"What Penny Saw"

Penny hadn't been single in over three years. So when she found herself alone in her apartment again--just her, a dying vibrator, and a browser full of boring, soulless porn--it wasn't so much liberating as it was excruciating.

Twenty-three, tattooed, queer to the core, and now left with nothing but recycled fantasies and a deep ache that wouldn't quit. She didn't even want to cum anymore--she wanted something else. Something messy. Something real.

It was late--well past midnight. The city was quiet, blanketed in that weird liminal silence that makes everything feel a little dreamlike. Penny was sprawled out on her couch in an oversized T-shirt, frustration mounting, vibrator tossed aside, when something outside caught her eye.

The neighbors.

Camille and Darcy.

She liked them. Sweet couple. A little older--maybe early 30s--but stylish, fun, always laughing. She'd shared drinks with them at block parties. Even flirted with Camille once, not seriously, but still.

And now they'd accidentally left their blinds cracked.

Penny froze, halfway through getting up to grab a snack.

She could see.

Darcy was tied up--nude, her hands above her head, sitting in a kiddie pool set up in the middle of their living room. A kiddie pool. What the hell?

Then Camille came in, carrying what looked like a pie? A literal whipped cream pie.

Darcy was blindfolded.

Penny's breath caught.

Camille slammed the pie into Darcy's chest with a grin, and Darcy moaned. The sound carried through the screen window. Penny's mouth went dry. Another pie, this one right to the face. Cream dripped down Darcy's tits. Camille followed up with a bucket of pudding. Chocolate, thick, slow-pouring down her lover's stomach.

Penny's hand fluttered to her own breast, half in disbelief, half in heat.

Camille was laughing. Darcy was writhing. And Penny's pussy throbbed.

She backed away from the window, panting, disoriented, wet like she hadn't been in months.

She couldn't stop thinking about it.

For days.



It built up until she couldn't take it anymore.

She tried to do normal things. Go on a walk. Read a book. Scroll Instagram. But every thought curved back to Camille and Darcy and that perfect, absurd, filthy little pool. To the way the mess clung to their skin. To the freedom of it.

And then the baking aisle.

She was just trying to grab some oat milk. Something innocent. But she turned a corner and bam.

Whipped cream. Pudding. Pie crusts. Syrup.

And she nearly came on the spot.

There weren't many people around--just a few other adults browsing late, in that half-zoned, 10 p.m. grocery daze--but to Penny, the moment felt raw. Like a secret scream boiling under the surface.

She clutched a can of whipped cream, trembling. Stared at the buckets of frosting like they were offering her absolution. Her thighs pressed together. Her breath hitched.

She needed this.



Fifteen minutes later, she stood outside Camille and Darcy's house.

Heart racing. Fingers twitching. Still flushed from the baking aisle incident.

And with a breath that was part courage, part surrender, she raised her hand and knocked.

The door opened. Warm light spilled out. Camille's eyes widened in surprise, then softened into something curious and amused. Darcy, wrapped in a robe, peeked around her shoulder.

Penny swallowed.

"Hey," she said. "Can I ask you a real and raw question?"

She smiled sheepishly.

End of part one. To be continued very soon.