There are a few things you should know about our upscale marble installation. 

First, it should be prohibitively expensive. My price ranges from 50-150 dollars per square foot. Insane, I know. Quality material, sure. But that's not why you drop six grand or more where you walk, am I right? It's about making an impression. Which leads us to point... 

Two. Looking to imitate the ancient conquerors, you wanted Carrara. This classical white marble built the Roman Empire. Caligula, Tiberius, Nero, all the fun emperors hosted gladiatorial matches and orgies on this elegant pure flooring. Its hue shifts from light to warm white. Bright gray veins pulse in obscure patterns—nothing like it.

Three. I fucked your wife. Her name was Carol, yes?

Relax, it was inevitable. We could go into the psychology of it. A recovering redhead who married you for the marble money was always looking for someone pretty and rock hard. If it weren't me, it would be the gardener, or pool boy, or stablehand because face it, jack, you did not marry an original thinker.

Not that she doesn't have other ample qualities, friend. And I'm not talking about that phenomenal rack or scarily round ass either. But I could - shit man, your head spins, trying to follow those curves. Dark Mediterranean skin that makes you want to dig and inhale. Add wide olive-green eyes that reflect the season, two full lips caught in a perpetual pout, and you've got your garden variety, Tuscan goddess.

The first time I saw her, she surveyed us from the top of a soon to be marble staircase. Our third day of work, so the steps had been stripped of all finery. Tell you the truth; I saw it then. Her expression as we carried slabs across the room. This wistful, "I remember when" kind of smile. She was thinking about someone's cock down her throat, and I guarantee it wasn't yours.

The ring finger on her right hand stroked her collarbone. Her left arm squeezed under her stunning round breasts. The red satin blouse highlighted those gifts to the point of distraction, and the dark faux leather paint on pants nearly fucking killed us. Swear to God, man. You should have given the boy's hazard pay with that ass on the scene. You know what I'm talking about.

But I wasn't going to do anything, chief. Sure, anyone with eyes could see, Carol was hunting for satisfaction. It is Carol, right? A little embarrassed, I can't remember. We all knew that bitch was in such heat. But fuck it, we had work, and that means something to me.

But then, man, you had to open your fucking mouth. Don't get me wrong; I expect men like you to nickel and dime. It comes from impotence. You're not so busy or successful that there's no time to carve, carry, sculpt, or build empires from the stone earth. You're too weak, and you know it. 

And so does she. 

I'm not trying to go to jail. So when you shrieked at me in that feminine high-pitched wail, I did not hit you. But I wasn't going to let it go. You don't when you're a man. It might have been better for you if the law allowed me a swing. I'd a knocked you around, you'd apologize, I'd buy you a drink, we'd laugh.

Instead, I made your wife scream. 

I didn't wait. After you calmed down and your phone stole your focus, I looked up those stairs and back to my boys. My second nodded. He knew the job; he'd continue. Make sure your marble went in nice and tight. We don't ever let the work slide, but I hadn't taken lunch, so I was due for my break.

You would have probably run up those stairs, but you always hurry. A scavenger rushing before the meat spoils, 'cause in your experience, women feel lifeless, don't they? Not for me. I stroll, I ask one of your staff where Madam might be. And they oblige, my friend, sent me to straight to her room. 

Not that I knocked. I pushed, the double doors swung open, and I absorb the view. The woman who vowed eternal faithfulness to you lounged on the maroon leather couch, wearing an ocean blue dress with a plunging cut, speaking to you on the phone. An image worthy of the Basilica. Her dead eyes came alive with curiosity as I stood there. I put my finger to my lips and smiled. 

"What?" She says to you. "No, I thought I heard something." 

Do you believe this was unexpected? Maybe for you, and indeed for me, but your Carol, not even a little. She'd imagined the moment for years. I tell you, with the certainty of the gospels, she'd lie on that couch with one leg wrapped over the top and fingers inside her, fantasizing about this moment. So when finally her six-foot-two, black-haired mason legitimately appeared, grinned at her and silently closed the door behind him. That was simply a prophecy fulfilled.

I felt her inhumanly round eyes on my ass as I turned the lock. Keeping my back to her, I removed my shirt, and I heard her hiss with approval. 

"No," she said to you. "Something good on TV."  

Here, I looked back, saw the dress pushed aside, her thick, muscular thighs separated by two fingers in her underwear slowly pumping. I kept eye contact as I kicked off my shoes and socks. Her bottom lip trapped between teeth trembled when I slid my belt from their binding. I didn't drop the leather but folded the strip in my hands now held in my right palm, ready to transform into an instrument of binding or punishment.

Your room is massive, and it took several moments before I crossed. I could hear your monotone voice and smell your beloved as the juices stained fabric. Your wife had a sharp pungent aroma that stirred every wicked instinct. That's why when she pulled down my zipper; it took effort to free my cock. My fingers curled around her hair.

"Tell me more," she said to you before I pulled, and she swallowed me whole. Those lips, friend, oh heaven above, not only luscious but firm. The pressure on my shaft as she sucked nearly finished me in a breath. The tongue wrapped around from the side, playing with my head before she gasped, pulled back, and said, "No! Really? Go on."

Surprised at her interest in your life, you continued. Her long nails clawed open my pants before clutching my upper thigh with an iron grip. Each syllable uttered by her beloved husband increased the frenzy. My tip tagged the back of her throat before she did another lap, moving up and down. Once, twice, thri - stop. She cast her sharp hazel eyes to mine, and I saw sweet passionate cruelty. 

"Doing my nails, babe," she said as I stretched the belt between my hands. "Keep talking. I'll put you on mute." 

I carry fifty to hundred-pound rocks across estates as a calling. So let me tell you, it was nothing to flip your bitch onto her stomach and swing that belt against her giant round ass. They stretched the blue fabric; two sapphire boulders faced the air with a dark stain between, liquid dripping onto the couch. Her moan lingered on the air mixing with the smell.

It was delightful.

So I brought the belt down again.

And again.

And again.

Her voice filled the room. The acoustics are fantastic, man. The belt would connect, she'd hiss, or growl, or gasp sharply, but I heard it all, especially when the pleading started—the begging. Between each strike, her face pressed into the cushions, fingers interlocked in benediction, praying, "God, take me. Fucking take me. FUCK ME! GOD!"

It would have been heartless to test her faith now. 

I did insist on a moment of silence by looping the belt across her lips. She bit onto the leather with a growl, and I tighten the band into a makeshift harness. Her body rebelled against their constraints, so I helped set her free. I gripped the fabric that bunched between her shoulders and tore. The first rip only travels centimeters, but the second unleashed flesh from the neck to the small of her back. A black bra outlined the side of massive breasts crushed between her body and the sofa. I yanked on her leash, forcing her head up and allowing me a better view.

"Very nice," I appraised, using my free hand on the clasp, liberating her. "You are a prize."

My thumb first traced the red marks her brassiere left behind. Then two fingers outlined her spine, her back arching with the movement. I quickly pushed myself against her ass, my granite cock resting to the side, so I could close the distance and feel those nipples between my fingers. They were like rocks in a field of pebbles. She tried to say something but the sound could not escape.

"No more words," I said as I pushed aside her black undergarment and inserted my middle finger. That pulpy liquid feeling that somehow radiates heat. The muscles contracted as I stroked while my thumb massaged her ass.

"Let's see how much you can take," I lowered my face and kissed the bottom of her spine. Then I tugged the belt and heard a gasp of surprise. 

"That's the last bit of gentleness for you tonight, woman," I said to your wife before taking the soaked silken panties between my teeth.

I tore them apart—the last vestiges of her dress, the underwear, any lingering restraint, nothing but tatters. 

She was so wet that I felt like I'd been absorbed. The loud slap reverberated as her gigantic behind impacted my stomach. I groaned. The searing warmth around my cock slowed time, so I allowed a few moments of sensuous peace. But I had a promise to keep, so I pulled out, smiling at her distressed whine. My cock was covered in her juices, the head glistening. She tried to adjust, legs widening, and I plunged. There would be no relief now.

The fury with which I fucked her fueled the oncoming wave. She didn't start cumming immediately, mind; I'm not as easily fooled as you. The steady rhythm of her breath did not support the over-the-top braying. I was insulted by the attempt, so I pulled again... harder. She straightened, and I caught your whore wife under the throat. Then with my free hand, I pinned her arms to her breasts.

"You don't fucking try that with me," this is what I told your wife. "You can't lie. You can't escape. You can't do anything unless I allow it." I squeezed as she started to squirm. "And until I do, you get no satisfaction." 

Here she realized the dilemma when fantasy comes to life. You have no control over your dreams; that is true in sleep and the waking world. They utterly overwhelm you. 

I didn't stop pushing into her. I only slowed the back and forth, resting every third thurst or so. She couldn't find a rhythm and our new posture kept me from entering her fully. She trembled in my arms; a desperate high pitched squeal emanating from behind her muzzle. Her fingers dug into my skin, she tried to force herself on me, but I am unassailable. 

"Why should I?" I whispered, pushing an inch deeper. Her breath caught in the back of her throat, frightened I'd disappear again. Three fingers leave the pulse in her neck and pull the belt down from her lips. "Tell me." 

And she did, friend. She said, "Please, do it. I want it. I want it so bad."

And, "It hurts! I can't breathe. I need this. I need you. I need your fucking cock. I'll pay you! Overtime for everyone. Is that it? I'll fucking die if you don't! What do you want? I'll do it! Money, Drugs, Anything! I'll .. I'll kill my husband! Just please, please, for the love of God, fuck me."

Even I thought that was harsh, friend. But it was time.

I let her go, and she seized the couch. One hand gripped the armrest; the other clutched the frame so I couldn't pull her back. She threw a leg onto the hardwood floor so I could easily slip behind her. And I did. My punishment had taught Carol the sinful risk of pride, so she took no chances. Ass cheeks bounced against each other as she fucked back. Every time my cock plunged into her soaking pussy I felt her squeeze until I roared. 

Now she was almost there. Her ragged breathing could barely support the foul language spilling from her delicate throat. The muscles tightened between her shoulders; she lost a grip on the armrest, panicked, but found it again a gasp later. Her leg shook, her abdomen stiffened, and I thrust deep.   

She screamed, man. 

I know my boys heard it, and unless you hire exclusively deaf servants, they did too. Everyone in the house knew what happened at that moment, but you. That orgasm took a lot out of her. She held the note for ages. But when her air finally gave out, so did her leg. The woman fell facefirst onto the maroon cushions, a few aftershocks running through. Gently I turned her around, so she lay on her back. Comfortable. Her wide eyes were now half shut and glossy, an expression that belonged in an opium den. 

"How are you still hard?" She said, gently reaching out and touching my painful erection.   

I gently caressed her cheek with the back of my hand and pushed a stray hair out of her eyes.

"Because I'm not done." 

I lifted both her legs and placed them over my shoulder. She reached out to touch my chest, following the indentation of my stomach. 

" Ahhhh, so good," she said as I entered her.

"Then thank me," I said. I wasn't going to waste time. My chest felt like it would burst, and my cock was no better.   

"Thank you," she said as I started to pick up speed. She kept thanking me. "Thank you," as she wrapped her legs around me. "Thank you," cutting into my chest. "Thank you," as she came for the third time. 

"Thank you!" I said as I came inside her. My life force poured out as she overflowed, and we collapsed. Her sticky fingers played with my hair, and for a moment, we were alone in the world.

But then I heard your voice. I looked to the side of the couch and saw the phone, still muted. You'd never stopped talking. 

Now, why am I telling you this? A good question, and I will answer. You've been living a lie, friend. You move in this world with a false vision. A vain fantasy that you have earned the right to walk with men. But in your heart, you know this is wrong. You've always known. That's why you insulted me. I am everything you've impersonated during your so-called life.

But an insult must be met, and it took me so little effort. This is a gift. Before today, only vague impressions haunted you, but now... when impotence engulfs your soul, look to this moment. Remember my voice and dispair.

Also, your installation came to 11,350 dollars and 32 cents. A check will be fine.