By the time she walked through the door, I had already taken control of her husband. He was bound to a chair, mouth gagged, and stripped of his clothes. Comfortably seated on the couch just a few feet away, I eagerly anticipated her arrival. The instant she laid eyes on her husband, her expressions transformed from shock to confusion, and eventually, fear. However, it was the fear that consumed her when her gaze finally settled on me. I could observe her muscles tense, signaling the surge of adrenaline coursing through her body, preparing her for a reaction more inclined towards escape.
“You can flee,” I said calmly, “but be aware that if you do, you will leave me alone… with him.” Oh, how she yearned to run. The desire emanated from her being, visible in her eyes, the way she fidgeted with her hands and shifted her weight from foot to foot. However, her love and devotion to her husband kept her rooted in place. She remained anchored beside him, unwilling to tear herself away from his side.
“Please, take a seat,” I motioned towards the couch across from me. Tentatively, she complied. She settled as close to her husband as efficient, legs crossed at the ankles, hands clenched in her lap. Every muscle within her was taut and her gaze averted from mine, fixated on the floor. She stole cautious glances at her husband, but surprisingly, not a single tear cascaded down her cheeks. She sat there, silently observing, her thoughts processing the harsh reality before her, as I allowed a long minute to stretch in silence.
Finally, I broke the silence, choosing my words meticulously, ensuring they conveyed both conviction and composure. “We have a predicament,” I uttered. “Your husband owes me a substantial sum of money, a debt that has escalated to a critical level. I consider myself generous, but even my generosity has its limits, and your husband has pushed me to the brink.”
“Despite my frequent reminders, he has ceased repayments. He adamantly claims to lack the funds. For weeks, he has diligently avoided my calls and attempts at communication. At one point, I even questioned whether he intended to break his promise.”
“I’ll admit,” I continued, “I do not react amiably to such insolence. Tonight, I arrived to make my intentions clear, typically employing direct physical persuasion. However, as I gazed upon the exquisite photos adorning your walls, particularly those showcasing you, a different thought sparked in my mind. Instead of seeking retribution from him, perhaps I could extract my due from you…”
Her body seemed to crumple inward as I spoke, tears streaming down her face. “Do not misunderstand me,” I swiftly interjected. “I do not wish to cause you harm, at least not to the same extent I would inflict upon him. Rather, I envision a way to work off his debt, so to speak.”
Silence permeated the atmosphere, allowing my words to seep into her consciousness. She remained silent, motionless, save for the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. “Do you comprehend?” I probed. She offered the slightest nod of her head, barely detectable. “Very well,” I acknowledged. “Come here, allow me to inquire something of you.”
Gradually, she stood up, apprehension etched across her features. “Come closer,” I beckoned. Slowly, hesitantly, she proceeded, inching ever closer until she stood just within reach of my arms. “Good. Now, the question I pose to you, ponder it deeply, and answer honestly: do you love your husband?”
Once again, her response came in the form of a barely perceptible nod. “I cannot hear you,” I prompted, leaning closer. “Yes,” she whispered with a cracked voice. “Yes, you love him. Without a doubt, you despise the thought of him suffering,” I stated with certainty.
“No,” she replied, her voice straining under the weight of emotion. “You don’t wish for him to be hurt. But what lengths would you be willing to go to ensure his well-being?” I inquired. “I…” her voice wavered uncertainly. Stepping closer until my breath caressed her hair, I pressed further, “What are you prepared to do to save your husband?”
Her response escaped in a soft murmur, almost inaudible. “Anything,” she breathed. “Anything?” I grinned, akin to a predator discovering its prey. “Precisely as I suspected,” I declared. “Get on your knees.”
Her head shot up, briefly locking eyes with me, seemingly searchingly. Whatever she found in my gaze convinced her of my seriousness. Slowly, she descended onto her knees. As she knelt, I unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and exposed my throbbing desire mere inches from her lips. “Go on,” I encouraged. “Surely, this isn’t the first time you’ve tasted a man.”
Cautiously, she wrapped her hand around my erection and parted her lips, edging closer. Her husband’s muffled protests and futile struggles against his restraints barely registered in my awareness. With little conviction, she began a lackluster effort at pleasuring me through oral stimulation for a couple of minutes. Dissatisfied, I seized her wrist and withdrew her hand, gripping firmly. “Come now,” I insisted, “suck it with passion. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me.”
As a tear tumbled down her cheek and landed upon my aroused member, she deepened her oral embrace, taking more of me into her mouth. Her tongue glided along my shaft with newfound enthusiasm. I groaned in pleasure, utterly satisfied. “Fuck,” I gasped, “that’s what I’m talking about.” Enclosing her head within my hands, I instinctively synchronized the movement of my hips with her motions. We cascaded into a rhythm, my thrusts echoing her bobbing rhythm. Her lips enveloped my tip, producing intoxicating slurping sounds that escalated my arousal. As the pace intensified, her warm throat relaxed, accommodating my depths. Gagging sounds intermingled with the symphony of our passion, and as her throat opened wider to me, her face reddened.
Overwhelmed with desire, I continued to thrust forcefully, maintaining my grip on her head. I reveled in the sensation of her struggling against me, her struggles only fueling my fervor. Eventually, my grip relinquished and she desperately tore herself from my grip, gasping for air. I smirked and shifted my gaze to the bound husband. “You’re a fortunate man,” I taunted. “Though hesitant at first, your wife certainly possesses talent in the art of pleasuring a man.”
His eyes blazed with a fury resembling the intensity of a thousand suns. Ignoring his seething hatred, I grasped a fistful of his wife’s hair, the sensation of her soft strands between my fingers sending a shiver of excitement through me. I commanded her to stand, positioning her between her husband and me. Stepping closer, my chest pressed against her back, my hardened member pressed provocatively against her supple curves.
