Found Footage

Charlene borrowed their camcorder expecting home movies, not what she found. The moment the footage started, she froze—Pamela bound and writhing under Richard’s hand, leather biting skin, moans turning to pleas. Heat pooled low in her belly. She told herself to stop watching, shut it off, forget it. Instead her fingers lingered on play. She went to return it anyway, heart hammering, script rehearsed. When she arrived, their eyes told her everything. The video had been left there on purpose. They wanted her reaction. They wanted her. Charlene lied at first, laughed it off, claimed it disgusted her. Richard’s hand slid up her arm. Pamela’s lips brushed her ear. Every excuse crumbled. Her nipples tightened under the stare, panties already slick. She stopped denying when Richard clicked the cuffs around her wrists. They laid her out, thumbed her jaw open, slipped the ball gag behind her teeth. The first clamp bit her left nipple, sharp then sweet. The second drew a muffled gasp. Richard tugged the chain; Pamela’s fingers slid between her legs, spreading her slick folds. Each tug sent fire down her spine and straight to her cunt. Her thighs trembled. Tears stung, then turned to moans as Pamela pressed two fingers inside and Richard fed his cock past the gag. By the time they finished, the friendship was gone—replaced by something darker, hungrier, impossible to walk back.