The implication was clear. She wanted to be noticed, wanted to be desired, wanted to be taken by these men, just as she had been earlier. The jealousy and humiliation churned within me, but so did the arousal, the sick, perverse desire to see her in that role, to watch as she flaunted herself for others.
Sarah’s gaze never wavered as she took another sip of her coffee, her eyes boring into mine, daring me to say something, to challenge her. But I knew better. This was the life we had chosen, the path we had walked down together, and there was no turning back now.
With a slight nod, I turned and made my way to the bedroom, my mind racing with thoughts of what she would wear, how she would look, how she would be admired and desired by other men tonight. The idea of choosing something for her, something that would accentuate her beauty, her sexuality, and knowing what it would lead to, was both torturous and intoxicating
I reached the closet, my hand hovering over the selection of dresses, lingerie, and accessories that she had collected over the years. I could still hear her soft laughter from the lounge, the image of her reclining on the couch, her legs spread wide, her pussy glistening, burned into my mind.
Taking a deep breath, I began to select the pieces that would turn her into the object of every man’s desire that night, knowing that in doing so, I was both complicit in and tortured by her plans. The feeling of helplessness, of being drawn into this twisted game, consumed me as I laid out the clothes on the bed
As I stepped back to assess my choices, I knew that tonight would be another test, another step deeper into the world we had created for ourselves, a world where power, control, and desire intertwined in the most devastating ways. And I was powerless to resist.
I stood in the bedroom, carefully laying out each piece of clothing for Sarah’s evening. The dress I chose was a leather off-the-shoulder number, sleek and daring. It laced up along the side, leaving a wide gap that exposed her skin, adding a provocative element that was impossible to ignore. The dress ended mid-thigh, perfectly highlighting her legs. It was the kind of dress that couldn’t be worn with a bra, not that Sarah needed one—her breasts were naturally full and firm, capable of defying gravity on their own.
Next, I selected a thong, choosing the thinnest one I could find so it wouldn’t be visible through the dress. It was barely there, a mere whisper of fabric that would do little to cover her, but would complete the look if she chose to wear it. Alongside the dress and thong, I laid out a pair of seamed stockings, the kind that always made her legs look impossibly long and alluring. Finally, I placed her—our—favorite high-heeled stilettos by the bed, the spiked heels gleaming under the bedroom light. The heels were dangerous, sexy, and they gave her an air of dominance that she wielded effortlessly.
I stood back, surveying my choices, a knot of anticipation and dread tightening in my stomach. These were the clothes she would wear to entice other men, to draw them in, to make them want her. And I had chosen them.
With a deep breath, I walked back out into the lounge. Sarah looked up from her magazine, her eyes flicking over me with that familiar mix of amusement and curiosity.
“Have you chosen?” she asked, her voice light, almost teasing.
I nodded, my throat tight, unable to speak.
She set her coffee cup down and stood, her movements fluid and graceful as always. Taking my hand, she led me back to the bedroom, her touch warm and confident. “Let’s go and see what my husband has chosen for his wife to wear for other men,” she said, her words a deliberate reminder of the power she held in this relationship.
We reached the bedroom, and she let go of my hand, walking over to the bed where I had laid out the outfit. She looked at the dress, the stockings, the heels, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You’ve chosen well, my cuckold,” she said, her voice laced with satisfaction.
Without a second thought, she picked up the thong and tossed it aside, the action clear in its intent. The thong wouldn’t be necessary tonight. The message was obvious: she would be even more exposed, more available, without it.
Sarah moved to her vanity and sat down, her back straight, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She called me over with a crook of her finger, and I walked to her side, standing beside her as she surveyed her reflection. My arousal was undeniable, straining against the fabric of my shorts, and I could see her notice it, her smile widening slightly.
“You’ve done well,” she murmured, her tone almost approving as she ran her nails lightly over my groin, the sensation sending a shiver through me. Her touch was calculated, designed to tease, to remind me of my place.
She didn’t stop there. Sliding her hand up the leg of my shorts, her nails grazed my skin, inching closer to my cock. When she reached it, she teased me with the lightest touch, her nails barely scraping along its length, making it twitch and grow to its full, unimpressive size. I could feel myself straining against her teasing, desperate for more, but she kept her touch maddeningly light, just enough to keep me on edge.
“You’ve done very well,” she repeated, her voice a seductive purr as she continued to toy with me. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched my reaction. The power dynamic between us was palpable, the way she held control over my body, my desires, and my emotions was undeniable.
As she withdrew her hand, leaving me aching and unfulfilled, she turned back to the mirror and began applying her makeup, each movement precise and deliberate. She was preparing herself, not just for the night ahead, but for the attention she knew she would command. And I was left standing beside her, a participant in her plans, even as the humiliation and arousal twisted together inside me.
“Thank you for laying out my clothes,” she said softly, her eyes still on her reflection as she continued her preparations. “You’ve made it clear how much you want me to look perfect for tonight.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to respond. The truth was, I did want her to look perfect. I wanted her to turn heads, to be the centre of attention, even if it meant other men would desire her, touch her, have her. It was a painful truth, one that left me feeling conflicted and powerless.
As Sarah continued getting ready, I stood there, knowing that tonight would be another step deeper into the world we had created for ourselves, a world where she held all the power and I was left to watch, to serve, and to endure the twisted pleasure and pain that came with it.
Sarah continued to dress, taking her time with each piece of clothing, her movements slow and deliberate, making sure I watched every moment. She slipped into the leather off-the-shoulder dress, the laces on the side exposing tantalizing glimpses of her bare skin. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, highlighting every curve, every dip of her figure. As she pulled on the seamed stockings, I couldn’t help but notice the way they hugged her legs, accentuating their length, the thin black seams drawing the eye up, up to where the dress barely covered her thighs.
She stepped into the high-heeled stilettos last, the sharp, spiked heels clicking against the floor with every step she took. The sound sent a jolt through me, a reminder of the power she held in this moment, of the way she could command attention with just the sound of her heels.
Once fully dressed, she returned to her seat at the vanity, her movements graceful, every step purposeful. She beckoned me to her side again, pulling me close, her hand lightly gripping my wrist as she drew me in.
She reached out, her eyes glinting with mischief as her hands found their way to my thighs. Her fingers slipped under the hem of my shorts, her nails grazing my skin as she slowly, torturously, slid her hands upward. The sharp tips of her nails sent shivers through me, the sensation both maddening and exhilarating as she traced the muscles of my legs.
Just when I was about to lose control, she stopped, withdrawing her hands abruptly, leaving me aching and desperate for more. The sudden absence of her touch was almost as agonizing as the teasing itself, and I could feel my body trembling with the effort of holding back.
She turned back to the mirror, her movements slow and deliberate, and began applying her red lipstick. She did it sensually, dragging the tube across her lips in smooth, deliberate strokes, each coat thick and glossy. The deep red color grew more intense with each pass, transforming her lips into something almost hypnotic, impossible to look away from. The entire time, her eyes remained locked on mine in the mirror, her expression one of satisfaction as she watched my reaction.
“Do you like this?” she murmured, the words cutting through the silence, her voice dripping with mockery. “Do you like watching me get ready to fuck other men, knowing that they’ll get what you never can?”
The humiliation was sharp, cutting through the haze of arousal, but at the same time, it only seemed to heighten my desire. My cock throbbed painfully, straining against the fabric of my shorts, but she offered no relief, only more teasing, more torment.
When she finally finished with her lipstick, her lips were a deep, seductive red, full and glossy, the color vibrant against her pale skin. She leaned closer to me, her face inches from mine, her breath warm on my skin as she taunted me further. “You’re so desperate,” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with cruelty. “So pathetic. You want me so badly, don’t you? But tonight, I’m going to be with real men, men who can satisfy me. And you’ll be here, aching and alone.”
Her words were a knife to my pride, but they were also true. I could feel my body responding to her taunts, the arousal building inside me despite the humiliation. It was a twisted, perverse pleasure, knowing that she was using me, degrading me, and yet I couldn’t pull away.
She ran her nails over my groin again, the sharp tips tracing the outline of my cock through the fabric of my shorts, making me gasp. Her touch was light, teasing, just enough to keep me on the edge but never enough to bring me over. My control was slipping, my body betraying me, but she pulled away just as I was about to explode, leaving me aching and unsatisfied.
With a final, taunting smile, she stood up, adjusting her dress as she did so, smoothing the leather over her curves. “Call me a cab,” she said sweetly, her tone a stark contrast to the cruelty of her actions. “I don’t want to be late.”
I nodded, my throat tight, and moved to do as she asked, even though my hands trembled with the effort of holding back my frustration, my desire. As I made the call, she returned to the lounge, pouring herself a glass of wine. I could see her from the corner of my eye, the way she lifted the glass to her lips, the deep red lipstick leaving a smudge on the rim as she drank.
She looked down at the mark, then laughed softly, the sound light and cruel. “Some young man will have that on him later, I’m sure,” she said, her voice filled with amusement. “He’ll be wearing my lipstick while he fucks me, and you’ll be here, thinking about it, knowing that you’ll never be in his place.”
The words hung in the air, another taunt, another twist of the knife. She was going out to find pleasure, to seek out men who could give her what I couldn’t, and she wanted me to know it. She wanted me to suffer, to feel the weight of her betrayal, to be consumed by the knowledge that while she was out there, enjoying herself, I would be here, alone, tormented by the images she had planted in my mind.
And as she finished her wine, leaving another smudge of lipstick on the glass, I knew that she had succeeded. The humiliation, the arousal, the power she held over me—it was all-consuming, leaving me helpless and broken, just as she had intended.
When the taxi finally arrived, Sarah walked out, her heels clicking on the pavement with that same confident stride. Just before she left, she pressed her fingers to my lips, her touch lingering, a final reminder of the power she held over me. “Don’t wait up, darling. Sleep and imagine,” she whispered, her voice laced with cruelty and seduction. She waved casually as she slipped into the backseat of the taxi, and then she was gone, disappearing into the night.
I tried to distract myself, turning on the TV and letting the hours slip by, but my mind was consumed by the images she had planted there. I could see her dancing, her body moving to the music, drawing every eye in the room. I imagined her flirting, her smile wicked and inviting, her lips curling in that way that promised more. I could see her being kissed, caressed, touched in ways that were meant to drive men wild, just as they had driven me to the edge earlier. And finally, I saw her lips and her pussy being used, her body surrendering to the pleasure she sought out with others.
The night dragged on, and eventually, I moved to the spare bed, my thoughts still swirling with those vivid, tormenting images. I tried to sleep, but it was restless, filled with dreams that mirrored my fears, my anxieties, my twisted desires. The images of her with other men played over and over in my mind, leaving me in a state of frustration and torment that I couldn’t escape.
In the morning, I heard a car pulling up outside. My heart raced as I listened to the familiar click of her stilettos on the pavement, each step drawing closer until the front door opened, and she walked in.
Sarah’s smile was a blend of satisfaction and cruelty as she stood before me, the evidence of her night out etched into every part of her appearance. Her hair was a tangled mess, sticky with dried cum and sweat, a stark contrast to the meticulously styled look she had left with. Her makeup was smeared across her face, the once-perfect red lipstick now a chaotic blur around her mouth, a vivid testament to the countless kisses and cocks she had taken. The leather dress I had chosen for her was barely clinging to her body, the laces loosened so much that it barely covered her. Her stockings were ruined, with runs streaking through the nylon and dark stains from juices and cum marking her thighs. The only things that seemed untouched were her stilettos, still sharp and pristine
She walked over to the bench where I was sitting with a cup of coffee, her stilettos clicking on the floor, the sound a cruel reminder of the power she wielded over me. She was unashamed, flaunting her appearance, revelling in the evidence of her debauchery. Without hesitation, she leaned down and kissed me hard, her lips pressing against mine with a force that left no room for doubt about her dominance.
The taste on her lips was a mixture of stale lipstick, sweat, and the bitter tang of other men. It was humiliating and degrading, a bitter reminder of the night she had just had, and yet, my cock twitched involuntarily, betraying my emotions.
“I’ve had an incredible night,” she murmured against my lips, pulling back just enough to let her words sink in. “So many men… so many cocks.”
I swallowed hard, the reality of her words hitting me like a physical blow. “Shower?” I managed to ask, desperate for some reprieve, some way to escape the torment.
“Not yet,” she replied, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and cruelty. “Come to the lounge.”
I followed her, my legs feeling like lead as I walked behind her, knowing full well what was coming next. She sat down in a lounge chair, her movements slow and deliberate, every action designed to torment me further. Leaning back, she spread her legs wide, giving me a full view of her naked, used body. Her pussy was swollen, the lips still glistening with a mixture of fluids—some hers, most not. Her inner thighs were stained with dried cum, streaks running down to her stockings, which clung to her legs in tattered ruin. Her lips were smeared with lipstick, the red color now a haunting reminder of all the men who had kissed, fucked, and used her throughout the night.
“I want to tell you all about it,” she said, her voice dripping with sadistic pleasure, her eyes gleaming as she watched the torment play out on my face.
“Please don’t,” I pleaded, my voice trembling, but I knew my request was futile.
“Oh, that’s all part of it,” she replied, her tone soft yet taunting. “The extra pleasure for me.”
She pointed to a chair opposite her, and I reluctantly sat down, my eyes fixed on her exposed body, the aftermath of her night of debauchery on full display. She began recounting her night, each word carefully chosen to humiliate and degrade me further.
“When I arrived at the club,” she started, her voice almost conversational, “I knew I was going to be the centre of attention. The moment I walked in, every man in the room turned to look at me, their eyes undressing me, their cocks getting hard just from the way I moved. I could feel their hunger, their desire, and it made me wet. So wet.”
She leaned forward slightly, giving me a better view of her glistening pussy as she continued. “I didn’t waste any time. I found the first man who caught my eye, and I knew I had him hooked the moment he saw me. He was tall, muscular, and he couldn’t keep his hands off me. We didn’t even bother with pleasantries—he just pushed me up against the wall and kissed me hard, his lips smearing my lipstick all over his face and mine. It was messy, dirty, exactly what I wanted.
Her fingers dipped between her legs, lazily tracing the slick folds of her pussy as she spoke. “He wasn’t gentle, either. He didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate. He just pulled up my dress, yanked my thong aside, and fucked me right there against the wall. Hard. Fast. His cock was thick, stretching me open, and I could feel every inch of him as he pounded into me.”
She slid her fingers inside herself, her breath hitching slightly as she continued her story. “I wasn’t quiet, either. I was moaning, screaming his name, letting everyone in the club know exactly what he was doing to me. And they loved it. They watched, they touched themselves, they wanted me, but I was his for that moment.”
Her eyes met mine, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she relished in the torment she was causing. “But he wasn’t the only one. When he was done, he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed inside me for a moment, savouring the feel of my pussy clenching around him, and then he pulled out slowly, letting his cum drip out of me. And do you know what happened next?”
I shook my head, the dread in my stomach growing.
She leaned back further, her fingers sliding lower, teasing the entrance to her ass. “Another man came up behind me, saw the mess his friend had left, and decided he wanted to be next. But not in my pussy. He wanted my ass.”
She shifted slightly, sliding forward on the chair so I could see the cum dripping from her ass as she spread her cheeks with one hand, her fingers still wet with her own juices. “He didn’t waste any time. He just shoved his cock in, hard, stretching me open, making me scream. It hurt, but I loved it. I loved feeling them both inside me, filling me, using me.”
Her voice grew more breathless as she continued, the memory clearly arousing her. “And when he was done, he pulled out and came all over my ass, rubbing it in, making sure every inch of me was covered in their cum. I was a mess, dripping with it, but I didn’t care. I wanted more. And they gave it to me. Cock after cock, in my pussy, my ass, my mouth… they used every part of me.”
She paused, her fingers moving to her mouth, where she traced the outline of her smeared lipstick. “My lips were a mess by the end of the night,” she said softly, almost to herself. “The red lipstick was smeared all over, mixed with cum, my makeup running down my face. But I didn’t care. I loved seeing their marks on me, loved knowing that they had all had a piece of me.”
Her fingers lingered on her lips for a moment before she reached for the tube of lipstick on the table beside her. Slowly, deliberately, she began to reapply it, each stroke slow and sensual, her eyes locked on mine as she did so. “I want you to watch,” she whispered, “I want you to see me make myself pretty again, to cover up the evidence of all those men.”
She took her time, applying layer after layer of the deep red color until her lips were full and glossy once more. The action was intimate, provocative, and she knew exactly what she was doing. When she was satisfied with the color, she pressed her lips together, spreading the lipstick evenly, and then she looked at me with a wicked smile.
“I lost count of how many men fucked me last night,” she said, her voice taking on a more mocking tone. “They lined up for me, wanting their turn. And I gave it to them, every single one. I sucked them off, my lipstick smearing all over their cocks, staining their skin red as I took them deep into my throat. They came in my mouth, on my face, inside me. They didn’t care where, as long as they could leave their mark on me.”
She leaned forward, closer to me, her breath warm against my skin as she continued. “You should have seen the looks on their faces when they realized how much I loved it. How much I loved being used, being their little slut. They fucked me like I was nothing, just a hole to be filled, and it was perfect. It was everything I wanted.”
I could feel the humiliation burning in my chest, mixing with the sick arousal that I couldn’t control. My cock was throbbing, desperate for release, but I knew she wouldn’t give it to me. This was her game, her way of tormenting me, of asserting her dominance.
When she finally pulled back, she looked down at me with a satisfied smirk. “Now,” she said, her voice softening as she stood up, adjusting her dress so that it barely covered her once more, “I think I’ll take that shower.”
She walked away, her stilettos clicking on the floor, her body still glistening with the remnants of her night. But just before she disappeared from the room, she turned back, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
When Sarah emerged from the bathroom, she was wrapped in a silk dressing gown that clung to her freshly cleaned body, every curve accentuated by the soft fabric. Her damp hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, and her face was now clean, save for the thick, glossy pink lipstick she had applied with meticulous care. The pink was vibrant and inviting, contrasting sharply with the cruelty in her eyes.
She moved toward me with the confidence of someone who knew she had complete control, her every step a reminder of the power she wielded. Sitting down next to me on the couch, she placed her hand on my thigh, her long, sparkling red nails glinting in the soft light. Slowly, she began to slide her hand up my thigh, her nails grazing my skin in a way that made my heart race and my cock harden instantly beneath my shorts.
She wrapped her fingers around my erection with a calculated sensuality, her touch both intoxicating and menacing. Her lips, now painted a bright, glossy pink, moved closer to mine as she whispered, “Your heart hates this, doesn’t it? Knowing your wife is a filthy slut for other men?”
I nodded, feeling the arousal of her hand on my cock mix painfully with the knot of shame and regret in my stomach.
“You asked for this,” she continued, her voice laced with mockery. Her grip on my cock tightened, making me wince as she twisted the knife of guilt and humiliation deeper. “Remember? It was your choice. You suggested it, encouraged it, wanted it. You thought it would be exciting for me to fuck other men, to be sexually satisfied because you weren’t enough.”
“But this was all your idea, wasn’t it?” Sarah continued, her voice dripping with contempt and a twisted pleasure that sent shivers down my spine. “You arranged it, planned it. We discussed it in detail, remember? You were drunk, easy to manipulate, and I knew exactly how to push your buttons. You never even realized that I had planned it all along, that I made you ask me to fuck other men. I used every tool at my disposal—my red lips, the way I smoked those cigarettes, the way I teased you—until you believed it was your idea. But it never was, was it?”
Her grip on my cock tightened as she leaned in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “You always had a weakness for my red lipstick, didn’t you? You couldn’t resist it, the way it made my lips look so full, so inviting. I knew that every time I applied it, thick and glossy, it would drive you crazy. Remember how I’d sit in front of the mirror, slowly painting my lips while you watched? I’d do it deliberately, dragging the tube across my mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, making sure you were fixated on every movement.”
She smirked, her tongue flicking out to wet her own lips as if reliving the memory. “I knew how much it turned you on, how it made you want to kiss me, to feel that thick, wet colour smudge against your skin. And I used it to my advantage. I’d apply coat after coat, each layer thicker than the last, until my lips were practically glowing, and you were practically begging for a taste. But I didn’t let you have it, not right away. I made you wait, made you desperate.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper, filled with cruel delight. “And then, when you were at your most vulnerable, I’d light a cigarette. God, the way your eyes would follow the flame, the way you’d watch as I brought it to my lips. I knew it drove you wild, the way I’d take a slow, deep drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling it in a slow, sensual stream. I’d let the smoke curl around my lips, watching your eyes darken with need. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, I’d blow the smoke right in your face, watching you inhale it, knowing how much you loved the scent of it on my breath.”
Sarah’s hand moved with a torturous slowness, her nails lightly scraping along the length of my cock as she spoke. “You never even realized what I was doing, how I was using your weakness against you. I’d sit there, right in front of you, with my lips painted red, with that cigarette between my fingers, taking slow, deep drags, letting the smoke linger on my lips before I blew it out in your direction. And you remember how my lipstick would leave a perfect mark on the filter, right? I saw how you looked at it, how it made you think of my lips wrapped around a cock, leaving that same mark. It drove you wild, didn’t it?”
She pulled back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes, her smile wicked and knowing. “I knew exactly what I was doing, how much it would weaken your resolve. Every time I took a drag, every time I flicked the ash, I was breaking you down, making you more pliable, more willing to do anything I asked. I’d run my fingers over my lips, smudging the red just enough to look like I’d been thoroughly kissed, thoroughly used, and you’d eat it up. You’d fall right into my trap.”
Her hand began to move faster on my cock, her touch more insistent, more demanding. “You were drunk, yes, but that wasn’t the only reason you agreed to it. I made sure you were desperate for me, desperate to please me, to give me what I wanted. I’d whisper in your ear about how dissatisfied I was, how much I craved something more, something you couldn’t give me. And all the while, I was using my red lips, my cigarettes, my body to twist your desires, to make you think it was your idea to let me fuck other men.”
She paused, letting her words sink in, her eyes never leaving mine. “You never realized that I’d planned it all along. I wanted you to suggest it, to beg me to do it, so I could hold it over you, so I could use it to torture you later. And now, here we are, with you suffering, tormented by the thought of what I’m doing, knowing it’s all because of you. Because you couldn’t resist me, couldn’t resist what I made you want.”
Her hand tightened around my cock, squeezing it just enough to make me gasp, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “You never stood a chance, darling,” she whispered, her voice soft but dripping with malice. “I had you right where I wanted you, and now, you’re paying the price.”
She kissed me again, her lips soft but firm, the taste of her lipstick still lingering as she claimed me once more. The kiss was a cruel reminder of everything she had just confessed, of how thoroughly she had manipulated me, how deeply she had twisted the knife. As her hand continued to work my cock, bringing me closer and closer to the edge, I could feel the truth of her words sinking in, the realization that this was all my doing, all my fault.
And just as I was about to cum, she pulled back, her hand squeezing tightly, holding me on the brink but refusing to let me go over. “But you don’t get to cum yet,” she purred, her voice laced with sadistic pleasure. “Not until I’m ready. Not until I’ve had my fill of watching you suffer.”
Her lips hovered just above mine, teasing me with the promise of another kiss, but she didn’t give it to me. Instead, she watched me, her eyes filled with a mix of contempt and satisfaction, knowing that she had me exactly where she wanted me.
“Think about it, darling,” she whispered, her voice a seductive torment. “Think about how much it’s going to hurt, knowing that I’m out there, fucking other men, doing things with them that I’ll never do with you. Think about how much it’s going to destroy you.”
“You know what else I love?” she murmured, her lips brushing against mine as she spoke. “I love knowing that I let them enter my ass. That’s something I never let you do. But with them? I begged for it. I wanted it so bad. And they loved it—loved the way I screamed when they fucked my tight little ass, the way I moaned when they filled me with their cum. It was fucking incredible.”
Finally, she released her grip, her hand moving faster now, bringing me to the point of no return. The pleasure and pain mixed together, the intensity of it all overwhelming me, until I finally exploded, spilling my cum over her hand and onto the floor.
She let the kiss relax, slowly pulling away, her smile one of pure satisfaction as she reached for a tissue, wiping her fingers with a look of disdain. “I don’t want to taste you,” she said coldly, her voice a sharp contrast to the heat of the kiss we had just shared.
Standing up, she adjusted her dressing gown as if nothing had happened, her posture relaxed and in control. “Now, clean up the mess,” she ordered, her tone businesslike and commanding. “I’ll be in the lounge.”
With that, she walked away, leaving me sitting there, exposed and humiliated, the remnants of my release still on the floor. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air, mixing with the smell of sex and sweat, a cruel reminder of the power she held over me. As I began to clean up, the reality of our twisted relationship settled over me once again, heavy and inescapable.
The next morning – Monday – they went back to their weekly routine. Sarah was the perfect wife. They rose, got dressed, and ate breakfast together, ready for their respective workdays. When they came home, either of them would cook. They would sit and discuss their workday. Laughing and joking. They might watch a movie or a show they both liked. In bed they would cuddle, make love, and be there for each other. Come Friday evening, it all changed. Sarah inevitably went out and Paul stayed home waiting to see who she brought home, dreading the next forty-eight hours of torture and humiliation. A victim of his own fetishes.
He loved her and he knew she loved him. Their life on weekdays knew no bounds and this was the foundation of the weekend fun. It only happened when they were free.
