Burn Him.
She opened the door to her hotel room and let out a slow, heavy sigh of relief. Finally, she had arrived. The room was breathtaking. Bouquets of fresh flowers brightened every corner, their scent clinging to the air like something out of a dream. A bucket of chilled champagne waited for her arrival, just as the website had promised. It was all so perfect, so picturesque, so precisely what a honeymoon suite should be. Yet the silence echoed louder than any celebration. There was no laughter, no arms pulling her into a joyful embrace. No partner to lift her and throw her onto the bed in excitement. She was alone.

MJ had never once imagined this would be her reality when she booked the trip. In her heart, Will had been the one. True, three years was not a lifetime, but it was not fleeting either. She had known him. Or so she believed. She loved his calm steadiness, the man she thought he was, and she had shaped her life around that belief. She had given up her position at the law firm, packed her things, and followed love into a new city, into a future she was eager to begin. Now, that future had been obliterated by nothing more than a text message. A message will read, Sorry, I can’t do it. I’ve changed my mind.

The memory still burned. One moment, she was surrounded by family and friends, standing proudly at the front of the venue. His family was there. Her parents beamed from the front row. The music had played. Will had even been there, smiling, shaking hands, introducing people, playing the part. Then he stepped outside for some fresh air and simply disappeared. For a while, she thought something awful must have happened to him. Her mind rushed through nightmare scenarios—maybe he had been taken, he had collapsed, there had been an emergency. But no. There had been no disaster, only a decision. He chose to leave.

The aftermath was as cruel as it was chaotic. MJ was left with everything. The flowers. The bookings. The apartment they had been about to move into. She had to cancel the unit, rearrange her belongings, and find a new place to live. Her life had been carefully boxed up in anticipation of a shared future. Now she had to unbox it alone. Returning to her mother’s house was not an option. That would have been the final insult. Once, she had been a fierce and respected lawyer with the promise of partnership. Now, she stood stripped of career, stability, and the man she had once believed would be her husband. She felt like nothing.

Those first few days blurred into a haze of unbearable emotions. Her mind reeled, reaching for understanding, clawing at meaning. But in time, she realised that none of it mattered. His reasons, his absence, his cowardice—none of it deserved the rest of her life. She would not carry his decision like a weight on her shoulders. She would not live beneath the shadow of someone else's choice. She refused to let heartbreak define her.

The flight was agony. Surrounded by grinning couples and loud families, MJ felt the sting of her solitude with every glance. It was a cruel mirror of what she had lost, but it also reminded her of why she was here, she had not come to mourn, she had come to reclaim herself, to reclaim her self-worth, her strength, her fire. She would not let her mind steep in pity or fall into the trap of victimhood. She was not broken. She was not weak.

Back in the hotel room, a small white card had been left on the bedside table. She had not notified the hotel of the change, so it was addressed to both of them. Their names were embossed in gold, gleaming under the soft light. Congratulations, it read. The word mocked her. She picked it up, stared for a long moment, then laughed bitterly. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into the bin. He no longer had a place in her thoughts. He would not take up space in her soul. Fuck him, she thought. Fuck him to hell. He was not going to shape the way she thought or felt. Not anymore.

The Bar.
MJ had spent the entire first day in silence. Not just quiet, but silence, the kind that fills a space so completely it becomes a presence of its own. She hadn’t stepped foot out of the room. She had curled into the corner chair beside the window, half-listening to the soft hum of the air conditioning, half-reading a self-help book she had bought at the airport in a moment of vulnerability she would never admit aloud.

She wasn’t the type of woman who needed a book to tell her who she was. That was for people who had lost their way, or never really found it to begin with. MJ knew herself. She was sharp. Fierce. The kind of woman who graduated at the top of her law school cohort and would have made full partner before most of her peers were even off internship. She didn’t need affirmation. What she needed was recalibration. Something in her had come loose since Will disappeared, and she was trying to tighten the bolts herself. Still, there she was, flipping through pages lined with pastel affirmations and soft-sell promises of personal growth. She wasn’t proud of it. But she read anyway.

By the second night, the tension in her chest had begun to itch. The kind of restless, low-burning pressure that made staying still unbearable. Outside, the sky had grown heavy. A storm was gathering—its scent hung in the air like damp metal and bruised fruit. Despite the threat of rain, the island was still hot. The heat sat on her skin like a second body. She slipped into a summer dress and crossed the road to the beachfront bar.

It was quieter than the night before. No live music—just a sign near the stage apologising for the slack of a band, and a steady hum of pop songs playing low beneath the breeze. The bar itself leaned out toward the ocean, styled like a playful parody of a Pacific Islander hut. Thatched roof. Carved masks. Bamboo furniture. It had charm, if you didn’t look too closely. MJ took a seat in the corner near the bathroom, out of sight and ordered a drink, and opened her book, not to read, but to anchor herself.

That’s when she noticed them.

He arrived with a woman—short, animated, bright-eyed. Her laugh was full, unfiltered. She had beautiful lips and she moved like someone unburdened. MJ watched them without realising she was watching. The man was not conventionally attractive. Not a jawline-from-heaven kind of man. But he was... striking. Mid-to-late forties, maybe. Grey streaked through his beard and hair, stocky, solid, grounded. Tattoos ran down both arms and curled beneath the collar of his open shirt. There was nothing flashy about him—just a natural, unshakable presence.

He spoke in a low, thoughtful cadence. Each sentence felt weighed, measured, like he chose his words with intention. There was a growl in his voice sometimes—subtle, at the end of a thought, like something deep was living underneath the calm. The woman beside him leaned into him often, laughed easily, and touched him in the way that people do when they’re used to being touched back. MJ noticed it all. The quiet kiss he pressed to her forehead. The way he lightly cupped her breast through her dress when he thought no one was looking. The playful slap on her backside as she left the bar, laughing as she disappeared down the path toward the rooms.

MJ’s breath hitched.

Will would never. He was reserved. Respectful. Predictable. Every man she had ever been with had known better than to test her boundaries. They followed her lead. They asked before acting. Because they knew—if they didn’t, they’d feel the sting of her words. She didn’t need to raise her voice to cut. She was a weapon, and men—sensible men—knew not to provoke her.

But this man? He didn’t seem afraid of anything.

When he approached her a little later on his way out of the bathroom, MJ froze. For a few seconds, she simply stared, caught off guard by her own silence. “MJ,” she finally said, her name tumbling out like an afterthought. She followed it with a lie, claiming she was waiting for someone. He didn’t press. Just offered a small smile and returned to his seat, and his  conversation with the bartender. 

But she watched him go, and for the first time in years, she wished a man had pressed.

When she joined him at the bar not long after, the air between them was lighter thou the rain outside was thundering,  Their conversation began the way most do, safe, observational. The weather. The island. The awkward half-joke she made about his drink. He played along. And when she admitted that she had been left at the altar, that this trip was meant to be her honeymoon, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t offer pity. Just lifted his glass and said, “Fuck him.”

It was the exact phrase she’d whispered into her pillow night after night. But hearing him say it out loud, with that steady, grounded voice, it felt different. Like a validation she hadn’t known she needed.

They spoke easily after that. He asked her real questions. Not icebreakers. Not pleasantries. Questions with weight. She answered, surprising herself with how much she revealed. When she turned the questions back on him, she noticed how he steered around certain topics with a kind of deliberate grace. He didn’t dodge. He redirected. It wasn’t evasive. It was... tactical. MJ, trained to see through false narratives and missing facts, recognised it instantly. The Lawyer in her activated her mind..
When she asked about the woman from earlier, he simply said, “That’s my wonderful kitty shes my partner.”

Partner. Not girlfriend. Not wife. Just that. The word hung in the air.

She didn’t want the night to end. She felt him winding down, like a man about to return to something already waiting for him. Her gut clenched. She didn’t want him to leave. Not yet she wasn't use to being interested in men that hadn't first chased her, pleaded for her and won her over.

“Let me buy you both a drink,” she said, her tone light. Strategic. “Maybe message Kitty? See if she’ll come back down?”

It was a play. She knew it. He knew it.

He looked at her for a long moment. Not coldly. Not cruelly. Just… knowingly. Then he smiled.

“I appreciate the gesture,” he said, each word landing with quiet confidence, “but I ive already ordered the drinks.”

MJ blinked, surprised by how much his calm rejection stung. It wasn’t a no laced with defensiveness. It was simply a decision. A redirection of events that were unmoved by her charm, her cleverness, her usual tools. 

He stood, paid for the drinks, and picked up the drinks himself. Two in one hand, one balanced in the other. Before walking away, he glanced back at her once.

“We’re in Room 214,” he said, his voice smooth and even.

No smirk. No wink. Just the facts.

And then he was gone, she watched has he paced off in the rain and for once in her life Mj felt drawn to follow, and not lead. 

Room 214

MJ stood in front of the door to Room 214, her heart racing. The storm outside had faded to a soft hiss in the distance. She told herself it was just curiosity—just the wine, the island, the way the air smelled like wet leaves and sea salt. She wasn’t going to do anything, just knock, maybe say hello, maybe share another drink. She convinced herself he had invited her out of pity and nothing more—he felt sorry for her after her story about being left at the alter. But when Kitty opened the door—barefoot now, her boots gone, still in the same dress that clung effortlessly to her frame—MJ stepped into something she hadn’t planned.

Kitty smiled as if they’d known each other for years. “Ah,” she said warmly, stepping aside. “Rob said you might come by for a drink.” There was no tension. No sizing up. No possessiveness. Just warmth. And MJ, used to rooms where every woman was a rival and every man a negotiation, felt immediately and inexplicably... safe.

Inside, the room glowed with soft amber light. The air was thick with the scent of warm citrus and something earthy. In the background, the shower ran faintly through the bathroom door. Kitty handed her a drink. “He won’t be long.”

They talked. Their conversation danced and wandered, shifting from light questions to shared laughter, flirtation drifting into intimacy. Kitty was easy to talk to—breezy and fluid. MJ asked her all the same questions she’d asked Rob, but the answers surprised her. Kitty was straightforward. “We’re here on a swingers’ holiday” Swingers she thought, thats one detail Rob left out… but MJ found herself unshaken—not shocked or awkward, just curious. She started with small questions, ones that hinted but never overstepped. Not the blunt, overly personal ones, but the kind a lawyer might ask—ones that danced just close enough. “Is it ever awkward?” “Do people assume too much?” “Do you ever just… know?”

Kitty answered without pause, without shame. “Sometimes it’s about the vibe. The look. The invitation that doesn’t need to be spoken.” Her words were casual, but her expression hinted at something deeper. She wasn’t hiding anything. MJ admired that. Craved it. And then came the look. That slow, knowing flicker in Kitty’s eyes—wicked, familiar, playful.

The moment MJ saw it, everything clicked. The vague phrasing. The shared glances. The looseness between them. These two weren’t just here on holiday. They were here to fuck. And they had invited her back to their room.  They were Beautiful, confident, experienced—and now MJ was here, glass in hand, heat between her legs, unsure where she stood. Except… she wasn’t unsure. She knew. She wanted to know what it felt like. She wanted to be kissed by Kitty. Touched. Taken by both of them at the same time.

Rob emerged from the bathroom as if summoned by her thoughts. Hair damp, a thick hotel robe tied low around his hips, smelling of mint and aftershave. He moved with unshakable calm, his gaze falling on them without surprise. “Everything alright in here?” Kitty smiled, settling back. “Just girl talk.” He sat on the edge of the bed, watching them. MJ, skin still flushed from wine and conversation, offered, “Let me make another round.” She stood and mixed drinks from the minibar—gin, lime, ice—confidence poured into glasses.

They toasted. “To curiosity,” Kitty said. MJ nodded. Kitty’s eyes flicked toward her with mischief. Then, clear and direct: “So are you gonna keep dancing around it, or are you going to ask how we like to fuck strangers?” The words landed on MJ’s skin like fire. Rob didn’t flinch. Kitty’s smile deepened. MJ didn’t look away. She didn’t laugh it off. She leaned in, voice low and steady. “Maybe you should show me. Maybe you should give me the honeymoon I deserve.” Kitty stood, her glass already forgotten. “Maybe,” she said, voice fiery and inviting, “we should.”

Time slipped. MJ realized she’d lost track of everything. She wasn’t drunk, but she was close. Her body buzzed. Her skin sang. They hadn’t stopped touching her, kissing her, taking her apart piece by piece. They had been making out as a group for what felt like the whole evening. It started with Rob’s lips—slow, deliberate—on hers, while Kitty undressed her. Her dress slid to the floor. Her knees hit the carpet. Kitty pressed kisses along her neck, her shoulders, hands roaming MJ’s body as though it were a familiar song she was humming along to. Rob cupped her face, grounding her with his gaze as Kitty knelt behind, palms smoothing up the backs of her thighs. Fingers teased just along the curve of her ass. MJ’s breath caught. There was no rush. No fumbling. Just slow, methodical unraveling.

Kitty leaned in, her lips brushing MJ’s ear, whispering something hot and soft that made MJ’s thighs part instinctively. Rob’s hands moved lower, brushing between her legs, fingers exploring, claiming. MJ gasped. She wasn’t ready—she was already undone. There was a tenderness in Kitty’s touch that MJ hadn’t expected. She kissed with curiosity, with care, her fingertips light as feathers. Every stroke was an invitation. She was sensual, unhurried, like she was learning MJ by feel alone. In contrast, Rob’s touch was purposeful and rougher—demanding and firm, the kind of dominance that made MJ shiver. Between them, she felt surrounded. Sheltered. Desired in ways she hadn’t even known to crave.

Fingers worked in tandem—Rob behind her, two thick fingers sliding in deep, curling just right, while Kitty circled her clit with wet, slow pressure. MJ cried out, hips jerking. She felt them speaking to each other without words, responding to her body, adjusting with every gasp. Kitty added another finger, stroking gently as Rob pushed deeper. They took turns. They worked together. MJ clutched the sheets, drowning in sensation. Her body was no longer her own—it was theirs. Rob’s tone of command grew with every word. He didn't ask for permission, but he drew consent from her. Yes, she liked this. Yes, she wanted to be touched. She was no longer the lawyer, no longer in charge, and she felt free—free of choice, of decision, free to feel her body and enjoy being the focus of attention.

“On your knees,” Rob said. His voice stern, solid like oak. She found herself instinctively obeying without hesitation. She looked up and took in his nakedness. She could see the want in his eyes, as much as she could see it in his hard cock right in front of her. Kitty knelt beside her, kissed her, then with her index finger softly pried open her mouth into a wide, gaping wet void, before also opening her own to match, pushing her tongue out with a cheeky look up towards him. Rob’s cock somehow looked even harder, and it was slick with anticipation. MJ couldn't take it anymore. She pressed her mouth down on his cock—slow and deep—while Kitty licked along the shaft. Their mouths met around him, warm and wet.

“Good girls,” he murmured. “Take your time. I want to feel everything.” MJ had always enjoyed the feeling of a man's cock in her mouth. She enjoyed the power she felt—a man's moan—but this feeling would often give way to one of shame. The act felt too subservient. It went against her nature. But here, it felt different. He tasted sweet. Her mouth salivated uncontrollably as he slid his staff along her tongue and into her throat. MJ didn't gag ,She felt relaxed. She became overwhelmed with the desire for more of him and she could tell, this was the thing he liked the most. 

They traded places. Kitty swallowed him, her eyes fixed on MJ the whole time. They were bright, inviting, and flashed with desire as Kitty's finally eyes closed and she bore down on his cock. MJ followed. She slid his cock across her lips, teasing and guiding. Kitty reached over and began rubbing her clit while simultaneously moaning as she took in Rob. “This is hot,” 

Mj muttered,  the words escaped her, coming from somewhere deep within her subconscious. The words triggered Kitty, who let out a gleeful, greedy groan, as if to say more. MJ watched Kitty take him deeper, and for a moment, she was jealous. She wanted him. No—she wanted them both.

“On the bed,” his command, stern but not forceful, MJ lay back, thighs open, heart pounding. Kitty’s tongue circled her clit, teased her, plunged deep. Rob stood over them, stroking himself, watching as they unraveled. She could feel them running their hands all over her. She felt seen—the desire of two people who wanted every inch of her. Kitty's pace intensified. She started to suck on MJ’s clit in a pulsing, rhythmic motion. MJ grabbed Rob's cock and thrust it into her throat as a wave of euphoria enveloped her. MJ came hard, gasping, legs locking around Kitty’s head. She rode wave after wave while she gasped on Rob’s cock the cool air wrapped around his slick length. Her sensitivity skyrocketed as the waves subsided. But Kitty didn’t stop until Rob told her to.

“Switch,” his voice was full of lust, a primal animal wanting its kill. He went down on Kitty while MJ kissed his neck, whispered to him, stroked his cock until it throbbed. She fell on Kitty, her mouth exploring her breasts, her chest, her lips and tongue. Her hands wrapped around the back of her scalp. Kitty groaned. “I can taste him on you.” Kitty trembled as she shuddered violently, groping, buckling, until finally her arms spread across the bed. MJ curled beside her, tracing soft patterns over her skin. Rob stood at the foot of the bed, hard, saliva slick across his cock. MJ had fucked before, but not like this. They seemed so attuned. He looked like a wild beast—his hair loose and low, partially covering his face. He was dripping in sweat... or pussy juices... or both. She couldn't tell.

“Both of you. Down on the floor.” “Yes, Daddy,” Kitty's voice full of intensity, embracing MJ's hand and guiding her to her knees, but MJ was already attuned, she knew this is the act that got Rob off the most he loved to watch his dick slide in and out of her mouth. They knelt side by side. They opened their mouths. He slapped his cock across their tongues. No hands. No talking. They took turns—MJ gagging softly, spit trailing from her lips, Kitty choking sweetly, tears in her eyes. He held their heads, guiding them. Their mouths met around him, warm and wet. They took turns forcing each other’s heads down on him—an act MJ never would have allowed before, —but here, with these two, that version of herself was nowhere to be seen. She was worshipping his cock. And she loved every second of it.

She could feel him tense again when inside her mouth, like before it was as if he was about to explode, but she could sense his control. He held back the river of cum she knew was growing. “On the bed. Bend over.” She scrambled furiously. She couldn't wait. She wanted more. She wanted it all now. He touched them both—wet, slick, ready. She felt slight regret when he withdrew his hand from inside her now drenched pussy. She felt bratty. He positioned himself behind kitty first and he drove into her hard. Kitty  gasped and visibly shuddered. MJ rubbed her kitty clit, still bent over, and kissed Kitty's spine. A vibrator suddenly appeared, as if by magic. Rob handed it to her. MJ pressed it against herself as she watched the steady, hard slams Rob delivered,  with a toy in hand she took to matching them, mimicking their movements 

“Fuck me, Daddy,” Mj whispered to Rob, trying her best Kitty impersonation,. The pace quickened. He pushed Kitty’s face into the mattress, her back arched deeply. Both of them pushing to find those sweet angles,  MJ’s face was pressed down too, her ass in the air, vibrator in hand pretending rob was doing it to her too. Through her hair, she saw Rob. Their eyes locked. “You feel that?” he said. “That’s mine.” His gaze stayed locked on MJ as he continued. “Yes,,” Kitty cried, trembling. She came fast—shaking, moaning—her back flung between arch and being bent over in collapse. Her knees gave out as she writhed, The whole time rob kept his pace, and his gaze fixed on MJ.

He pulled out and took MJ, immediately rough and deep, growling in her ear. He angled himself perfectly as had done with kitty, in the way MJ was attempting to replicate, she discarded the vibrator his cock rubbing the rough interior of her G-spot was enough for her. He grabbed the back of her hair, spread his fingers through her scalp, and pulled her head backwards with one hand with the other  he wrapped around her hip and waste., with skillful thrusts he rocked her between being pulled by the hair and being pushed by his hand on her hips, then back again pulling herhips down on to him. It was all MJ needed. She couldn’t breathe—her body held its last breath. Her moans came in high-pitched, shallow inhales until a sound burst from her chest, unrecognizable, animal. She didn’t care. It felt like a wave of pure energy leaving her body.

 He rolled her over “On your backs. Side by side.” “Lick each other. I want to watch.” She was in a stupor—a haze of alcohol and sexual euphoria. She obeyed his previous elegant and articulate conversational skills had given way to his primal desire to fuck and a tone in his voice to match. . Tongues tangled Fingers teased. Mj tasted kitty, and could feel her working. She was moaning, sweating and, lost in heat. Kitty was wet, gushing. Her reactions to MJ now amplified—quivering at even the lightest touch. Her groans echoed. Rob stood over them, breathing heavy. His cock was drizzled in their juices has he stroked himself. Kitty let of smaller waves of the little death less than before, but still shuddering and groaning, deep guttural growls, less violet. Kitty's eyes locked on to Mj They rolled to the floor, in breathless almost exhausted heap, the bed  now seemed somehow too hot to be on, the floor felt more stable, as their legs quivered and buckled under such intensity 

Kitty turned to MJ. “Open your mouth.” She parted MJ’s lips again with her fingers. “Suck him dry. Every last drop,” she said, sultry, expectant, commanding.

MJ needed no invitation. She had already been waiting for this moment. He had held himself back for this. He’d fucked them both. Now it was time for his prize. Getting his dick sucked to completion—this was his thing she could tell he desired the most. During the evening any time she had suck him he grew close, his moans loader and more lustful,  She’d felt him close when he was in her mouth before, less so when he was fucking her from behind. She knew this was it, and she craved it.

She gleefully welcomed his thick, solid cock. Saliva spilled from her mouth. His taste was divine. Kitty’s hand pressed the back of her skull as she bore down that forceful push towards his cock, something she would have never thought she would have enjoyed, she now craved with feral intensity. They were in sync. MJ cupped his balls. His moans deepened. His breath shortened. He began to shudder—moaning, almost roaring. Kitty forced MJ to the base of his cock and leaned in to whisper, “Hold.”

Rob’s cock throbbed. She felt the explosion—thick, hot spurts firing down the back of her throat. She swallowed each one in rhythm, gleefully, matching his deep, guttural bellows. She held. She couldn’t breathe. But she stayed. He was still cumming. She didn’t stop. Kitty’s hand withdrew, but MJ kept going. This was the most used, the most worshiped, most desired, she had ever felt. As she pulled back, cum and saliva dripping from her lips and his cock, she could feel his balls—tight. He was empty.

Kitty leaned in close and whispered in her ear, voice angletic yet rich, “Good girl.”