispers sweetly, and the words send a shiver down my spine.
She moves on to the next guy, taking his cock in her mouth with a hunger that's both desperate and controlled. He grabs a fistful of her hair, thrusting into her with raw intensity. For a moment, she struggles to keep pace, gagging and choking as she fights to take him deeper. Then her eyes flutter open, and she seems to adjust, finding a rhythm that leaves her gurgling and gasping.
The sounds are desperate, hypnotic, echoing in my head and making my heart race. I stroke myself faster, matching the frantic pace on screen. I'm getting closer, so much closer, as I watch her get face fucked, the men's voices blending into a chorus of lust.
"Yeah! Choke on it, slut! Take it all!" One of the men yells.
The camera zooms in, capturing every detail of her mascara-smeared eyes and the obscene bulge in her throat. I bite my lip, feeling the familiar tightness building in my stomach. I'm right there, teetering on the edge as I watch her work.
It's fucked up, but I can't stop. I can't stop watching, can't stop stroking, can't stop craving the sight of another man finishing on her. The perverse thrill of it all pushes me closer and closer to the edge.
She switches cocks again, saliva and cum smeared across her face, and I imagine the heat of it, the smell, the taste. My grip tightens, my body tensing as I hover on the brink of release.
She pulls back, her fingers spreading her mouth wide, tongue out. "Ahh," she teases, her voice a sweet, taunting melody. The men grunt and groan, and I watch, breath held, as thick ropes of cum splatter her face and hair. She chuckles, a cute, satisfied sound, as one final shot lands directly in her open mouth.
The sight of her, drenched and smiling, sends me over the edge. My body tenses, and I cum harder than I have in weeks, thick spurts covering my chest and stomach. "Fuck!" I gasp, lost in the haze of pleasure.
I ride the wave, my heart pounding, the guilt and disgust slow to settle in. I lie there, panting, watching the screen as the men disperse and the camera zooms in on Lana's face. She's a beautiful mess, a masterpiece of degradation. Her fingers scoop some of the cum from her cheek, and she sucks them clean with a satisfied hum like someone eating frosting from a cake.
As my breathing slows and the post-orgasm clarity hits, I feel the familiar wave of revulsion washing over me. What kind of boyfriend gets off watching the love of his life being used like this? The shame is a physical presence, crawling beneath my skin as I reach for the tissues.
Then the camera pans slightly to the right, capturing the full face of the redhead kneeling beside Lana, and my heart stops mid-beat.
"Morgan?"
I freeze, tissues clutched in my trembling hand. Those sharp features, those piercing green eyes now glazed with cum, it's unmistakably her. The woman from Starbucks. My fan. The redhead is fucking Morgan.
"What the fuck?" I mutter, my body suddenly cold despite the flush of my recent orgasm.
I lean closer to the screen, studying Morgan's performance with newfound scrutiny. Unlike Lana's enthusiastic display, Morgan moves with an almost robotic precision, efficient, calculated. Her eyes lack the sparkle of enjoyment Lana's have, even when she's covered in cum. She barely makes a sound beyond the occasional minimal encouragement, "Yes." "More." "There."
It's like watching someone complete a task rather than participate in pleasure. She doesn't moan or beg like my girlfriend. She simply... functions with perfect technique but zero emotion.
Yet there's something in her movements, a certain pride in her mechanical efficiency. Like a master craftsman who's grown bored of their trade. Like it's beneath her.
My erection starts to return despite my racing mind. Something about seeing the mysterious Starbucks woman, my apparent "fan," naked and covered in cum triggers a confusing mix of arousal and dread. I quickly close the browser window, wiping my hands frantically on the tissues as if I could erase what I've just discovered.
"What the fuck does this even mean? Was it just a Coincidence?" I wondered into the ether.