VERSION 1: Tia
VERSION 1: TIA
The Setup
My phone buzzed against the center console just as I merged onto the interstate. It was a text from my close friend, Dana:
Have you read that new short story by Jason Ellis yet? It’s unbelievable. It's called “The Trip.”
I texted back a quick No, but I’ll check it out, before tapping open my browser at the next standstill in traffic. I pulled up the story and began reading off my screen while idling under the highway lights. The prose hit like visual heat—every line was so detailed and raw that my pulse spiked within seconds.
Safe behind the heavy dark tint of my SUV, the urge to touch myself became an immediate necessity. I eased my fitted dress up past my thighs, slipping my fingers beneath my lace panties to find my clitoris. The surge of pleasure was slick and heavy, but before I could push over the edge, traffic opened up. I pulled my hand back, breathing heavily against the steering wheel, determined to let my husband finish what the story had started.
When I got home, I showered, pulled my hair into a sharp ponytail, and tried to initiate things in the bedroom. Frederick barely stirred. He turned his back to me, muttering that he was exhausted and promising to "make it up to me tomorrow."
I lay awake in the dark for an hour reading another Jason Ellis story—Co-Workers. Every detailed stroke on the page felt like a deliberate taunt. By morning, Frederick was already gone. When I called him, he claimed he had to leave early for a big presentation.
I took a cold shower to reset my nerves, put on a sleek black dress, and headed to work. As I entered the building, the facility supervisor, Mr. Gates, paused near his cart.
“Good morning, Mrs. Tia,” he said, his voice calm and respectful. “That ponytail gives you a very fierce look today.”
“Sorry, this is just my ‘running behind’ look,” I replied over my shoulder.
“Well, it suits you,” he smiled.
His compliment hit the spot—my husband hadn't looked at me twice, yet Mr. Gates made me feel like the center of the room.
Around noon, I finished my quarterly data reports early. My boss, Stan, gave me the green light to take my work home and head off for the weekend. I got into my SUV, aiming to get home by 12:18 PM. I typed a text to Frederick letting him know I was coming home early, but in the rush of pulling out of the parking deck, I forgot to hit send.
As I turned onto our quiet street, my heart dropped into my stomach. Frederick’s car was parked in the driveway. And parked on the curb directly opposite was Dana’s sedan.
My pulse hammered. I pulled over out of sight, texting Dana to ask where she was. She replied instantly: In a meeting right now! Call you later.
I opened our smart-home app. The front door activity log showed two entries at 11:52 AM and 11:55 AM. Using the app, I issued a silent command to disarm the alarm system—no chimes, no warnings. I slid off my heels and walked up the path in my stockings.
The main floor was silent. Up the stairs, the master bedroom door stood halfway open.
My best friend of twelve years was on her knees, stroking Frederick's hard cock while he stood over her near the window. I pulled out my phone, opened the camera, and recorded everything—catching Dana taking him in her mouth, then bending over as Frederick guided himself straight into her.
A cold, calculating rage took over. I saved the video file, backed down the stairs, and left the house without making a sound.
I drove straight back to the empty office building. I sat silently at my desk until a soft knock echoed at my door. It was Mr. Gates.
“Hey, I thought you were gone for the day?” he asked softly.
“A few things came up,” I said. “Can you close the door for a second?”
He walked in and locked the door behind him. I leaned against my desk, looking at him closely. He was a well-groomed, handsome, single man—and for months, I’d secretly noticed the heavy print in his trousers.
“My husband and best friend are currently having sex in my bedroom,” I said flatly. “I’m out for revenge, and I could use some help.”
Mr. Gates smiled, his eyes taking on a sharp, intelligent edge. “I’m down for a little excitement.”
I handed him my phone, posing on the desk as he took photos—hiking my dress up to expose my lace panties and wet center. As he scrolled through the shots, he zoomed in on the moisture between my legs.
“Did this experience turn you on?” he asked smoothly.
“Maybe,” I replied. “Almost like a Jason Ellis story.”
Mr. Gates gave a low laugh. “I read them all the time. Mainly because I write them.”
I stared at him in disbelief. He pulled out his phone, showing me his publishing dashboard, author photos, and royalty statements—over $1.2 million in book sales last year.
“hiding in plain sight,” he murmured, stepping closer. “People call me Gates as a joke from my old security post, but I own the facility company. I stay busy writing in the evenings and managing things here during the day.”
“No way...” I breathed out. “I’ve masturbated to every one of your books.”
“Well,” Jason said, his voice dropping into a deep, commanding register. “If you want to give your husband something real to be upset about, let’s write a better scene.”
He moved in, guiding me back onto the dark mahogany desk. He moved my panties to the side, taking close-up shots while his fingers gently teased my clitoris. Each touch sent electricity straight through my core. He unbuckled his pants, pulling out a thick, heavy length, resting the tip against my slick lips.
As he slid inside me, the sensation was overwhelming. I arching my back as my body relaxed, releasing a rush of liquid heat right over his creased shirt.
He pulled out slowly, looking down at me with absolute control. “Watch the video of your husband on your way home, then delete everything from this office. Never keep your secrets on a phone.”
He tucked himself away and walked out smoothly, leaving me breathless on the desk.
When I arrived home, I walked into the kitchen where Frederick was standing. I played the video of him and Dana on my phone, set it on the counter, and looked him dead in the eye.
“Make this the last time you fuck another bitch while married to me.”
Since that day, I’ve been meeting Jason Ellis two—sometimes three—times a week.
I guess it’s safe to say that Jason Ellis really knows how to write a great ending to a messy story.
