Emmy's hand closed around Greg's wrist, pulling him off the bed. His legs buckled, the satin gown clinging to his damp skin, and he stumbled against her. She caught him, steadying him with a hand on his waist.
"Come on, Vanessa." Her voice was low, patient. She guided him across the bedroom, past the rumpled pink sheets, past Joe's boots kicked off by the door. The gown swished against his thighs, the fabric cool and wet where cum had soaked through.
The bathroom light clicked on, harsh and fluorescent, and Greg blinked. Emmy positioned him in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her hands settled on his shoulders, keeping him in place.
Greg stared.
The woman in the mirror was wrecked. Mascara ran in black streaks down her cheeks. Lipstick blurred at the edges, smeared across her chin. The blonde wig sat perfectly in place, golden waves framing a face that looked like it had been crying and fucked in equal measure.
His stomach clenched.
The satin gown hung open at the front, revealing the corset beneath—pushing his chest into soft curves, the breast forms sitting high and full. The stockings were wet between his thighs, a thin trail of white leaking down his skin. Joe's cum. Drying in the crease of his leg.
The fabric of the gown clung to his half-hard cock, a dark damp spot at the tip.
He looked like a woman who'd been used.
The thought made his dick twitch.
Greg watched it happen in the mirror. The way the satin shifted. The way his hips didn't move but the fabric did. The way his body responded to the image of his own degradation.
Emmy's arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Her chin settled on his shoulder, her breath warm against his ear. The reflection showed her dark hair against his blonde wig, her cheek pressed to his smeared one.
"You're beautiful," she whispered.
Greg's throat tightened. He didn't know if it was a compliment or a curse. His eyes stayed locked on the mirror—on the woman with the ruined makeup, the perfect hair, the wet thighs. On the part of him that saw her and wanted to be her.
Emmy's hands found his hips, her thumbs tracing the edge of the corset. "Look at you. Look at what you let happen." Her voice was soft, almost reverent. "You took a man's cock in your mouth. You begged him to fuck you. You came screaming his name."
Greg's breath hitched. The mirror woman's chest rose and fell, the breast forms shifting with each shallow gasp.
"And you're still hard." Emmy's hand slid down, pressing against the damp satin. "Even now. Even after everything. You're still wanting."
He couldn't deny it. The pressure of her palm made his cock stiffen further, the satin pulling tight across the ridge.
"That's who you are," she said. "Vanessa. The woman who takes what she's given. The woman who begs for more."
Greg's eyes burned. The mascara would streak again. He didn't care.
Emmy pressed a kiss to his cheek, right where the black lines ran. "I knew you had her in you," she breathed. "I just had to let her out."
The mirror held his gaze. Hers. Vanessa's. The woman with the perfect wig and the ruined face, leaking cum down her thigh, standing in a bathroom with her girlfriend's arms around her.
And somewhere beneath the corset and the makeup and the shame, Greg felt something settle. Something that felt almost like relief.