Chapter 7: Street Exposure

The wind had teeth that night in early November—sharp enough to slice through lace and oil-slick skin, cold enough to make Mia’s breath fog in quick, white bursts that drifted upward like smoke signals toward the open window above. The alley beyond the courtyard fence was narrower than she remembered—dumpsters hulking on one side, brick wall on the other, the street fifty feet ahead alive with late-night traffic: headlights sweeping past in slow, indifferent arcs, distant laughter from a bar spilling onto the sidewalk, the occasional car horn cutting through the frost-heavy air like a warning.

Mia stepped through the chain-link gate barefoot—small stones and gravel biting into her soles with sharp, cold pricks that sent fresh shivers racing up her legs. The black lace top clung to her breasts—sleeveless, plunging neckline, sheer enough that her nipples showed dark and painfully tight through the fabric. The short pleated skirt flared with every step—barely covering the tops of her thighs, riding higher in the wind to expose the crotchless lace beneath, her slick folds already glistening under the weak orange streetlamp glow spilling from the alley mouth. No coat. No panties. No shoes. The remote-controlled vibrator hummed low inside her—Caleb’s thumb on the remote in his pocket making it pulse in time with her heartbeat.

Harlan walked on her left—broad shoulders in a black hoodie zipped halfway, dark jeans, boots heavy on the concrete. Caleb flanked her right—hoodie up, glasses catching moonlight, remote in one hand, cock already visibly tenting his jeans.

“Stop,” Harlan barked, voice low and gravel-rough, smoke still lingering on his breath from the cigarette he’d crushed under his boot in the courtyard. “Right fucking here. Back against the wall. Legs wide. Show the street what a desperate little cum-dump you are.”