The Cuck Call

She’s lying on her stomach, legs parted slightly, sweat glistening between her thighs.

Her ass rises like a slow command. Her body is flushed, still heaving softly from the aftershock.

He came on her.

A thick trail of it paints her lower back, dripping slowly toward the curve of her ass.

And I’m on my knees.

Again.

Exactly where she wants me.

Exactly where I’ve always been.

⸻

She turns her head slightly to look at me. That lazy, half-lidded gaze — post-orgasmic, powerful, divine.

“Use your tongue.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Not soft. Final.

I move toward her like I’m under a spell. My hands grip her thighs — firm but reverent — and I lower my mouth.

The taste hits immediately.

Salty.

Thick.

Him.

Her.

Mixed.

Still hot.

Still dripping.

⸻

I lick it up slowly from the small of her back, dragging my tongue through every drop, every sticky trail he left behind. Her skin quivers under me. I moan into her, not because I want to impress her — but because this is what I am now.

A mouth. A clean-up crew. A worshipper.

She hums in approval.

“Good boy.”

She says it like she’s petting me.

I trail my tongue down further, to the top of her ass, licking where it pooled, where it’s gathered in the crease, between her cheeks. I dig deeper with each pass, chasing every drop.

Her breath hitches.

“You like tasting him, don’t you?”

I pause — and she grabs my hair, yanking it back just enough to expose my eyes to hers.

“Don’t lie.”

I nod.

“Say it.”

“I like tasting his cum on you.”

She lets me go.

“Then finish it.”

⸻

I spread her open with both hands now.

Her pussy is still red, swollen, soaked — twitching faintly from the orgasm she had while humiliating another man on the phone.

A string of slickness clings to her inner thigh.

I lower my mouth and start cleaning her from the inside out.

My tongue slides between her lips, slow at first — savoring her, inhaling her, pushing deep where he was. She tastes like sin. Like salt and sweetness and control.

I don’t just lick her.

I devour her.

My mouth moves greedily — over her clit, inside her folds, up and down her thighs. My spit mixes with what’s left of him and her and me. My jaw aches. My knees burn on the floor. And I don’t care.

She starts to moan again.

Low. Dangerous.

“You clean me better than my towels ever could,” she murmurs, lifting her hips slightly into my face. “Maybe I should stop washing off at all. Just make you kneel every time a man finishes inside me.”

I groan against her.

It makes her laugh.

“Would you like that?”

“Yes,” I whisper into her.

She pushes her ass against me harder.

“Then make me cum again. With your mouth. No fingers. No breaks.”

I do.

⸻

She’s ruthless.

She rocks back against me, grinding, riding my tongue like it’s hers. Her hands grip the bed sheets, her moans sharper, higher, hungrier.

“Faster,” she hisses.

“Deeper.”

“Fucking take it.”

I press my face harder into her heat, flicking, circling, sucking. My nose buried between her cheeks. My chin wet. My face dripping with her.

She cries out.

Body clenching.

Spine arching.

“Don’t you fucking stop—”

And then she cums on my face.

Violently.

A full-body collapse that knocks the wind out of her.

And I keep licking through it, coaxing every pulse, every twitch.

Even after she’s finished.

Even after she’s too sensitive.

Even when she shoves my head away, gasping, “Enough.”

⸻

I sit back.

Hard. Aching. Covered in her scent and someone else’s seed.

She lies there, one arm hanging off the bed, chest rising and falling.

She doesn’t look at me when she speaks.

“Put your cock in your hand.”

I do.

“Edge.”

I stroke. Slow. Controlled. My hand slick with saliva and lust.

“I’ll tell you when.”

⸻

Ten minutes pass.

Then twenty.

She’s dressed again. In a robe. Sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping water like nothing happened.

I’m kneeling in front of her. Still stroking. Still hard. Sweating. Shaking.

“Not yet,” she says without even looking.

⸻

At last, when I’m close to sobbing — leaking, begging — she leans forward.

Whispers into my ear:

“Cum for the man who used me.”

That’s all it takes.

I explode in my hand — hot, uncontrollable, brutal — spurting across my stomach, my thighs, the floor.

I collapse forward, panting like I’ve run a marathon.

She watches.

And smirks.

“Clean that up too.”