Sexting you at work part 3 (final) [cheating] [revenge] [humiliation] [MMMF]

[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ol4a4a/sexting_you_at_work_mf_cheating_humiliation/) *and* [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/pnltu1/sexting_you_at_work_part_2_mmff_cheating/)*, worth a read first. But if you don’t fancy them, this should still stand as a story in it’s own right. I hope those of you who have read the others enjoy the finale and think it was worth the wait. As always, please let me know what you think.*

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It’s been hell for you at work in the few weeks since your boss and I had a foursome with her husband and that guy I met on Tinder, Mike was it? She and I have become closer and she has enjoyed dropping hints every time we’ve hooked up, letting your imagination fill in most of the details. You’ve hardly been able to look her in the face most of the time, and avoided being alone in a room with her at every possible opportunity. Do you think of her fucking me with her strap-on when you sit across from each other in meetings? As for me, you’ve only heard from me once since that night, the night you watched them all have me, as you sat alone at home hating how hard it made you. When you came downstairs the next morning to leave for work and saw the padded envelope on the mat of the home we used to share, my writing on the envelope, what did you think? When you opened it and took out the destroyed panties from my afternoon with Gareth, the bra with his cum stains on the front did you want to scream? What about when you found the belly button ring you gave me wrapped in the folds, my snapped necklace alongside it. Was the necklace still sticky with Bill’s cum from the night before? You still haven’t put it all together, but today you’ll get it, today it will all become clear.

It’s the day of the final, you’re at that pub across town, the one where you used to watch matches with your old mates, before, when you were happier. This is the first time you’ve been out in ages, your friends persuading you to meet them, and you agreeing you should finally put me in the past. They texted to say they were in a cab, running late “get the pints in and we’ll see you shortly”. Twenty minutes after kick off and they still haven’t arrived, the traffic through town must be bad you suspect. It took you nearly two hours to get there and that was before the worst of it. They’ll be here soon you hope but you’ve already drunk one of the spare pints before they get too warm, you can buy a replacement when they arrive. The four of you have been friends since around the time we met. You’d seen them on the coaches to away games but not really spoken to them until one by one your old crowd stopped going as work, family and other commitments took over. So you’d started chatting to this new group, then eventually hanging out with them out of season, at weekends when I was working night shift.

You’re halfway through the third pint and about to text again to ask what the hold up is when your phone pings. Assuming it is one of them you open the message half watching the television as a shot whistles over the crossbar. It takes you a second to register it’s me.

“Figured it out yet” I say.

“Claire, I’m sorry. Whatever I did I’m sorry. Please call me or come round” you reply.

“Tell me what you did wrong, and I’ll think about it” I respond.

You work your way back again to the night before it all started and you go from there. This isn’t the first time you’ve tortured yourself with this. We’d had an argument, but nothing serious. You hadn’t missed any occasion, not that this would be an appropriate response if that was it. You’ve been back through the weeks and months over and over and nothing comes to mind that it could be.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, tell me” you send.

“I’ll give you a clue” is my brief reply. A moment or two passes and then the ping you’ve become so accustomed to, signalling the arrival of a picture. The image is a close up of my breasts, you know immediately they’re mine and you glance over your shoulder to see if anyone is looking, but everyone is focused on the game. My tits are pressed together tightly trapping someone’s cock in between, my hands pressing them inwards to trap it in a soft embrace. Around the top of my chest you can see the unmistakable glistening of cum.

“I don’t understand? Who are you with, who is that” you send back.

“It’s a hookup from a week ago, I’ve been having a lot of fun! Need another clue?” you ask.

“Just tell me!” you send, used now to the fact that I’ve been sleeping around since I left.

The next image which arrives is a picture of my vibrator lying on a bed. The bright pink colour contrasts brightly against the crisp white sheets beneath. There’s a slight damp patch forming around it but you can’t tell what it is, lube, cum or something else. At the edge of the shot there is the glimpse of a girl’s leg, not mine you can tell from the tone of the skin, and not Rachel’s either.

“Now?”

“Please, I don’t know, why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

A third image arrives. It is a full body shot of me taken in a mirror, for the first time in weeks I am not doing anything provocative just standing there looking at the screen of my phone as I frame the shot. Your heart beats a little faster as you admire me, remembering what we had. I’m wearing a pair of black socks which stop just below the knee with a white stripe around the top, my feet slightly apart as I pose. You can see my knees and the lower part of my thighs, my toned muscles causing my skin to look both soft and firm at the same time. A little above the midpoint of my thigh there is the hem of a pastel pink plaid skirt. The pleats are neatly aligned straight down giving it a sharp look, but at the same time hinting at the opportunity of a glimpse of what is beneath when I move. On my top I am wearing your team’s colours, it is last season’s strip one of your old ones that you haven’t seen in a while, now you know why. It hangs loosely about my waist and is too long on the shoulder causing it to hang forward, I’ve torn the neck down the front a few inches to show just enough of my cleavage. My ample chest with my well chosen bra is pushing the fabric out from me hinting at the shape of my body beneath. My hair is tied back into a tight, high pony tail and I’ve done my makeup nicely, dark around the eyes to exaggerate their piercing blue colour, with bright red lipstick.

At first you wonder if I’ve done this in celebration of cup final day, but you find this odd as you know I couldn’t care less about football. The image before you is another one of your fantasies in fact. But unlike my anal cherry which I gave to Gareth and my first lesbian experience with your boss, this is one I actually made come true for you. When your team won the league last season, you’d come home euphoric from the pub. You’d had a few beers, well more than a few, and in preparation I’d downed a couple of vodkas myself. Nobody likes to be sober around drunk people. You’d burst in the door and come straight over to me as I stood in the kitchen, pouring myself another drink and we’d made out, me with my bum pinned against the counter surface as our hands explored each other. It was obvious where this was going, and that was fine with me, I loved it when you came home horny. But you stopped, pulled away, and I remember a devilish grin appear across your face as you tugged your football top over your head, the one I am wearing now.

“Go into the bedroom and put this on” you said “I want to fuck you while you wear it. I’ll make us some drinks.”

After our make out session I was pretty horny myself and the couple of vodkas probably helped, so I said “fuck it” and skipped off to our bedroom giggling, pulling my top over my head as I went. When I got into the room I decided to make it special for you, I wanted you to remember the night because of me not the football score. So, I changed out of whatever I had been wearing, and into the outfit in the picture you’re looking at now. I put on the new push up bra you bought me for my birthday a few weeks earlier, the one you received in the post earlier, to make sure my tits stood out in the too large shirt and was about to put on the matching panties when I got a devilish idea of my own. A few minutes later you bust through the door to see me lying back on our bed, my head propped up slightly by two pillows piled on top of each other, my eyes closed and head tilted back. My legs were spread wide apart at the thighs, bent at the knees displaying myself for you as you entered, my skirt hitched up so you could see my new pink vibrator pressed against my clit. I remember you telling me it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. I put on a show for you before opening my eyes to see you standing at the bottom of the bed staring, phone in one hand as you filmed me. It was the first time I let you film us, but it wasn’t the last, and it turned me on so much that I came right then. I imagined us watching it back when we went for round two, I felt so sexy as I performed for you. That night we fucked in every position we could think of. We had some of the best sex of our lives and between us we filmed or snapped photos of most of it. When it was finally your turn to cum you lifted the shirt up over my head and took off my bra. Discarding them carefully you put your cock between my breasts and fucked them. I held the phone and captured the moment as you exploded all over me, before we collapsed back on to the bed exhausted and slept until morning.

“Is it coming back to you now?” I ask.

You’ve been staring at the image for about a minute you realise, you can hear dejected groaning around you but you’ve no idea why as the realisation of what this has all been about suddenly hits home distracting you from the game. A week later, the boys had come round for a poker night. I was away with my sister and some old friends, so you had the place to yourselves. One of the guys had seen the picture of me in the living room, the one taken on holiday in Mexico where I’m wearing a red bikini on the beach, and he’d commented how lucky you were. The conversation had turned to girlfriends. I always knew you liked to show me off, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it myself. Wearing low cut tops and short skirts to tease your friends made me feel good, and I liked that after I’d taunted them for a bit you’d always want to fuck roughly, like you had to punish me. I do like it rough! But this night things went a bit too far didn’t they, you thought I didn’t know, why would anyone tell me, after all what had they to gain, and they were your mates. You told them about our videos from the week before, then later and out of chips, about to lose the game one of them made you an offer. They told you that if you couldn’t call them with money, you could bet a watch of the videos. Like a fool you accepted. Did you even consider how I’d feel or did you just accept the lifeline you’d been thrown. When you inevitably lost the game, you could have still refused, but rather than lose face you let your three friends sit on our sofa, drink our beer, and watch us fuck. They watched me use my vibrator until I made myself cum, they watched you pound into me doggy, and they watched me riding you as I screamed out one orgasm after another. They watched as you pulled my hair. They even watched, as caught up in the moment I let you put a finger in my ass to push me over the edge of yet another orgasm. Finally, they watched you cum all over me. They cheered and whooped like a drunken stag do at a seedy Vegas strip show.

“You humiliated me” the next message says “They came round our house, and I’d sit and talk to them, make them tea, fetch them beer like the good fucking girlfriend you wanted me to be. All that time they were remembering those videos. They were thinking about me fucking myself or covered in your cum. They were imagining doing it to me themselves. They probably masturbated at home as they thought about me.”

“It makes me sick just thinking about it.”

“You were supposed to love me. We were making a life together. I was going to propose to you when we went away over the summer, did you know that? I bought us rings and everything. But you treated me like some cheap skank you picked up at a shitty club.”

“I fucking hate you!”

You sit there staring at those last few messages, I was going to propose. You had no idea. How had I found out about the videos, who told me, does it really matter? You try to call but I decline on the first ring, you try again, same result.

“I’m sorry, please call me, I can explain” you reply, and I can see you are typing another message, so I send you the picture that I took a few moments before.

When you open it you see your three mates, the ones you’ve been waiting for, the ones you showed our videos and picture to, sitting on our sofa, your sofa, beers raised in a “cheers” to the camera. You remember I still have a key for the apartment we shared. All of them are wearing their football tops and there are a few empty beer bottles on the floor suggesting they’ve been there a while. I can see you start to type again, but I’m faster.

“I’m being the good girlfriend again. I’m fetching them beer and snacks like you wanted me to” I get in first.

“I’m teasing them with my low cut top and my short skirt the way you like. And just like that night, I’m not wearing any panties, do you think they’ve noticed yet?”

“Don’t do this. Please I beg you” you manage to fire back.

I ignore you and continue “It’s my turn to make the bets.”

“If the other team scores, they have to use their mouths on me for two minutes each.”

“If the other team wins they all get a turn fucking me. Who do you want to win now?”

“Please don’t. You don’t need to do this. I’m sorry!” you reply.

Ignoring you again, I continue “Can you keep a secret? Don’t tell them, but it doesn’t matter who wins. Either way I’m going to beg them to fuck me, all of them together in our bed, and they can put their cocks anywhere they want.”

“Claire please, I’m begging you. I’m sorry I should never have done it. Please don’t, not with my friends.” you send to me. It makes me happy to hear you beg, to know I’ve completely broken you. I’ve left you. I’ve made your job a living hell. And now I’m about to take away your only other love… football with your friends. Only now, in these final moments of desperation as you beg me to stop do you know how you made me feel.

“Have you checked the score recently, you’re one nil down. Looks like they owe me.”

“First one to go, gets to tear this shirt from my body. They’re playing rock paper scissors for me as I type, like I’m nothing, something to be used and thrown away. It is so hot.”

“I’m so wet right now with anticipation, but don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated.”

A moment later there’s a ping as the first picture message arrives.

THE END.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/potat1/sexting_you_at_work_part_3_final_cheating_revenge