She let me take her phone into the bathroom. Then she told me she was going away with him [cuckold’s perspective]

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TL;DR: She met me in the library because the guy she’s seeing is getting suspicious. She says they’ve been fighting. I asked to see pictures of them. She got annoyed but showed me. I got hard in public and begged to take her phone into the bathroom. What I found hit me harder than I was ready for. Then she told me she was going away for the weekend—with him. I asked if she’d send pictures. She said maybe.

Text here. Visuals inside.
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The library was quiet.

Not peaceful—tense. Every sound felt exposed. Her chair sliding back. Her water bottle clicking open. Even our voices, whispered across a small table, felt too loud.

Amanda sat down across from me like she always does. Calm. Dressed down, but impossibly pretty. Black jeans. That soft, worn sweater I used to steal. Lip gloss, faint but fresh. She looked like she’d showered for this.

She looked like she’d showered for him.

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AMANDA:
“Tyler asked if I’d hooked up with you since I got back.”

That caught me off guard. She didn’t even ease into it.

ME:
“What did you say?”

She took a sip of water.

AMANDA (shrugging):
“I told him no.”

I stared at her.

ME:
“So you lied?”

She smirked.

AMANDA:
“Come on..”

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice with that soft, biting edge she uses when she’s about to say something that’ll wreck me.

AMANDA:
“What we do… doesn’t really count as a hook-up.”

I blinked. Embarrassed. Turned on.

AMANDA (half-joking):
“It’s not like I let you fuck me. You were kissing my ass through leggings while I answered emails.”

I looked down.

She wasn’t mocking me.

She was telling the truth.

AMANDA (softer):
“It’s not the same.”

And that’s what stung the most.

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She sat back in her chair, calm again. Like she hadn’t just said something I’d replay a thousand times in my head.

AMANDA:
“He’s still weird about you. Thinks I’ve got some leftover attachment.”

She glanced sideways at me, like she was already bored of the topic.

AMANDA:
“He’s not totally wrong.”

She smiled.

AMANDA:
“It’s kind of funny. The guy who fucks me raw is jealous of the guy who begs.”

And just like that, I felt sick and obsessed at the same time.

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We talked around it for a bit—harmless updates, nothing important.

But eventually I asked:

ME:
“You and Tyler… still…?”

AMANDA (flat):
“Yes. A lot.”

ME:
“Do you have pictures?”

She looked at me for a long time. Disbelief. Amusement. A flash of something else.

AMANDA:
“You’re lucky I’m bored.”

She unlocked her phone. Turned it toward me.

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First photo: her straddling him. His face half-buried in her neck. One hand on her waist. Her eyes closed.

Second: Tyler holding her from behind, mid-thrust. Her hair pulled tight. Her mouth wide open.

Third: Amanda on top, flushed, slick, biting her lip. His hand around her throat. Her fingers digging into his chest.

They weren’t porn. They weren’t staged.

They were real. Close. Practiced.

The kind of intimacy you only build by doing something over and over again.

I got hard immediately.

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She looked down and smiled.

AMANDA (whisper):
“You’re seriously hard? In the library?”

I didn’t say anything.

AMANDA (smirking):
“Go. Before someone else notices.”

I got up awkwardly. Adjusted. Walked stiffly to the bathroom like I hadn’t just been dismantled.

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In the stall, I opened more.

She hadn’t closed the gallery.

It was all there.

Rougher. Messier. Her pinned down. Her moaning. Her clawing at his arms. Her biting the sheets.

Clips where she begged. Clips where she said his name. Long ones. Short ones. Fast, shaky ones taken mid-thrust.

Then the messages.

Her asking him if he was coming over.

Him telling her he liked seeing her sore the next morning.

Her saying “I didn’t expect to like it.”

Nothing about me.

Not one word.

I came fast. Quiet. Jaw clenched. Body shaking with it.

?

Back at the table, I set the phone down gently.

She didn’t ask what I saw.

She just smiled at the screen. Tapped it off. Took another sip of water.

AMANDA:
“I’m going to Mardi Gras this weekend.”

My heart dropped.

ME:
“With Tyler?”

She nodded.

AMANDA:
“Mhm.”

She zipped her bag. Stood.

Turned to leave.

And I couldn’t help it.

ME:
“Would you send me pictures?”

She stopped.

Looked back. Raised one eyebrow. Not even mad. Just vaguely amused.

AMANDA (dry):
“You’re already begging?”

I didn’t answer.

She let the silence stretch.

Then:

AMANDA (softly):
“Maybe.”

And she walked off like she hadn’t just ruined me again.