I slipped into her mind without moving a muscle.
[Even after washing for so long… the smell isn't gone.]
She thought the lingering piss-and-cum stench clinging to the air was still on her—some phantom trace she couldn't scrub away no matter how hard she'd soaped herself in the shower. Her cheeks flushed faintly with renewed shame. She didn't suspect the room. Not yet.
Her gaze drifted—first to Ema (standing awkwardly near the foot of the bed, lips still shiny, chin faintly glistening), then to Julie (now perched on the edge of the mattress beside me, legs crossed primly, though a dark wet patch was already spreading on the skirt beneath her ass), and finally to the floor.
Her eyes caught on the puddles—clear and slick in places, creamy-white in others—scattered across the tile like evidence of a crime scene.
Julie noticed immediately.
She let out a bright, forced laugh and waved one hand airily.
