What starts in a dive bar ends with slick thighs, stained velvet, and two strangers, not quite finished.
The Stain We Left is an erotic short story told entirely in first person—from both sides. One night. One place. Two bodies, two minds, tangled in the same heat.
The first half is his: a raw, headlong plunge into lust. He sees her, wants her, takes her. But this isn’t just his story.
The moment he walks out the door, her voice takes over, still pulsing with him, with everything they did and everything she’s still feeling. She’s not a mirror—she’s her own storm. And she’s far from done.
There’s no dialogue. No names. Just sensation, memory, and need—told in two matching but distinct streams. What they shared wasn’t love, but it left its mark. A literal stain on the rug. A deeper one under the skin.
This isn’t a he-said/she-said.
It’s a single night, split open.
Two strangers, not quite finished.