Sorry, nothing explicit here--just two people dealing with the aftermath. Sometimes, that's the real story.
---
Later, after everything.
Heather had returned from the session barely aware of her own movements.
Shower. Clothes. Automatic.
Now she lay stretched out across the blanket, dressed in soft pants and a loose T-shirt, her body heavy against the mattress.
The memory rose slowly--Alba's touch, the coolness of gel against her, the careful, measured preparation.
At the time, it had felt... clinical. Professional. Almost like a medical procedure.
But now, lying still, the memory slid deeper under her skin.
Had it really been just lube? Had the toy--big, thick, unyielding--really slipped into her so easily? Without resistance? Without help?
She doubted it. A shiver ran through her.
Had Alba... worked her open first? Not enough to be obvious. Just enough for her body to take it?
Heather bit the inside of her lip, a flush creeping over her. She couldn't remember clearly.
Everything had blurred--gel, fingers, pressure, the overwhelming stretch.
Had Alba massaged her? Had she watched?
She remembered something else--the steady weight of a hand on her lower belly. Firm.
Anchoring. Telling her body, without words, to stay soft. To stay open.
Heather pressed her thighs together, feeling the faint roughness of cotton against her skin. Almost without thinking, her hand slid down--under the waistband of her soft pants, under the edge of her underwear. Her fingers brushed over warmth and dampness--slick from memory, from need. She barely moved. A slow, trembling pressure. No rhythm. No demand. Only a seeking.
The climax came almost shyly--a small, helpless cresting wave that left her breathless and still, her hand resting motionless between her thighs. Heather stayed there, stunned by the quiet, by the stillness inside her.
And then--a soft knock at the door.
"Heather? It's... me. It's Claudia."
Heather froze, the remnants of sensation still pulsing low in her body.
She shifted, tugging quickly at her shirt, pulling her legs up onto the bed, trying to smooth herself into something like composure. Another knock, a little more tentative. Heather swallowed.
"Come in," she said, her voice low, a little hoarse.
The door eased open. Claudia stepped in, her movements cautious, deliberate.
She crossed a few steps and leaned silently against the wall, keeping her distance.
Hands buried deep in her jeans pockets. Her shoulders were tight, her whole body drawn inward like a question she hadn't decided to ask yet.
Heather shifted where she sat, pulling her knees a little closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. For a moment, they just existed like that--Heather perched loosely on the bed, Claudia standing rigid near the entrance--neither quite knowing how to cross the fragile space between them.
"You okay?" Heather asked, her voice soft, almost guilty for asking.
Claudia's mouth tightened--a flicker, almost invisible.
"Yeah," she said. The word fell too flat, too fast.
Heather swallowed. "I mean--" she started, then stopped, her cheeks warming.
"This... day. It was a lot."
Claudia tilted her head slightly, studying Heather with a guarded kind of stillness. A beat passed. Then, almost reluctantly: "Yeah."
Heather exhaled, something loosening slightly in her chest. For a second, it felt almost easy--like maybe they could step across the space between them, meet somewhere in the middle. Heather licked her lips, gathering the fragile courage still fluttering in her ribs.
"Do you want to... talk about it?"
She hated how small her voice sounded--how much she wanted Claudia to say yes.
Claudia hesitated. Her fingers flexed against the fabric of her jeans--small, betraying tension. Then, with a tiny shrug that looked more like defeat than agreement, she said, "Sure."
It wasn't warm. It wasn't really an invitation. But it was something.
Heather nodded slightly, hugging her knees a little tighter.
The silence stretched between them, dense and awkward. They stayed like that, caught between movement and stillness, like people afraid to put down roots in the wrong place.
Heather opened her mouth--then realized she didn't know how to start. Claudia saved her the trouble.
Her voice was low, almost clinical: "There was a man. Marcus. He..." She trailed off, searching for words. Heather waited.
Claudia's jaw worked for a second, as if grinding something down.
"He made me strip. Bound me up. Watched me." A tiny pause. "Hit me. Not hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough to make a point."
Her voice didn't tremble. It was too flat for that.
Heather's stomach tightened.
"I'm sorry," she said instinctively.
Claudia's eyes snapped to hers--sharp, warning.
"Don't," Claudia said quietly. No anger. Just... steel.
Heather swallowed her next words.
