Home Video

Elizabeth steps through the door and sees her boyfriend sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, watching old sex tapes. She recognizes the girls on screen. Exes. Each clip looks homemade. He hasn’t noticed her yet. She doesn’t shout. She watches another minute, then slips off her shoes. “Make one with me,” she says. He pauses the video. The next thing he knows, she’s on her knees, taking his cock between her lips, slow and wet. Her tongue drags along the underside, saliva glistening, each stroke deeper than the last. He’s hard in seconds. She pulls back just long enough to point the phone at them and hit record. Her mouth returns, cheeks hollowing. She’s deliberate. She wants it on camera. She wants proof. Then she turns, sits on the edge of the couch, and lifts one bare foot to his face. She presses her sole against his mouth, toes curling over his tongue. He kisses the arch, sucks each toe, and she keeps the lens steady. When she’s ready, she lies back, legs open. He slides in. She keeps filming. Every thrust, every sound, every look she gives the lens stays in the frame. She moans low and steady, foot still resting on his shoulder. When he’s close, she pulls him out and finishes him across her stomach, then films the mess before she stops the recording. Later, she saves the file next to the others. She counts now.