Play Me 7

There was a knock at the door. Sharp. Repetitive. Jarring.

I glanced at the clock -- 7:43 p.m. Who the hell shows up unannounced on a Thursday night? I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray, still warm from the last one, and pulled open the door.

"Delivery," the man said, holding out a small box.

No name. No company logo. Just a plain cardboard parcel. I signed without thinking.

Back inside, I turned it over in my hands. No return address. Just a smudged postmark -- India.

The box was light. Thin. A DVD fell out the moment I opened it, clattering onto the kitchen table like it had something to say. On it, in scrawled black marker, were two words:

**Play Me.**

I lit another smoke, the taste of stale tobacco and bitterness thick in my throat. I should've tossed it. I *knew* I should've tossed it.

But curiosity has its own gravity.

I slid the disc into the player. Hit play.

And then she appeared.

"Hi there, asshole," the TV beamed.

My heart kicked against my ribs. That voice -- I'd recognize it in a windstorm.

Evelyn.

She was smiling, cruel and radiant. Her eyes burned right through the screen.

"That's right," she went on, "it's your ex-wife. Miss me? Aww. That's too bad. Because I don't miss you one *fucking* bit."

Then she laughed -- not playfully, but wickedly. I jabbed the remote. The screen went black.

I sat there in stunned silence. Then rage hit me like a brick. My hands were shaking. *What the fuck is this?*

Evelyn. That cheating, manipulative bitch.

She left me for the same bastard who humiliated her in college. Some jackass from Howard she swore she hated -- Terrell. One homecoming weekend, she vanished into her past and never came back. I only found out because one of them FaceTimed me while they were *in the act* -- him fucking her on the couch *I* paid for.

That night still haunts me. Her moans. Their laughter. Her phone lying on its side, recording it all. Watching it, I felt like a ghost in my own life.

I sat down. Rolled a joint with shaking hands. My stomach burned with hate, but my curiosity, once again, refused to die.

I hit play.

She was back on screen. This time, nude. Completely, confidently nude.

All 5'8" of her, curves fuller than I remembered -- maybe 165, 170 pounds, but she wore it well. D-cup breasts that hadn't lost their perk even at 38, nipples dusky and proud. A neatly trimmed patch of hair framed a pussy I once thought was mine.

I was hard in an instant.

She sat down on a bed that looked disturbingly familiar -- mine? Ours?

"Well, Kevin," she began, voice smooth as silk and just as dangerous, "I wanted to say thank you. For what? For being such a controlling, condescending prick."

I blinked. My mouth was dry. My hand hovered over the remote, but didn't move.

"All those years you tried to keep me locked down -- the names, the guilt, the gaslighting. You thought that would keep me yours. It didn't. It made me stronger."

As she spoke, one hand casually cupped a breast, massaging it, pinching the nipple. My nipple. Mine once.

She sighed like she was reminiscing about a good meal. "You remember the tongue ring you took me to get?"

She stuck her tongue out -- the small silver ball gleaming under the studio lights.

"You never even got to feel it, did you?"

Another body entered the frame. A man, dark-skinned, muscular, heavy-limbed. I knew that build. Knew that smug fucking posture.

Terrell.

She grinned and wrapped her fingers around his cock. It hung thick and long over her palm -- not fully hard, but already intimidating.

She licked it. Slowly. Like it was dessert.

I lit another cigarette. My jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.

Another figure appeared -- Terrell's friend, the same one from that goddamned FaceTime. He dropped to his knees beside her, sucking at her breasts like a starving man while Evelyn moaned around the dick in her mouth.

She *looked right at me* as she sucked him.

"I never deep-throated you, did I, Kevin? Too bad."

Then she swallowed him. All of him. Down her throat like it was nothing. Spit running, eyes watering, a moan vibrating from deep inside her.

I was stroking myself without even realizing it.

I hated her.

I loved her.

I wanted to break the screen. I wanted to crawl into it.

They moved her like a doll between them. Evelyn was on her back now, head tilted, lips parted -- the perfect conduit of pleasure. Terrell knelt between her legs, spreading them with practiced confidence, while his friend fed her his cock like she was born for it.

And all the while, she looked at the camera. At me.

"Kevin," she panted between licks, "you miss my pussy? You miss how it tasted?"

Terrell buried his face between her legs and Evelyn shuddered. She grabbed his head with one hand, pumping the other man with the other. Her eyes fluttered. Then she came. Hard.

"Watch this, Kevin," she groaned, hips jerking as her thighs trembled. "You never made me do this."

And then she squirted. A gushing, primal flood over Terrell's mouth and chin. Her body shook violently, like it couldn't contain the pleasure.

I bit down on the filter of my cigarette until it crumpled.

"You couldn't make me cum. Not once. Not really," she said as Terrell wiped his face with a grin.

The other man groaned, and Evelyn doubled down on him -- sucking, slurping, moaning, her spit painting his shaft in thick, glistening strings. Her cheeks hollowed as he thrust into her throat.

He grunted. And came.

She caught it all. In her mouth. Opened wide for the camera to show it -- thick, creamy, mine once -- then swallowed with a grin. She even stuck her tongue out after, like a schoolgirl showing off a lollipop.

I ground my teeth so hard my jaw spasmed.

Then she got on all fours.

She turned her face to the camera again, dead center, eyes locked to mine. Terrell loomed behind her, gripping her waist.

He pushed in.

She didn't say a word. She just stared. Silent. Unblinking. My ex-wife, the woman I once kissed under Christmas lights and promised forever, was now letting this man slide into her like a blade into butter, her body welcoming him with practiced ease.

I wanted to turn it off. God help me, I wanted to turn it off.

But I couldn't.

The camera angle shifted -- her ass tilted up, her back arched, her breasts swinging with every thrust. She moaned, loudly now, the earlier silence replaced by gasps and filthy praise.

"Oh god, yes, that's it. Fuck me, Terrell."

Then she looked at the camera again.

"When was the last time you got laid, Kevin?" she asked, her voice ragged with pleasure. "Still jerking off alone in that dark little apartment?"

I said nothing. My cock was still in my hand. My shame pooling in my chest like wet cement.

"Mike told me you don't even go out anymore. You stopped talking to your friends. Became a ghost. A hermit with a grudge and no pussy."

She moaned again. "You gonna die in that chair with your dick in your hand?"

Terrell smacked her ass. She squealed.

And I hated that I missed that sound.

She reached back, rubbing her clit. Cum dripped down her thighs -- thick, sticky trails of someone else's love. She was glistening, obscene, beautiful.

"You know what, Kevin?" she gasped between thrusts. "You never made me feel sexy. I always had to fake it with you. Every single moan. Every goddamn orgasm. A lie."

Terrell pulled her hair, and she screamed his name.

I was sweating. My hand moved faster. My eyes refused to blink.

Then she said it.

"You remember how I always said no to anal?"

My breath caught.

"Guess what?"

The camera cut to behind her. Evelyn was holding her cheeks apart, ass slick with lube. Terrell positioned himself -- the tip of his cock pressing against her tight ring.

She winced, then moaned.

"You always wanted this, Kevin," she purred. "Too bad you weren't man enough."

He pushed in. Slowly. Deeply.

She groaned -- eyes fluttering, mouth open, face pressed to the bed.

"Oh fuck yes!"

The camera caught it all -- the stretch, the slide, the violation. And she loved it.

"You jealous, Kevin?" she said between thrusts, her face slick with sweat. "You should be."

Then she blew me a kiss.

I came. Hard. Shamefully hard. It shot up my chest, over my stomach, thick and hot. My legs trembled.

I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers, trying to catch my breath.

On screen, Evelyn lay there, ass gaping, cum leaking from her used hole. The men lounged beside her on the bed -- my bed -- smoking a blunt.

She smiled lazily. Satisfied. Destroyed.

But she wasn't done.