The key sticks in the lock for a second before I get it to turn.
Bill was a complete nightmare today. Five hours of passive-aggressive comments about “team players” and “dedication” that made me want to throw myself down the nearest stairwell. Just another Friday in paradise.
I push the door open and freeze.
My apartment looks like a tornado had a mental breakdown in the middle of it.
Books scattered across the floor, their spines bent at unnatural angles. Couch cushions thrown into corners. The coffee table flipped on its side. Plates shattered against the far wall, ceramic shards glittering in the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
It’s everywhere. This explosion of rage made physical, coating every surface of my living space.
I step inside carefully, closing the door behind me.
My eyes scan the wreckage, cataloging the damage with detached curiosity.
This took much longer than I expected, honestly. I figured she’d have some kind of episode within the first week, but we made it almost two weeks before an inevitable breakdown.
The TV sits untouched on its stand, screen clean and intact. My PlayStation below it, perfectly positioned where it always is. The controllers on the shelf.
Every piece of technology in this apartment has been carefully, deliberately spared from the carnage.
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my mouth.
‘She really does have a kind heart.’
My gaze sweeps across the living room, and that’s when I see her.
Alyssa sits on the couch, perfectly still except for the violent trembling running through her entire body. Her hands grip her knees so tight I can see the tension in her fingers from here.
But that’s not what breaks my brain.
She’s painted herself into a full clown.
Every inch of visible skin is covered in smooth, porcelain-white paint. A glossy red nose sits perfectly centered on her face, catching the light. Red accents highlight her cheeks, and the eye makeup is elaborate, blue triangular tears extending downward like she’s some kind of sad circus performer. Her mouth is painted into a small, annoyed frown with bright red lip color that makes her displeasure impossible to miss.
The outfit is what really does it though.
A clown-themed bikini that shouldn’t work but absolutely fucking does. The top has mismatched patterns, one cup is red-and-white striped, the other covered in colorful polka dots. Blue ruffled trim edges both cups, with small blue bows near the straps. A red pom-pom sits centered between them.
The bottoms match the chaos of the top. White fabric with polka dots, red-and-blue ruffled trim, another red pom-pom at the center. Large red bows sit at both hips like presents waiting to be unwrapped. A tiny striped clown hat perches on her head, decorated with yellow ruffles and red and blue pom-poms.
I feel like I’ve woken up to my dream fetish made manifest. This is the hardest my dick’s ever been just from looking at someone. This goddess painted into a clown girl sitting in my destroyed apartment, trembling with rage.
“Nice to see you, cheater.”
The words come out sharp, clipped. That cold wrath I’ve come to recognize laced through every syllable.
She stands up.
The movement is deliberate, predatory. The pom-poms bounce slightly with the motion, and I watch the way her body moves in that ridiculous outfit that somehow makes her look even more dangerous.
“Cheater?” The word comes out confused. “What?”
Her arm shoots out, finger pointed directly at me like a weapon.
“I went through your porn searches to try and see what my husband likes!” Her voice rises with each word, that ire building into something explosive. “But you’re a filthy fucking porn addict!”
She closes the distance between us.
I’ve never in my life felt like I’m incapable of holding myself back, but right now I just want to throw her down and get her pregnant.
The thought hits me with such intensity that my vision actually blurs for a second. Every rational part of my brain that usually keeps me functioning just... vanishes.
I’m too lost in my hunger to even try diffusing her anger. Not that I’d want to anyway.
“Well?” She takes another step closer, and I can smell her perfume mixing with the paint. “Have anything to say for yourself? Cheater?”
Her hands shoot out and grab my shirt, yanking me forward so hard I stumble. Our faces are inches apart now, and I can see the fury blazing in those green eyes beneath all that clown makeup.
She’d probably be okay with being pushed down and fucked right now, right? She’s crazy after all...
But then I really look at how mad she is. The trembling in her hands isn’t just rage anymore, there’s hurt underneath it. Real hurt.
Maybe it’s not the time. I’m suicidal, but I’m not a monster.
“Alyssa.” I keep my voice steady, even though every nerve ending in my body is screaming at me to just take what I want. “I haven’t looked at porn since I met you.”
“WE’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR YEARS!”
She’s deep in her role today, I see.
I open my mouth to respond, but then I notice something else.
Despite all her anger, despite the screaming and the destroyed apartment and the accusations, she’s grinding against my leg. The movement is subtle but unmistakable, her hips rolling in this desperate rhythm that contradicts every furious word coming out of her mouth.
Fuck it.
I grab her shoulders and push her backward onto the couch. She lets out this surprised gasp as her back hits the cushions, and then I’m on her, my mouth finding hers.
“You’re such a filthy porn addict!” She gasps between kisses, her hands already pulling at my shirt. “You’re fucked in the head!”
I kiss her harder, swallowing her words. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer even as she keeps chastising me.
“Can’t even go two weeks without…” I cut her off with another kiss, deeper this time, and she moans against my mouth before pulling back. “Without looking at other women!”
“I told you I haven’t…”
“LIAR!” She yanks me back down, her tongue pushing into my mouth with the same fury she was using to trash my apartment. When she breaks away again, she’s panting. “Porn sick! You’re completely porn sick, Caleb!”
Her hands go to the bows at her hips, fingers fumbling with the knots. I reach for my belt, yanking it open with shaking fingers.
She shakes her head violently, that painted frown deepening.
“No!” Her voice cracks with authority. “You go down there and apologize to my pussy right now!”
I freeze, my pants halfway undone.
“HOW MANY LOADS DID SHE LOSE, CALEB?” Her thighs spread wider on the couch, the polka-dot bottoms stretched tight across her center. “How many potential babies did you waste on those filthy whores on your screen?”
The accusation hangs in the air between us, but I’m already moving. Already sinking to my knees.
I pull the bikini bottoms to the side, and the sight makes my mouth water.
She’s already soaked, glistening in the afternoon light. The white paint on her thighs makes everything else stand out in sharp contrast.
I dive in like it’s Christmas morning. My tongue slides through her folds with desperate enthusiasm, tasting her. She tastes like heaven mixed with that particular brand of crazy that makes my brain short-circuit. I give it everything I have, licking and sucking like I’m trying to apologize through sheer effort alone.
“Oh fuck...” Her voice comes out breathy, surprised.
I look up at her face. Those blue triangular tears painted beneath her eyes make her look like she’s crying even as pleasure starts to overtake the fury in her expression.
The whimper that escapes her throat is small. Vulnerable.
I double down, my tongue working in circles around her clit before sliding lower. Her hands fly to my hair, fingers tangling in it with desperate strength. The trembling that was rage before transforms into something else entirely.
“Caleb...” Another whimper, louder this time. “Fuck, baby...”
Her hips start moving, grinding against my face with increasing urgency. The pom-poms on her bikini bounce with each movement.
“Yes, yes, just like that...” The bloodlust in her voice is completely gone now, replaced by breathless need. “Apologize to her, baby. Tell her you’re sorry.”
I pull back just enough to press a gentle kiss against her, soft and reverent.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her skin.
Her hand comes down hard on the back of my head, pushing me back down. A needy moan tears from her throat.
I keep going. My tongue works in circles, licking and sucking like my life depends on it. She tastes incredible, and the sounds she’s making drive me deeper into that mindless state where nothing else matters.
Knocking echoes through the apartment.
I don’t even register it. Don’t pause. My brain is too busy drowning in the moment.
The knocking comes again. Louder this time.
I’m too far gone to care. This is my dream. This gorgeous psychopath painted like a clown, grinding against my face while I apologize to her pussy. Nothing else exists.
A third round of knocking, more insistent. Aggressive even.
“WHO THE FUCK IS IT!” Alyssa’s voice rips through the apartment, sharp enough to cut glass. “FUCKING CHRIST!”
I lift my head reluctantly, my chin wet with her. “Just ignore it.”
The knocking starts again. This time it doesn’t stop. Just keeps going in this relentless rhythm that makes it impossible to pretend no one’s there.
Alyssa yanks the bikini bottoms back over herself, her face twisted with fury. “Go answer it.”
Disappointment floods through me like ice water. I nod slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Alright.”
I stand up and fix my pants. I cross the destroyed living room. The knocking continues, each impact making my frustration build higher.
I pull the door open.
Rachel stands in the hallway, and her expression shifts from concern to complete shock in the span of a heartbeat.
“Adam?” Her eyes scan my face, widening. “Why is your face covered in white?”
I watch her gaze shift past me, into the apartment. Her whole body goes rigid, and her brown eyes go impossibly wider.
“Eliza?”
Clown Alyssa