Chapter 10

TGIF.

Finally—Friday.

God, I love Fridays. But today?

Today’s not just any Friday.

Today is going to be ... very interesting.

I’m in my car, pulling up to the gate outside Ken and Kari’s place. My stomach flips. Anticipation coils tight in my gut.

Buzz.

The gate slides open, and I ease forward up the drive.

There it is—their house. Clean, modern, sexy as hell. Just like them.

Wait—what the hell?

Brit’s car? She’s already here?

Yup. There’s Ken. Shirtless, of course. Just in shorts, his signature monster bulge impossible to miss.

And Kari—damn. She’s standing there, smoking, dressed in a sheer black negligee that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her thick braid hangs over one shoulder, long and glossy.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: I fucking love what women do with their hair. Braids, curls, clips, bows—every detail a statement. A tease. A spell. I really need to grow mine out. Ken would probably love it.

Then I see her.

Brit.

Sitting on a stool out on the patio with her legs wide open like a magazine centerfold, like she forgot what shame even is. Her new haircut is fire. Those bangs? Banging.

She’s wearing a tight purple bra. And...

Jesus.

No panties.

Just bare, shaved pussy. Out in the open.

In front of Ken and Kari. The people she only met minutes ago.

That’s ... nice.

She’s shivering. It’s definitely too cold to be sitting half-naked outside. But she’s doing it. Sitting still, legs spread, pussy on full display. She looks unsure. Uncomfortable. Turned on.

“Hi!” Kari chirps as I step onto the patio.

She walks right up to me and kisses me deep. Her mouth tastes like white wine, lipstick, and the smoke from that cigarette. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

Scratch that—I fucking love it.

I’m a weirdo. A perv. No shame.

“She showed up a few minutes early,” Kari explains casually, pulling back. “Which is better than being late—but I punished her anyway.”

My eyes flick to Brit. She won’t meet them.

“I made her strip for us,” Kari continues, voice sweet like syrup. “I let her keep the bra because it’s a little chilly.”

“It was my idea,” Ken laughs. “Letting her keep the bra. Poor girl was freezing.”

“Shaking like a willow,” Kari chuckles, flicking ash from her cigarette with practiced elegance.

Then her tone shifts, darker now. Velvet over steel.

“We had a nice little talk with your pretty girlfriend,” Kari says. “And she agreed—she deserves to be punished.”

Brit shifts slightly on the stool, nipples hard under the bra, but she stays silent. Waiting.

“Not too hard,” Kari adds, smirking. “Just ... fitting. She needs to learn that being blessed with extreme beauty isn’t a license to treat others like shit.”

She takes one more slow drag of her cigarette and smiles like the devil.

I love Mean Kari.

Not because she’s cruel—because she isn’t. She’s just playing mean. And she plays it well. Dominant. Bossy. Teasing. Deliciously in control. You can see the sparkle in her eye. She’s having fun. And honestly? So am I.

I’m not the only one.

“Want a cigarette to calm your nerves, Brit?” Kari asks, tilting her head as she eyes my poor, shivering ex—naked from the waist down, knees spread, pussy on display.

“Please,” Brit whispers, nodding.

“Hold the sides of your seat,” Kari commands. “Don’t let go until I say so.”

Brit obeys instantly. Hands gripped tight. Like a good girl.

She straddles Brit’s lap, low and dominant, brings the cigarette to her lips, and takes a long, slow drag. Then—without warning—she blows a thick cloud of smoke right into Brit’s face.

Brit coughs, blinking.

“Open your mouth,” Kari says.

Brit does.

Kari leans in and exhales directly into Brit’s mouth. Slow. Controlled. Like she’s feeding her heat, breath by breath.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Kari murmurs, locking eyes with her. “I love your haircut.”

Her fingers find Brit’s bangs, ruffling them gently.

“Sexy bangs,” she purrs. “You look like that hot bitch, Heidi Klum.”

Brit blushes. Smiles—small and shy—but yeah, she’s definitely flattered.

Kari cups her chin with two fingers and tilts her face up. Brit doesn’t resist. Doesn’t flinch.

Then Kari leans in closer ... and licks her.

She drags her tongue slowly—sensually—from the bottom of Brit’s chin, up across her lips, over her nose, across her forehead ... then down again, back to her mouth.

Without a word, Brit opens.

She knows.

Kari’s tongue slips inside. Brit sucks on it. Soft. Slow. Like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

Nfff. Mmm. Fff.

Their mouths tangle in silence. All I can hear is breath. Heat. Surrender.

Brit has no idea what’s coming next.

And I don’t think she wants to.

Kari pulls back slightly, then starts to grind—slow and deliberate—her ass rolling across Brit’s lap like a dancer working a private show. Her body moves with liquid confidence, hips circling, teasing.

Then she grabs a thick handful of Brit’s blonde hair, wraps it tight in her fist, and yanks her head back—gently, but firmly—exposing her flushed, dazed face.

With a sultry growl, Kari leans in again and licks her. Slowly. From chin to cheek, across her mouth, up her jaw. Brit moans, trembling.

She’s completely losing herself.

I’ve never seen a lap dance in real life—but I’m seeing one now. Kari is giving Brit a front-row, VIP, no-mercy performance. She rolls her hips, shifting forward and back, grinding with practiced precision.

Then, without breaking eye contact with me, she reaches for the hem of her negligee and peels it up and over her head. It floats to the floor like silk on air.

Now Kari stands nearly naked—just a sheer black bra barely containing her perfect, trimmed curves.

Still gripping Brit’s hair, she presses her down—slow but unrelenting—until Brit’s face is nestled right into her sex. Brit lets out a muffled cry, hands gripping the sides of the stool like she is holding on for dear life.

Kari’s hips thrust forward, pushing her heat directly into Brit’s face.

“Lick me,” she commands, voice thick with lust. “Right there. Use your tongue. Pretty girl—yes.”

With her nose buried against Kari’s swollen clit, Brit lets out a faint whimper and pushes her tongue out, slowly, deliberately, tracing her way into the heat. She moans softly as Kari presses herself down harder, grinding, rolling, taking control of every inch.

Kari’s moans turn breathless. Then deeper.

She is close.

Brit, locks in, tongue working, lips parted—gives in completely.

Moments later, Kari gasps—and then lets go.

“Ohhhh ffff—” she groans, deep and primal, hips bucking gently as the orgasm overtakes her. Her thighs clench. Her hands keep Brit’s face locked in place as waves roll through her.

Brit squirms, breath catching against Kari’s slick folds, struggling to breathe—but not pulling away.

“Mmmfff—” comes a muffled sound, barely audible.

Kari heard it.

She pulls back—just enough to let Brit breathe—and takes two slow steps away. Her face flushes, hair a little messy, body humming from release.

“Keep your mouth open,” she says, eyes narrowed with pleasure.

Brit did. Her lips parted.

And Kari leans forward ... and spits.

One thick strand.

Then another.

Then a third.

Right into Brit’s mouth. On her chin. Her cheeks.

Wet. Raw. Owned.

Brit doesn’t flinch. Didn’t close her mouth.

She just takes it.

“Keep that pretty little mouth open,” Kari commands, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t even think about spitting it out. Hold it.”

Brit flinches at the order—but obeys. Her lips part slightly, and Kari’s warm saliva continues to drip onto her face, into her mouth, mixing with the flush already burning her cheeks.

“We’re going to fill your sweet mouth with spit,” Kari purrs. “And you’re going to like it ... even if you don’t.”

Brit’s face is a picture of contradiction—part shame, part surrender, part arousal. Her knees tremble slightly, but she stays still.

“You really are a beautiful girl,” Kari murmurs, an evil little smile curling across her lips. “So why were you such a bitch to my Leo?”

Brit opens her mouth to answer, but before a word can escape, Kari silences her—leaning in, letting a thick string of spit fall straight into Brit’s waiting mouth.

“Fu—” Brit begins, gagging slightly, but stops herself.

Her eyes flick up.

She chooses to be good.

Kari smiles at her submission—and beckons us closer with a curl of her fingers.

Ken and I step forward, wordless. We know what she wants.

And we give it to her.

One by one, we spit. Onto Brit’s cheeks, her lips, her flushed skin. She closes her eyes when a heavy glob lands across her eyelid, her body shivering like she’s riding an electric current.

Kari moves behind her, reaches around, and unclasps Brit’s bra with a single practiced flick. The bra slides away, and Kari tosses it aside.

Then, with a graceful motion, she straddles Brit’s lap and sits.

Kari’s hands immediately seize Brit’s bare breasts—kneading, squeezing, slapping lightly—watching every twitch, every gasp. Then she focuses on the nipples. First a pinch. Then a tug. Then harder, again and again, until Brit finally cries out.

“FU—ooohOUCH!”

“Sit still!” Kari hisses.

Then, without hesitation, she strikes Brit’s cheek with the back of her hand—not hard, not cruel, but enough to command presence.

Brit’s breath hitches. Her lips tremble. She starts to sob, tears cutting trails through the saliva streaking her face.

“How old are you, five?” Kari says coldly.

Brit shakes her head. Her voice is gone, reduced to breath and tears.

“If you can’t handle this, you can leave,” Kari snaps. “Right now.”

But Brit doesn’t move. She clenches her fists, squeezes her eyes shut. Her body trembles—but she stays.

Tears fall freely now, mixing with the spit already covering her chin, her lips, her flushed cheeks. And she still doesn’t wipe them away.

It’s stunning.

In just a few minutes, Brit has gone from the coldest girl I’ve ever known ... to this. A flushed, panting, glassy-eyed vision of surrender.