In the Hands of Her Desire

[nnjcpl2002]

This story is really getting deep!
Cuckold heaven??

[rrake]

Frankly, I haven't read such an exciting story in a long time. I love this style of writing—it's truly mind-blowing.

[Danish]

Really a fantastic story, please continue.

[1hottxcpl4fun]

I just found this wonderful story! Many parts of it, I have personally lived thru! I'm only on chapter14 but had to make a post because this is a well written story, that is a slow burner, until its not!
Keep it going! You are bringing back incredible memories!

[chastity_boi]

Part 29: Morning Light, Dark Truths

Morning crept in, pale and cold, but Elliot hadn’t slept.

Neither had Claire — though after the night she’d endured, surrendered to, been devoured by, she felt like she could sleep for a week. Her body reeked of sex, soaked in the scent of another man. Jordan’s musky cologne clung to her skin, tangled with her own sweet perfume, forming something new, something feral. Her thighs were slick with the evidence of her use — his cum still oozing lazily from her, cooling against her skin in the aftermath of utter ruin.

He’d kept his promise: he used her. Relentlessly. Thoroughly. She was spent… almost.

She lay still for a moment, letting it all wash over her. The ache between her legs, the soreness in her throat, the bruises she hadn’t yet looked for. Her hand drifted down between her legs, stroking softly, half out of reflex, half out of reverence for the ache. There was pain, but also the ghost of pleasure. Her body still trembled with echoes of the night.

Jordan had taken everything she offered — and more. And all of it had started with Elliot. Her faithful husband. Her deviant, generous, twistedly loving husband who had offered her up to a man stronger, younger, more ruthless. Who had given her away. And Jordan had accepted her like a gift he had no intention of returning. He’d taken her apart while Elliot waited upstairs — horny, humiliated, helpless.

The thought made Claire smile.

She stirred beside him, stretching like a cat that had spent the night hunting. Her leg draped lazily across his, warm from another man’s body, another man’s bed. Sweat. Sex. Satisfaction.

Elliot lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, still frozen in the silence she’d left him with.

Then her voice, soft and slow, full of smoke and aftermath:

“You’re quiet.”

He didn’t reply.

Claire rolled onto her side, cheek grazing his shoulder, her breath warming his neck. One hand settled gently on his chest, claiming space like it belonged there. Like she did.

“You want to know, don’t you?”

A pause.

“What we did. Where we went. How long I lasted before I was begging him to use me.”

Her words slid into him like silk over raw skin. Tender. Cruel.

Elliot turned his head, just enough to meet her eyes.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

She smiled. Slow. Indulgent. Dangerous. She gave him a look — half challenge, half compassion. Then her fingers started tracing patterns over his chest.

“I thought you’d say that.”

She pulled the covers higher, exposing one bare thigh as she curled closer. Her voice dropped to a hush, a lover’s confession meant only for the man she no longer belonged to.

“Dinner was lovely. He picked the wine, of course. The waiter couldn’t stop glancing at me — I think he knew. That I wasn’t wearing anything under the dress.”

She grinned wickedly.

“Jordan noticed too. Slid his hand between my thighs under the table. Pressed just enough to remind me who I belonged to.”

Her nails grazed Elliot’s chest, soft and possessive.

“He told me to spread my legs. No whisper, no request. Just a command. I was already wet. Probably had been since I kissed you goodbye.”

Elliot’s breath hitched.

“He rubbed my clit while describing all the things he was going to do to me later. What he’d make me do. Then, still fingering me, he leaned in and told me to cum for him. Right there. In that crowded restaurant.”

Elliot closed his eyes. His cock throbbed under the sheets, aching and trapped.

“I came, Elliot. Silently. Desperately. The table next to us might’ve noticed. I hope they did.”

Her hand drifted lower, stroking down his stomach with a featherlight touch, circling the hardness beneath the sheets. She could feel how close he was, how badly he needed her. Needed the pain. The truth.

He was hard. Desperate. Small.

She couldn't help but compare. Not out of cruelty — but clarity.

Jordan’s cock had ruined her. Thick, uncut, merciless. Elliot wasn’t small, not really — but beside what had just been inside her for hours, he felt like a boy playing at manhood. Her fingers lingered, teasing.

“We didn’t even finish the second bottle,” she murmured. “He looked at me and said, ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget you even have a husband.’ Then told me to get in the car.”

Her breath touched his ear like a curse.

“And I did. I stood, pulled my skirt down, and followed him without a word. The man at the next table watched the whole thing.”

She watched him now — watched the way her words undid him.

“When we got back here… in the elevator, he pressed me up against the wall. Kissed me like he owned me. One hand around my throat. The other already under my dress.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she relived it.

“He asked me if I was ready to be fucked properly. And I told him I’d been ready since I left you.”

Elliot trembled. His breath came shallow. His eyes were wide, wounded and aroused.

Claire opened hers again. Calm. Glowing. Owned.

“When we got to his apartment,” Claire began, her voice low and velvet-smooth, “he didn’t waste a second. Didn’t even take my dress off.”

She let the words hang, letting them drip like warm honey into Elliot’s waiting ears.

“He just shoved it up my thighs and bent me over the couch. No talking. No tenderness. Just his hand tightening around my throat and the thick, swollen head of his cock pressing against me… forcing its way in.”

Elliot’s breath hitched. She felt it under her palm, his chest rising sharply.

“He took his time,” she purred. “Slapped my ass. Told me I was tighter than he expected. That I felt like I was made for him.”

Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, pure sin at the edge of a confession.

“He was big, Elliot. So thick it felt like he was splitting me in two. I couldn’t help it — I screamed into the cushions. He kept going. Held me there. Opened me.”

Elliot closed his eyes, his lips parted. A vein pulsed at his neck. Claire’s hand wrapped around his cock, now stroking in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She could feel him quiver beneath her touch — tortured, desperate, wanting.

“And when he came the first time?” she whispered, her breath warm against his cheek. “He pulled out and unloaded all over my back. Thick, hot spurts. Said I hadn’t earned it yet.”

She smiled against his skin — cruel, indulgent.

“Then he told me to kneel. I did it without question. He made me clean him with my mouth. Held my hair, fed me his cock, and told me to thank him.”

A pause. Elliot’s hips twitched under her hand. His cock was leaking, painfully hard, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. Claire purred into his ear.

“He fucked my mouth like it wasn’t even mine. Forced me to gag and drool. Spit in it. Used me like I didn’t need to breathe. He didn’t stop until I was choking, tears running down my cheeks, mascara smeared everywhere. And even then, it only spurred him on. He just told me to stay open.”

She paused, her voice darkening, soft but firm.

“When he was about to cum he thrust to the back of my throat. While I gagged and drooled as I tried to accommodate him, he told me to swallow it all and not miss a drop, like a good girl. and I did.”

Elliot gasped, a ragged, shamed breath caught between lust and anguish. Claire’s hand squeezed around his shaft, just once, just enough to make him twitch with helpless need.

“After I cleaned him, still on my knees in front of him, still fully dressed. My lipstick was already ruined by then. He said I looked like a whore, and he wasn’t wrong.”

Elliot whimpered. Claire felt it — that helpless noise caught in the back of his throat. She smiled.

Elliot’s entire body was on fire, trembling under the sheets. His cock throbbed in her grip, aching, swollen, denied. His jaw clenched with the agony of it — the shame, the hunger, the raw, helpless need.

Claire leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear.

“And that was only the beginning.”

Claire slid closer, her bare skin brushing his, her lips ghosting against the shell of his ear.

“After that,” she murmured, her voice like velvet laced with sin, “he took me to the bedroom. Told me to ride him. Slow. Said he wanted to watch my face when I came.”

She smiled as she felt Elliot tremble.

“So I did. Twice.”

Claire’s hand didn’t stop. Her strokes were slow, cruel in their precision — a rhythm designed not to satisfy, but to tease. To torment. To own.

Elliot was gasping now, barely holding himself together beneath the weight of her words.

Claire kissed the corner of his mouth, then whispered, “Shall I tell you what he made your wife do next?”

She shifted slightly, her voice lowering like a secret she was almost too ashamed to share — almost.

Claire kissed his neck, slow and lingering. Her teeth caught his earlobe in a sharp nip — just enough to sting.

“He tied my wrists,” she continued, her voice sinking lower. “Not too tight. Just enough to remind me. Said I was going to be his little slut for the night until I forgot I’d ever been anything else.”

She adjusted the sheets, letting the cool air hit Elliot’s skin as she exposed more of him — and of herself.

“I don’t even know how many times I came. I stopped counting. He kept calling me his little slut. Told me he’d use me until I forgot I had a husband — and I thanked him for it.”

She reached down and dragged her soaked fingers across Elliot’s lips.

“This is who I was last night,” she said. “Not your wife. Not even a woman, really. Just his. And I loved it.”

Elliot’s eyes were glassy now, his entire body taut with unbearable need. Claire leaned over him again, her breasts brushing his chest, her voice now almost sweet.

She climbed over him, straddling his hips — but kept her sex just out of reach, letting him feel the heat of her, the slick wetness she still carried, the dominance she now wore like skin.

“And when he finally came inside me?” She smiled slowly, eyes glittering. “He didn’t ask. He made me beg for it. Said I needed it. That I looked desperate for it.”

She turned to face him now, inches away, her voice hushed and electric.

“He was right.”

A silence thick with heat and humiliation filled the space between them.

“You’ve never seen me like that, Elliot. I haven’t even seen me like that.”

Her eyes shone.

“I came screaming.”

He whimpered.

A soft, wicked laugh bubbled up from her throat.

Claire lifted the sheet, peering at his swollen, leaking cock.

“You’re still hard baby,” she murmured, as if surprised. “After everything I’ve said.”

She grinned, licking his jaw slowly.

“You really are a sick little puppy, aren’t you?”

She pulled her hand away from his cock, slowly, deliberately. Let the absence burn.

“No release. Not yet. Not after what you gave away.”

Claire rolled onto her back, arms above her head, her body gloriously sprawled in satisfaction.

“You should’ve seen my face, Elliot,” she whispered, smiling to herself. “He made me watch in the mirror when he came inside me. Again and again.”

A pause.

“I was smiling too.”

“He called me his good little slut,” she said softly. “And I was.”

“There’s something else,” Claire said softly, after a long, loaded pause. Her voice was low, measured, dangerous.

He turned to her slowly.

“What?”

She held his gaze, steady and unflinching.

“He came in my ass.”

The words dropped like a bomb between them.

“I let him,” she added. “I wanted it.”

Elliot’s world lurched. His breath caught, his knees almost buckled. Claire watched it all — the unraveling, the silent, stunned surrender in his eyes.

“You asked me once, remember?” she murmured, brushing her fingers along his cheek. “Years ago. I always said no. Said it didn’t feel right.”

She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear.

“But with him? It wasn’t even a conversation. He bent me over, spat on it, and said, ‘This hole’s mine too.’” She paused, savoring the memory. “And I said... thank you.”

Elliot let out a trembling breath. His cock twitched violently, dampening his boxers.

Claire noticed. Of course she did.

“I’ve never felt so full,” she whispered, voice thick with satisfaction. “So owned. And when he came inside me, it was like I belonged to him alone.”

Elliot shook his head, slow and numb, like a man bracing for a final blow.

“That pleasure will only ever be for him. Never for you Elliot.”

Her fingers skimmed lightly across his chest — teasing, almost loving.

“You don’t get to touch me today,” she said calmly. “Not with your cock. Not yet. Maybe not tomorrow either.”

She let that hang in the air, then added, softer: “But you can clean me. Front… and back.”

She kissed his forehead — gentle, possessive. A reward. A benediction.

Because he was hers.

And not entirely hers, either.

Claire reclined slowly, legs parting as she settled into the bed. Elliot moved between them, hesitating only for a second before lowering his face to her glistening folds. A thick, milky thread of Jordan’s cum seeped from her used pussy. Elliot flinched.

Claire’s fingers wove into his hair and tugged him forward.

“Lick,” she ordered simply.

He obeyed. Quiet, broken, obedient. He lapped at the slick mess of her sex — his wife’s cunt, stretched and filled by another man. Claire moaned softly, her body responding to his tongue even after all she’d already taken. Her thighs trembled as he coaxed another climax from her — the first she’d given him that morning, but nowhere near the first she’d had.

Eventually, Claire sighed and nudged him back with a gentle hand.

“That’s enough,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded. “I’m too sore down there for more.”

Elliot started to crawl up beside her, desperate for closeness. But her look stopped him cold.

“Uh-uh,” she said, voice languid, powerful.

She rolled onto her stomach, spreading her legs slightly, presenting the soft curve of her ass — red, tender, and unmistakably used.

“You’re not done cleaning yet.”

Elliot hesitated. Then he leaned forward, pressing his face between her cheeks. His tongue flicked hesitantly against her ruined hole, tasting the lingering heat of her surrender.

As he began his degrading task, Claire let her eyes flutter closed. Her breathing slowed.

She was safe. Satisfied. Spent.

And while her husband tongued the remnants of her lover from her body, she finally drifted off into a peaceful, exhausted sleep.

[mattyg_2671]

Wow, just wow.

[Johng1953]

Every so often we are given a gem. Just read all of this in one go. Thank you.

[shamed411bee]

Excellent! Hot.

[Happy Hypnoguy]

This is amazingly good.

[chastity_boi]

Part 30: After the Fall

The day after Jordan had taken Claire - truly taken her, used her, claimed her in every filthy, final way — was like waking into a dream neither of them could name. Reality had shifted. Something fundamental had broken and reassembled itself in new, brutal shapes. Claire moved through the house not like the woman Elliot had married, but like someone reborn—stripped of innocence, aglow with transgression. Every step she took was a whisper of power, every breath a reminder of the night she had surrendered completely to another man. She and Elliot felt like they were waking in a different reality. A quiet declaration of everything she’d given and everything Elliot had lost. Her body ached deliciously. Her thighs bore the fingerprints of another man. Her lips and throat were raw from use. She had been deconstructed and remade — and she wanted her husband to feel it in his bones.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. She was quiet, almost serene. But the silence was louder than words.

She wore nothing but a loose robe, one Elliot had bought her years ago. It had never looked like this before. Now it clung to her in places, gaping in others, revealing flashes of skin that had been claimed and brutalized. Her inner thighs were marbled with finger-shaped bruises. Faint bite marks decorated her breasts, rising up toward her throat. The deep ache between her legs had become a part of how she moved — slow, sensual, almost lazy, like her body remembered the size and stretch of him with every step. Her nipples strained against the silk, swollen and overused.

And she carried it all with pride. Like she was still wearing him.

When she looked at Elliot, it was different now. Not unkind—but distant. Detached. Like she was still seeing through Jordan’s eyes, remembering the way he’d bent her, filled her, taken her like a possession. Elliot wasn’t her man anymore, not in the way that counted. He was... something else now. Something lower. She looked at him like she was still deciding what to do with him.

And Elliot — God, Elliot was drowning in it

It wasn’t just arousal. It was awe. Terror. Worship. The shame of it hit him in waves, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He followed her with his eyes like a starving man watching someone eat. Every bruise on her body was a story he hadn’t been part of. Every mark was a reminder that his wife now belonged to someone else.

They went through the motions of an ordinary day — quiet, polite, affectionate on the surface. But beneath the small talk and shared routines, something seismic had ruptured between them. A new reality had taken hold. Every smile, every casual touch, carried a different weight now. Something unspoken thrummed in the silence between them, as real and electric as the tension before a storm.

Claire was glued to her phone from morning to night. Her eyes would light up every time it buzzed. She smirked at messages, bit her lip in barely hidden delight. And when lunchtime came, she vanished without a word — twenty full minutes behind a locked bathroom door. She returned flushed, breath quick, hair slightly mussed, the faintest glow of sweat at her collarbone. No apology. No explanation. Just a knowing smile and the scent of heat lingering in her wake.

Elliot didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. The image took shape on its own, vivid and cruel: Claire pressed against the wall, panties pulled aside, fingers slick and frantic as she whispered Jordan’s name into the phone — begging, moaning, cumming for him all over again.

By the time dinner rolled around, the air between them felt impossibly thick. The meal was quiet. Domestic. Routine. The plates were rinsed and left in the sink. Claire kissed him on the cheek like nothing had changed — like she hadn’t spent the previous night being wrecked by another man, screaming into his sheets as he took her in ways Elliot never had. Especially in the place she once swore was sacred, off-limits. Jordan had claimed it all.

But it wasn’t just her body that had been taken. It was the way she spoke to him that morning when she returned from being with Jordan to the marital bed — her voice casual, unapologetic, as she described in ruthless detail everything Jordan had done to her. How he’d held her down. How he’d used her. How he’d filled her again and again until she couldn’t walk straight. How she’d begged for more, for harder, for deeper. The things she let him do. The things she wanted now.

She hadn't spared a single detail.

And Elliot… had listened to every word with wide eyes and a pounding heart, his cock stiff, straining with shameful excitement.

His wife. His Claire. Taken so completely by another man that she couldn’t stop reliving it. And he couldn’t stop needing it.

Something fundamental had shifted.

Claire was different now. More radiant. More confident. There was a depth in her eyes that hadn’t been there before — a hunger that no longer looked to him for satisfaction. She had found something in Jordan that changed her. Freed her.

And the most terrifying part? Elliot felt a strange pride that haunted him with perverse ecstasy.

Like this was what he’d always wanted.

Like he hadn’t just lost her — he’d given her away.

Like he had unlocked her. Set her free.

And now, he could only watch… and ache.

Later that night, they sat together on the couch, some forgettable show flickering across the screen, its sound a distant murmur. Claire hadn’t said much since that morning — since the moment she had returned to their bed, freshly ruined, radiating ownership that wasn’t his. She didn’t need to. Her silence spoke volumes.

Her body carried the evidence. Faint marks, a looseness in her step, a satiated glow in her skin. There was a serenity to her now — a post-storm calm that made Elliot ache. She didn’t look at him the same anymore. She looked past him.

Her phone buzzed. She read the message. Her body changed.

Shoulders straightened. A slow exhale slid through parted lips. She stood without a word.

“I’ll be right back,” she said simply, voice soft, distracted, already elsewhere.

She walked to the bedroom, hips swaying beneath her thin robe. She didn’t close the door all the way.

Ten minutes passed.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

The voices on the television became white noise. Elliot tried to keep his eyes on the screen, but something clawed at him — a knot of suspicion, jealousy, hunger.

And then: laughter. Faint, muffled. Claire’s voice, unmistakably playful.

Then silence.

Then something else — a rhythm, a wet sound, low moans that struck him like thunder from a clear sky.

He rose before he could stop himself. Moved toward the bedroom. The door, left deliberately ajar, beckoned like a wound.

He didn’t mean to spy. Not really.

But he couldn’t help it.

Inside, bathed in the soft, golden light of the bedside lamp, Claire knelt on the bed. Black lace clung to her skin — the same anniversary lingerie he'd bought her, the one she'd never worn for him. Now it was for someone else. Her phone was propped in front of her. On the screen, Jordan lounged shirtless, his smirk easy, proprietary.

Claire was on her knees, thighs parted, moaning as she slowly thrust a thick dildo inside herself — languid, practiced.

“Like this, baby?” she purred, spreading herself with two fingers. “You see how wet I am for you?”

Elliot’s heart stopped. His cock pulsed.

“I missed you,” she breathed. “My pussy’s still sore. All day I kept thinking about how you used me.”

Jordan’s voice, deep and smooth, came through the speaker. “You do this for your husband, too?”

Claire chuckled, a sound like silk over glass. “No. Just for you. He doesn’t deserve this pussy. You made it yours.”

Elliot staggered against the wall, breath catching, hand sliding into his boxers without permission from his better judgment.

“Say what you are,” Jordan demanded.

Claire’s response was immediate. “Your little slut. I’ll do anything for you.”

Elliot whimpered. His knees buckled.

“You like making him suffer?” Jordan asked.

Claire’s giggle was deliciously cruel. “I love it. He’s probably listening right now. Stroking that pathetic cock while I talk about how much bigger and better you are.”

Elliot’s head spun. Shame and lust collided like a car crash. He kept watching. Couldn’t stop.

“Show me how you cum,” Jordan growled. “And tell me whose ass that is.”

Claire moaned louder, her fingers moving faster, deeper. “Yours, Sir. You took it. You own it now. He never even touched it — not once. The closest he’s been is cleaning me up… after you made it yours.”

Elliot groaned, cock twitching in his palm.

“I miss your cock,” she whispered. “You ruined me, Jordan. You fucked everything out of me. Even the memory of being his.”

She dropped to her knees before the mirror, phone angled to capture every shameless angle. “Tell me what to do,” she begged.

Jordan’s pause said more than words. "Cum for me."

Claire's rhythm with dildo increased as her thrusts became more urgent.

“Oh fuck,” she gasped. “I needed this. Getting fucked by you last night… I’ve been aching all day.”

She squeezed her breast through the lace, grinding down against the toy.

Elliot stroked faster. The guilt, the sickness of it all, only made it hotter.

“Say it again,” she moaned. “Please…”

A pause.

Then Jordan’s voice. “Who fucks you better?”

Claire's body shivered. “You fuck me better,” she said, louder this time. “God, so much better. Like I was made for your cock.”

She moved harder now, chasing the edge. “Elliot never did that. Never made me scream like you.”

Elliot’s body was shaking.

“So what are you then? Say it,” Jordan ordered again.

Claire cried out, guttural now. “Your whore. Your good girl.”

She turned, showing the phone a better view. “Would you share me, Daddy? Let your friend use my throat while you take my pussy?”

Elliot almost came right then.

Claire smirked at the camera. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Tie my husband up and let him watch?”

“That could be arranged. You're quite the little slut when you're set free aren't you?”

Elliot’s hand moved faster almost in unison with Claire's. His world spun. Shame and desire swallowed him whole.

She bit her lip. “You want to know what I’m thinking about?”

Jordan nodded. She leaned closer to the camera, whispering:

“Your cum. All over me. Inside me. How I licked it off your cock and tasted myself. I wore it all night. Like a trophy.”

Elliot whimpered.

And Claire froze — just for a moment. Then turned her head toward the door.

Her eyes found his.

She smiled, slow and sinful. “Hold on, baby,” she said sweetly to Jordan. Then, to Elliot: “Were you watching me, Elliot?”

He stammered, humiliated. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” she said. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

She waved at the phone screen and smiled at Jordan. “Looks like we have an audience.”

She gestured lazily. “Come on in, little cuck.”

Elliot stepped inside, trembling.

Claire’s voice lowered, teasing. “Say hi to my man. Go on.”

Jordan’s voice crackled. “Hey Elliot, How you doing? You trying to catch a glimpse fo what your wife does for me?”

Claire curled her finger at Elliot motioning him to come to sit on the bed. “Tell him,” she ordered. “Tell Jordan what you are.”

Elliot stammered, but the words tumbled out. “I’m… I’m your cuck.”

Claire nodded. “And what do you want?”

He looked up, desperate. “I want to watch. I want to watch you get used.”

She cooed. “You hear that, baby?”

Jordan’s laugh crackled through the speaker. “He’s more fucked up than I thought. I like him.”

Claire leaned back, spreading her legs again, fingers slowly teasing her clit. “So what do you think, Elliot? Should I let Jordan bring someone next time? Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he groaned, hand trembling as he palmed himself.

“Say it properly.”

“Please,” Elliot whispered, stroking harder now. “Please let Jordan share you. I want to watch them use you. I want to see you taken.”

Claire moaned softly, her fingers circling faster. “Good boy. Watch me cum thinking about it. Knowing you’ll never make me feel this way. That I’ll never have to fake it for him.”

“Watch, cuck,” she whispered, “and keep your hands where I can see them. This pussy doesn’t belong to you anymore.”

Elliot obeyed. He knelt. And watched. As his wife — his perfect, shameless wife — pleasured herself for another man, moaning louder, not for him, not anymore.

Just like she wanted.

Just like he wanted.

“I think Jordan wants to talk to you,” she said, turning the phone toward him.

Elliot looked up, eyes glazed.

Jordan was smiling.

“Nice to finally meet the real you, Elliot.”

Claire gave him a dismissive look. “Go wait outside. I’m going to say goodnight to Jordan in private. I need to finish what you interupted. I’ll let you know when you can come back.”

Elliot stood slowly and left. Outside the door, he listened—muffled voices, laughter, soft moans. His gut twisted.

Minutes later, Claire called him back in.

He entered hesitantly. She was sitting up in bed, sheets wrapped loosely around her body. She patted the mattress.

“Sit.”

He obeyed, unsure, still dazed.

Claire straddled his lap, settling her weight on his thighs. She held him there, trembling under her touch.

Then, softly, with lethal sweetness:

“So now, husband… tell me what you really want. No masks. No shame. No turning back.”

He stared at her, breath caught, heart hammering.

She reached behind her, her hand curling around him through the fabric.

“Say it,” she whispered. “Every filthy thought. Every line you want me to cross.”

Elliot broke.

His voice cracked as he spoke, barely audible, every word a confession dragged from his depths.

“I want to watch you go to him,” he breathed. “Dressed like you dress for me. Like a gift. And I want to watch him unwrap you.”

Claire smiled, slow and dangerous.

“I want to sit at home, knowing he’s touching you. Kissing you. That the lipstick you wear that night isn’t for me. That your thighs open for him.”

His hands trembled. Still he continued.

“I want to imagine you on your knees for him. Begging. Loving it. I want you to choose him. Over me. And tell me.”

Claire tilted her head, studying him with a quiet, devastating tenderness.

“I want you to say he’s better. That he’s bigger. That he makes you scream. That you open for him in ways you never did for me.”

She inhaled, her own breath shaky now.

“I want you to laugh when you say it. Mock me. Call me your little husband while I clean his cum from you. While I worship you.”

Claire’s eyes darkened with lust, her body shifting against him.

“I want to serve you after,” he whispered. “To be yours, completely. Even when you break me. I want it to be real. Not pretend. Not a game.”

He looked at her then, naked in his need.

“I want to be your cuckold, Claire. Fully. Totally. And I want you to love me for it — even when I’m ruined.”

The room went silent.

Claire slowly leaned in, her fingers curling beneath the blanket, wrapping around the truth of what he’d just admitted.

She held him there, studying him like a prize — and a possession.

Then she kissed him. Slow. Deep. Crushing.

She leaned in close, her voice a whisper of silk edged with steel.
“Good,” she murmured. “Then you’re ready.”

Her lips brushed his ear.
“I’ll give you everything. Every filthy fantasy. Every twisted, depraved little dream.”

Her hand wrapped around his cock again—tight, deliberate. She stroked him with cruel precision, watching him unravel. As he teetered on the edge, twitching, gasping, she let go.

Elliot cried out, clinging to her, ruined by the denial — and then, helpless, he came anyway. Soft. Weak. Unclaimed. His cock spasmed pitifully, his orgasm leaking out like shame onto the sheets.

Claire watched it happen with a cold, delighted smile.

“But only when I want to,” she said, almost sweet. “And always on my terms.”

She rose from the bed with feline grace, his come still glistening between them.
“Just so you know,” she added casually, “he’s already asked for another night.”

Elliot shivered.

“We’re going to make it all real,” she continued, turning back to him. “Every sick little confession you just gave me? He loved it. He thinks it’s time we stop pretending.”

She gave him a wicked, playful smile.
“Starting with dinner.”

He blinked, dazed.

“A date,” she clarified. “You, me, and Jordan. He wants you to see what I look like when I dress for someone else. When I laugh for him. When another man touches me in public. When I’m owned.”

She stepped closer again, her voice soft and lethal.

“And it won’t be hidden. No secrets. No lies. You’ll sit across from us and watch it happen. I’ll be his—and you’ll just be there. Watching.”

Her lips brushed his cheek, her breath like fire and silk.

“Won’t that be fun?”

She lingered there, then whispered, “And you’ll smile the whole time, won’t you?”

Elliot nodded, barely able to breathe.

“Good boy.”

Her hand slid between his legs, caressing gently — finding him already hard again.

Claire grinned, slow and wicked.

“Because this game?” she whispered. “It’s only just beginning.”

[chastity_boi]

hey guys - thanks for all the great comments. been traveling this week so hopefully more updates next week.

[shamed411bee]

The chapters keep getting better and better. Claire’s cruelty is wonderful.

A masterpiece!

[mattyg_2671]

This has the potential to be an all time great. It’s up there with the best of Mascarasnake so far…!

[chastity_boi]

Part 31: A Table for Three

It was never supposed to feel this real.

Elliot stood in the doorway of their bedroom, watching Claire fasten her earrings — small, gold, elegant. The kind that swayed just a little when she turned her head.

She looked stunning - and indecent in the underwear she had bought especially for Jordan. The panties were sheer enough to reveal her curves without apology - her pussy lips clearly visible through the gossamer material. The stockings clung to her legs like temptation, held up by a delicate suspender belt. The heels were taller than usual — too tall for comfort, perfect for surrender. These were fuck me shoes, rarely worn usually, but tonight was far from usual. Her whole look oozed sensuality, but tonight it was not for Elliot, it was all for Jordan.

She picked up her lipstick — a bold, almost dangerous red — and applied it with slow, sensual precision. Her make up was more seductive than her usual look. Her eyes smoky, her lips glossy. When she caught his eyes in the mirror, her smile was small but unmistakable.

"Do I look like someone’s date tonight?" she asked.

He swallowed, his voice catching. "You look... breathtaking."

Claire smirked and turned back to the mirror. "Good. Because I intend to be."

There was no illusion tonight. No playful ambiguity. Claire was going on a date with Jordan. A real one. And Elliot wasn’t her partner tonight — just a witness.

Her perfect breasts were bare. "No need for bra, not with the dress I'm wearing tonight. Probably no need for the panties either all things considered." She flashed a conspiratorial smile at her husband.

She stepped into the dress she had chosen for the night, slim and backless that clung to her body like silk poured over sin. It was nothing short of devastating. The slit along her thigh suggested, rather than revealed, with just a hint of her stocking top flashing, but to Elliot it set his nerves alight.

“Zip me up?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

He approached tentatively, fingers trembling as he tugged the zipper up her spine. The zipper’s path felt infinite. His fingers brushed the bare curve of her back. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched him in the mirror — amused.

“He’ll be here soon,” she murmured, as though Jordan were an old friend and not the man who had claimed her in ways Elliot never had.

The doorbel chime brought Elliot back to the imminent reality of the situation.

Claire turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eye, smoothing her lipstick one final time. “Be a dear and let him in?”

Elliot opened the door to be greeted by Jordan's confident smile.

"Hi Elliot, how are you doing? Is my date ready?"

Elliot could only stutter out a incoherent response, stepping aside as he invited Jordan in.

As Jordan stepped into their apartment, Claire had become someone else entirely — radiant, poised, hungry. The shift wasn’t just visual. It was visceral. The air changed with her. She radiated something Elliot couldn’t quite describe. Something seductive, feminine, and free.

Jordan’s eyes lit up the moment he saw her.

“Wow,” he said, taking her hand. He kissed her cheek slowly — his lips lingering close to her mouth. “You look dangerous.”

Claire smiled, then tilted her head just enough that the neckline of her dress dipped provocatively, just enough to make Elliot ache. “I try.”

She reached for Jordan again and kissed him full on the lips. Their mouths opened, tongues intertwining as their hands explored each other. Elliot felt a rush of blood to his face, unsure where to look as their embrace went on a little longer than was comfortable.

As they parted Jordan's eyes roamed her body, slow and possessive. They stood close, Their bodies aligned naturally. Elliot stood off to the side, forgotten, awkward and invisible.

“Shall we?” said Claire. As they left the apartment Claire turned, linking her arm through Jordan’s. Elliot’s stomach twisted and immediately panicked, paranoid in case anyone they knew would see them leave like this.

"I took the liberty of ordering an Uber. It should be outside waiting for us." said Jordan as him arm circled Claire's waist possessively.

Outside Jordan opened the rear door for Claire to enter then jumped in beside her.
"I guess you're riding shotgun tonight Elliot." Jordan smirked as Elliot reluctantly got into the front seat leaving the two lovers in the back together.

As they drove Elliot could barely make out he conversation that was happening behind him, but it soon became evident from the driver's repeated glances in his rear view mirror that things in the back seat were heating up. The whispers behind him were soon replaced by soft gasps, shifting bodies, and then the unmistakable sounds of kissing. Elliot risked a glance behind and could make out Jordan's hand working up Claire's thigh, easing her skirt higher and exposing her stocking tops as his hand worked up towards bare flesh.

Mortified, Elliot tried to make small talk with the driver but he was more interested in the show being played out in his rear view mirror.

Finally they pulled up outside the restaurant. Elliot alighted from the car first. Claire and Jordan followed — Claire adjusting her dress with flushed cheeks.

The restaurant was dimly lit and intimate.

They were shown to a booth tucked into a private corner. Jordan slid in across the leather seat. Claire poured herself into the space beside him. Her body angled toward him, her knee brushing his under the table. Elliot sat across from them, opposite his own wife, already feeling the subtle shift in weight — like gravity pulling toward the more magnetic pair.

They ordered wine. Claire tasted it from Jordan’s glass first. Her lips wrapped around the rim slowly, deliberately, before she offered it back. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the conversation around the table paused.

Elliot sipped his own, unnoticed.

As the night unfolded, the subtleties became impossible to ignore.

Claire’s laughter was light and constant. Not polite. Genuine. She leaned in when Jordan spoke, her fingers ghosting over his wrist. Her hand lingered on his forearm when she made a point. She adjusted his collar once, absently, like she’d been doing it for years, her fingers slow and familiar. These weren’t bold moves — no one in the restaurant would even blink — but to Elliot, each one was a razor made of silk..

The conversation danced between casual and intimate, but always flirted along the edges of something heavier. Conversation passed over Elliot like wind through a window. When he did speak, Claire smiled politely — politely — and returned her gaze to Jordan. Like Elliot was an acquaintance who’d happened to be seated nearby.

She told a story he knew — something from college. But now it ended differently. Jordan laughed with her like he already owned the memory.

Elliot watched as Jordan leaned down and whispered something into her ear.

She bit her lip. Blushed.

And nodded.

Claire’s hand slid under the table. Her expression didn’t change. But Jordan inhaled slowly through his nose and shifted in his seat — just slightly.

Elliot’s blood froze.

She was touching him.

Right there.

Her ring — their ring—glinted in the candlelight as she sipped her wine, smiling like nothing was happening. Like she wasn’t already stroking the man beside her under the table while her husband watched helplessly.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” she asked suddenly, her tone light, almost mocking.

Elliot blinked. “Yes,” he croaked. “I’m… fine.”

Jordan chuckled softly, not looking at him.

The food came. He barely touched his plate. Claire’s hand stayed hidden under the table. No one said anything.

Claire smiled into her wine, as if she knew he was wondering.

It grew harder for Elliot to breathe.

At one point, she turned to whisper something in Jordan’s ear. He smiled darkly, leaned back, and nodded. She looked back at Elliot just long enough to let him know she’d said something about him — and that he’d never hear what it was.

Jordan’s expression had changed too. Still charming, still polite. But something darker pulsed beneath the surface now. A quiet dominance. He wasn’t rubbing it in Elliot’s face — he didn’t need to. His ease was the humiliation.

She never looked across at Elliot for long.

And when she did, it was with a different kind of smile.

Not one of cruelty.

But almost pity.

Most of the conversation was between Jordan and Claire. Elliot spoke when invited to but offered nothing much of substance. As they were finishing up the second course, Jordan looked directly to Elliot.

"So Elliot," he said, "How does it feel knowing your wife is finally getting the fucking she deserves?"

Elliot looked at Jordan stunned, unsure how to answer, and then at Claire. She simply smiled back at him. Raising an eyebrow as if in challenge.

"erm, I... it's good, I guess."

"Is that all you've got Elliot? When I last fucked your wife, she begged me for more, until she couldn't take it. And then I took her virgin ass. Have you ever fucked your wife in the ass Elliot?"

"no" was all Elliot could respond with.

"That's right, and you never will. Your wife's asshole is mine understand. When I fucked her it must have been like she'd lost her virginity all over again. Like she had been fucked properly for the first time ever, Isn't that right baby girl?"

Claire looked giddy. "Yes... Daddy."

"Jordan continued. "You said you wanted to give your wife away. Well I intend to take her. I'll be frank with you Elliot, I'm not interested in breaking up your marriage, I get off on the fact that Claire's married, but I fully intend to turn her into my little slut, and by the time I'm finished with her your sex life will consist of begging for scraps. I'll make her do things you never even dreamed of. Is that what you'd like Elliot?"

Elliot could only nod. His cock pulsed out of control in his boxers.

Jordan leaned in to Claire. "Spread you legs". Claire looked Elliot straight in the eyes as she spread her legs for her lover. The look in her eyes brazen, defiant.

"Claire told you how I got her off at the table before right?"

Again Elliot could only nod dumbly.

"Tonight you're going to see it up close."

Jordan's hand pulled Claire's skirt up and her panties to the side as he worked his fingers over her clit. As Jordan's fingers worked their magic, coupled with the public setting, Claire’s breathing quickened. She bit her lip. Her cheeks flushed. The table remained still, but under it, her body trembled as an orgasm built in her.

"Cum for Daddy." Jordan whispered into her ear. "Show your husband how easily I can make you cum." he continued as Claire's breaths came more more urgently before the floodgate opened and Claire tensed, sat in front of her husband in public under the ministrations of her lover. Claire gasped. Her body shuddered. She let out a strangled moan. "Go to the restroom. I'll be right with you."

Claire quickly gathered herself. Took a gulp of water and obediently slid out of the booth and headed to the restroom leaving Jordan holding Elliot's eye contact with a stare that felt like it penetrated Elliot to his very soul.

"I'm going to go to the public restroom and fuck your wife now. You're not allowed to go in, but I'll make sure anyone else who goes in there knows exactly what is being done to your wife. While I'm fucking her you can pick up the check. Sound good?"

Jordan excused himself and headed for the restroom. Elliot grabbed the waitresses attention. The waitress eventually returned with bill. He paid. he sat alone. And he waited. And waited.

Finally Claire and Jordan returned. They had been gone for some fifteen minutes. Claire looked a little disheveled. Her makeup looked like it had just been freshened up. Her dress creased. As they approached Elliot stood, informing them he had paid.

Claire kissed him on the cheek in thanks, lips lingering just long enough to make Elliot's chest ache.

"I've been a bad girl." She whispered seductively into his ear as she guided his hand to under the slit of her skirt and up to her pussy. Elliot could feel the wetness seeping out of his unfaithful wife's cunt. Unquestionable evidence of her latest infidelity, as if that was even needed.

"Lick it." she said. "I want you to taste me... and him." Elliot raised his fingers to his mouth, detecting the musky odor of sex before greedily licking his fingers clean. Shame rising in him, and not for the first time that evening as Jordan watched on victorious.

Outside, the night was warm, the sidewalk quiet. A car was already waiting — Jordan’s doing, no doubt.

“Well, this is us,” Jordan said flatly, his hand already reaching for the car door. There was no room left for doubt — Elliot had been dismissed.

“Where are you two headed?” Elliot asked, the words tumbling out too fast, too eager, too desperate.

Claire didn’t respond at first. She simply looked at Jordan, awaiting his answer like a deferential companion. Jordan gave a casual shrug, not even bothering to look at Elliot.

“We’ll see,” she said brushing Elliot’s arm.

Claire moved closer, but not in affection. Her kiss landed on Elliot’s cheek — chaste, indifferent, a pat on the head for the obedient dog she was leaving behind. Not a trace of the passion she once reserved for him. Only pity. Or worse — nothing.

Jordan slipped into the back seat without a word. Claire turned before she stepped inside, lifting her hand and lightly tracing her fingers down the side of Elliot's face — soft, almost tender, but the kind of tenderness that stung. Not intimacy — ownership. Closure..

She silently mouthed the words "Are you OK?"

Elliot nodded almost imperceptibly. It was only a tiny morsel of comfort but his heart soared.

“Don’t wait up,” she whispered — the same phrase as last time, but now with deeper finality. Suddenly Elliot was lost again.

She climbed in.

The door shut. The car pulled away. He just stood there, in the wash of the taillights as they faded to nothing, watching his wife disappear into the night with another man.

Elliot stood alone under the dull glow of the streetlight, wedding ring cool and heavy on his finger, his heart thundering.

And somewhere beneath the anxiety, the jealousy, the hollow ache in his chest, despite it all he was hard... Again.

Utterly, shamefully hard.

And she knew.
She wanted that.
This was her plan.

And Elliot trembled as he thought at what could possibly come next.

[chastity_boi]

Part 32: Between the Lines of Pleasure

The hallway outside Jordan’s apartment was quiet, the air thick with the intimacy of what had just happened. Claire and Jordan moved slowly, deliberately, but the air around between them buzzed with heat and intention. As the door clicked shut behind them, the world they shared with Elliot — its rules, its illusions of equality — fell away like the echo of fading footsteps.

Claire moved slowly, deliberately, slipping off her heels with a quiet sigh as her body relaxed into the space, like she was uncoiling from a tight spiral. Jordan stood nearby, watching her, not touching her yet, but close enough that the warmth between them simmered just beneath the skin. Claire could feel it. Every inch of her was attuned to the electricity that pulsed whenever he looked at her like that — eyes grazing her like he was memorizing every new layer she revealed. No longer a guest in his domain, Claire moved with the grace of someone who belonged.

"You’re getting comfortable here," he said, voice low, amused.

She glanced over her shoulder with a soft, knowing smirk. "Maybe I am."

He took a step closer. “You were radiant tonight,” Jordan said, voice low. “Did you see him watching you? The way you touched me in front of him — like it was second nature. Like you didn’t even need to hide it.”

Claire laughed gently, loosening the clasp of her earrings. "Because I didn’t. He saw every bit of it. Every brush of my hand. Every glance I gave you instead of him. And he swallowed it. Like a good little cuckold."

Jordan’s hands came to rest on her hips from behind, pulling her back into the heat of him. "Do you think he knows what you’re becoming?"

She tilted her head back against his chest, her voice softer now. "I think he sees it. He just doesn’t know what to do with it yet."

Jordan’s lips found the side of her neck. "And do you?"

Claire turned in his arms, her hands resting on his chest, her fingers absently tracing the buttons of his shirt. "No. But I know I don’t want to stop. I know I’m not afraid of it anymore. I’m not holding back. Not with you."

The air between them disappeared as his hand brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She tilted her head, leaning into the heat of his palm. Their lips didn’t meet right away. There was a hovering, an aching pause, a silent acknowledgment of the line they’d danced around for far too long.

Their kiss came then — full, hungry, deeply familiar. Not the rush of first lust, but the kind of craving that had grown roots, fed by secrecy and power. She moaned softly into his mouth, her body melting into his. There was no hesitation anymore. No guilt. Only hunger.

There were no longer any constraints. No Elliot.

“He looked so lost,” Jordan murmured, “like he didn’t know whether to be jealous or turned on.”

Claire laughed softly, wrapping her arms around him. “Both. Always both.”

Jordan pulled back enough to look at her. “And you? Do you still know what you’re doing in all this?”

She hesitated. For a heartbeat, the air shifted. But then she smiled again, slower this time. “I know I’m enjoying myself,” she said. “More than I ever expected.”

There was more kissing, deeper now, breathier. A touch at her waist, fingertips tracing the hem of her dress, raising goosebumps. She let herself fall back into the curve of his arms, let him guide her to the couch, where they sank into each other, a slow tangle of limbs and soft gasps.

And still, through it all, she thought of Elliot.

The memory of his wide eyes, his hand twisting the stem of his wine glass as he tried not to look, tried not to see the way she leaned into Jordan’s space. The raw, open need that burned in him when she flaunted her infidelity in his face.

"He’s not going to come back from this the same," Jordan murmured. "You know that, right?"

Claire straddled his lap, fingers running through his hair. "I don’t think I want him to."

Jordan reached beneath her dress and pulled her panties roughly to the side as he searched out her dripping sex. With his other hand he released himself, feeding the bulging head of his meaty cock into Claire's wet and hungry slit.

Claire’s eyes were bright, electric. Jordan went to thrust up inside her but Claire retreated slightly, clenching, holding him just inside her wet opening.

Claire exhaled shakily. "I don’t want the man I married anymore. I want the man he becomes when he gives up trying to be one."

Jordan chuckled, his hands sliding beneath her dress, fingers tracing her thighs. "You’re twisted."

"So are you."

Jordan pulled back slightly, studying her face. "You really mean that."

"I do," she whispered. "Tonight I watched him shrink. And I felt bigger. Stronger. Alive. With you, I’m someone else. Someone... better."

He smirked. "You’re addictive like this. I want more."

"So do I." Her voice was darker now, edged with mischief. "I want to see how far we can take it. How deep he can go. What would it take to make him beg? Really beg. To see him crawl — not just physically, but emotionally."

Jordan’s breath hitched, arousal unmistakable. "You want to humiliate him."

"I want to own him," she corrected, leaning closer. "But through you. With your help."

His hand tightened around her waist. "Tell me. What are you picturing?"

"What if we pushed him further? Really stretched him." Claire said, her breath coming slightly more urgently as Jordan's girth stretched her.

Claire’s eyes sparkled. "What if we deconstructed him as my husband, as a man. He set us on this course after all. What if we get him to bare his soul and reveal his darkest and most depraved fantasies and then give him exactly what he desires? We transcend the rules and lay him bare whilst setting ourselves free?"

Jordan groaned softly, his grip possessive now. "So you want him broken?"

Claire shook her head slowly. "Not broken. Transformed. I want to see what he becomes when we take everything from him… and give him something else. Something darker. I want to see how far he’ll go when he realizes he’s never getting me back. That this isn’t an act. That I love the way you take me... and I love who I become with you."

Jordan’s voice lowered to a growl. "Would you make him watch everything? Make him listen to the things I do to you that he never dared try?"

She smiled. "I'd make him thank you for doing them. I'd make him admit it turns him on. And then I’d deny him until he begged to be humiliated again."

Their mouths met again, frantic and heated, as hands slid beneath fabric and Jordan thrust deep into Claire.

Jordan’s breath caught, arousal thick between them. "You’d let him watch?"

She kissed him again, slow and deep. "If I told him to. If I whispered in his ear that I wanted him to see what it looks like when I truly surrender to someone else. Not just a game. Not pretend. Real."

"He’s terrified of losing you," Jordan said.

"He already has," Claire whispered.

They sank further into each other on the couch, Claire’s dress sliding higher, Jordan’s shirt half-unbuttoned, breaths ragged and heated as they continued to fuck with a primal savagery.


Back in the dim hush of their apartment, Elliot sat in the dark, the silence of the room pressing in on him. He hadn't turned on the lights since he got home. The dim city glow from the windows barely outlined the couch he hadn’t moved from. His phone lay beside him, dark and still, mocking him with its quiet.

She hadn’t messaged. Her parting words, "Don’t wait up".

The words replayed endlessly in his mind, overlapping with the image of her walking away with Jordan — heels clicking confidently, her fingers curled around Jordan’s arm, the flash of a glance over her shoulder that was equal parts reassurance and wicked invitation. They were together. Just two floors below. Her lips on his neck. Her thighs wrapped around him. He imagined the scene. Claire kneeling between Jordan’s legs, her lips slick with arousal and sin. Her laugh. Her breathy moans.

And still, he was hard. His body refused to align with his despair.

Elliot’s body betrayed him — every humiliating image, every imagined moan and flash of skin making his heart pound harder.

He wanted this. He had asked for this.

But he hadn’t expected to feel this… small. So inconsequential. Like a shadow to the radiant woman who he had just given to another man.

He hated the arousal. Hated that it pulsed through him with every imagined thrust, every imagined whisper she might offer Jordan that once belonged to him.

The jealousy burned. But beneath it, a sickness bloomed — because some part of him needed this. Needed her to come back used. Needed to see her covered in the scent of the man she now truly desired.

He looked at the wedding ring on his finger, still heavy. It felt absurd now. Like wearing the costume of someone who’d died.

What was he? What was left?

He touched himself, slowly, shamefully, replaying every humiliating moment. Her kiss on his cheek like an afterthought. Her fingers on Jordan’s arm. The final look over her shoulder — mocking, loving, gone.

He came quietly, bitterly, into a balled-up shirt that still smelled like her.

And when it was over, the grief returned like a flood.

He was no longer her partner.

He was her audience.

And he didn’t know whether that was heaven… or hell.

After, he didn’t even clean himself. He just sat there, sticky and hollow.

When she returned, she’d smell like him again.

He didn't know when she would return. Or what she would bring back with her.

Only that when she did, he would still be waiting.

[chastity_boi]

Part 33: Boundaries Rewritten

The morning sun crept through the blinds of Jordan’s bedroom, casting shafts of gold across the tangle of sheets and sweat-glazed skin. Claire lay sprawled on her stomach, her hair a disheveled halo across the pillow, her body marked with the remnants of the night — faint bruises along her thighs, the soft red outline of a hand on her hip, the possessive ache between her legs.

Jordan lay beside her, propped on an elbow, watching her with the quiet satisfaction of a man who hadn’t just fucked a woman — he’d conquered her. Claimed her. Rewritten her.

His fingers traced the curve of her back, down to the swell of her ass, spreading her cheeks slightly as he admired the fading evidence of last night’s finale. Claire stirred at his touch, a soft, contented moan escaping her lips. She didn’t flinch from the soreness. She leaned into it.

"Good morning," he murmured. voice low and rough.

Claire turned her face toward him, eyes still heavy with sleep, a drowsy smirk on her lips. "Is it?"

Jordan smiled. "Depends on your definition. You didn't exactly beg me to stop."

She rolled onto her side with a wince that turned into a grin. "No. I begged for more. And you gave it to me. All of it."

She turned to face him, and he saw it again — that glimmer in her eyes. Not just lust. Transformation.

He leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth. "You’re something else when you let go. I saw a different woman last night. The real you. You gave me everything last night. And I took it. Everything."

Her eyes darkened with memory. "You brought out someone I didn’t know was there. Or maybe I did, and I was just too afraid to let her out. You wanted to see everything I kept buried. And I did too. She scared me a little. Excited me more."

"You were never afraid," he said. "You were waiting for permission. And now you don’t need it."

Jordan’s hand curled around her thigh, pulling it over his hip. "We can keep going. Try new things. Push further. Last night wasn’t an ending."

Claire chuckled softly. "Further? I didn't think there was anything left to push."

"You think last night was the peak?" He bit her shoulder gently, then whispered, "I haven't even started breaking you in."

"We’re not done, Claire. Not even close. What we started last night… that’s just the beginning." he whispered against her ear.

She gave him a questioning look, half wary, half desperate. "Beginning of what?"

"To your new life. Your real one."

Claire’s lips parted. There was no resistance in her anymore. Only need. Hunger. A quiet, electrified surrender.

"I want it," she said. "Not just the sex. I want to belong. To you."

Her breath caught. Not from fear — from longing.

Last night had been primal, raw, the kind of sex that stripped away pretense. Jordan had taken her in every room, every position, even dragged her to the mirror to watch herself fall apart under his control. She’d laughed, cried, screamed his name. And he hadn’t stopped — not until she was overcome, spent, trembling. And then he’d made her crawl to him, thank him, straddle him, whisper how she belonged to him now. She had said things Elliot had never even dreamed of hearing.

Now, in the quiet aftermath of the morning, it wasn't the silence that spoke — it was the promise. She didn’t feel guilt — she felt clarity.

"We can turn this into something permanent," Jordan said, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Not just about humiliating him. But about us. About you being mine. Fully. No confusion. No half-measures."

Claire studied him. The sincerity in his voice struck her harder than his thrusts the night before.

"You’re serious."

"Always have been. He was the one who invited me in. You were the one who stayed."

Claire didn’t answer at first. She looked down, saw the fading outline of her wedding ring tan on her finger. The ring had come off last night. Jordan had asked, and she had obeyed. She hadn’t even hesitated.

Her voice was low when she finally replied. "I don’t miss the way things were. I miss who I used to pretend to be. This... this is real."

"I want to push further," she admitted softly. "I want you to take me there. Wherever 'there' is."

Jordan’s eyes flared with heat. "Then say it. Say who you belong to."

She hesitated, then whispered, "I'm yours."

"Again."

Louder. Firmer. "I'm yours. Not his. Not anymore."

He kissed her then, slow and claiming. Her surrender wasn’t just sexual — it was emotional, psychological.

Jordan kissed her again. This time slower. More dangerous.

Back in the apartment, Elliot was curled on the couch in the clothes he’d worn the night before. He hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. His body felt cold, but his mind was aflame with images he hadn’t seen and couldn’t stop imagining. The dinner still lingered in his memory — Claire’s dress, the way she leaned into Jordan’s touch, the muffled moans he swore he heard when she came back from the restroom. The feeling of his credit card in his hand, swiping for the meal as they disappeared into the night. But also his mind was aflame with images he hadn’t seen and couldn’t stop imagining — Claire’s dress riding up as Jordan took her in a dark restroom; her moans echoing through the walls of another man’s bedroom; her lips wrapped around a cock that wasn’t his.

Claire was with another man. Her lover, and she hadn’t come home.

He hadn’t expected to feel so abandoned. So unmoored. His wife had gone willingly into another man's bed, again, but this time it wasn’t just sex. It was intimacy. Possession. The way she’d clung to Jordan, the way she’d looked at him across the dinner table while Elliot paid for their evening — it hadn’t been performance. It had been truth.

He should’ve felt betrayed.

Instead, he was hard again. Shameful. Twitching under the weight of his own weakness.

His phone pinged. A message... from Jordan's phone.

He clicked on the file attachment. It was a video of a bedroom, Jordan's bedroom. The phone positioned on a side table and there on all fours, being savagely fucked from behind was his wife... his Claire. Her voice in that clip was wild, unrestrained, drunk on submission and conquest. It had been a warning. An invitation. A curse.

As he watched, he imagined what they might be doing now. Morning sex. Claire licking the sweat off Jordan’s chest. Her voice hoarse from screaming. Her body used. Her scent completely replaced by him.

As he played the clip back, despite himself, he came with a strangled sound into his boxers. The shame was immediate. So was the emptiness. And as he cleaned himself up, a deep, aching hollowness opened inside him.

His phone buzzed.

A photo. This time from Claire

Claire, naked, marked with bruises and Jordan’s cum drying on her stomach, looking into the camera with a satisfied, unapologetic smirk. Her caption: This is who I am now. Thank him.

He stared at the screen, heart pounding, cock twitching with helpless obedience.

He typed: Thank you, sir.

And sent it.

Then buried his face in his hands.

And still she was with him. Still she hadn't returned to her husband, to her home.

And the most terrifying part was — some sick part of him hoped she wouldn't. Because if she did, he'd fall to his knees. And he wasn't sure he’d ever stand up again.

Back in Jordan’s apartment, Claire sat on the edge of the bed, legs still trembling, the soreness between her thighs a reminder of how completely she’d been taken. Jordan watched her from the kitchen, shirtless, sipping his coffee.

"What’s next?" she asked. "About tonight," she murmured. "About him."

"Tonight," he said. "You go home. He needs a reminder," Jordan said. "That this isn’t some game where he watches you fuck and gets you back afterward. That ended the moment you gave yourself to me."

Claire turned to face him. "So what do we do?"

"We turn him into what he is."

Claire’s smile turned wicked. "A cuckold?"

Jordan shook his head. "No. A slave to the life he asked for. And we’re going to make sure he never forgets it."

"And you? You start living like my woman. Not part-time. Not pretending. You own it."

Jordan crossed to her in two strides and grabbed her chin. "Tonight, you show him. You tell him the truth about what we did, what you begged for, and you don’t comfort him. You let him break."

Claire’s breath quickened. Her thighs squeezed together. The image of Elliot watching her confess how she’d begged Jordan to take her ass, how she’d licked his cum off the floor, how she’d stopped thinking of Elliot as a man… it lit a fire inside her.

She kissed Jordan hard. When she pulled back, her voice was clear:

“He wanted this,” she said. “He asked for this.. We’ll make sure he never forgets what that means.”

Jordan nodded. “And now we’re going to give it to him. More than he ever imagined.”

She pressed her forehead to his chest, trembling.

Jordan grinned. "Good girl."

She stood, naked, unapologetic. Her body marked, glowing, proud. She kissed him deeply once more, and said, "Then let’s rewrite the rules."

Jordan grinned. "We already have."

[chastity_boi]

hi guys - sorry for the lack of updates> had my in-laws over from the UK. Hope you enjoy the new chapters and thanks for the comments. Open to any opinions or intercourse. Except sexual

[chastity_boi]

quick opinion poll - should I also post this story on literotica (or similar)? Just thinking if people are enjoying this is it worth pushing out to a larger audience?

[chastity_boi]

also if you want guide the story in any way please send me DMs and I will try to tailor the story accordingly

[Robertcuck]

i have some nice ideas.

[rrake]

Hi Mate, Your story is crazy and, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for sharing it with us. I just love it.
Share it with whoever you want. Share your story on Literotica as if you wanted to share Claire ;-)
Wow, that escalates quickly.
And I don't know how you're going to land your story but let Claire have some remorse too. In my experience, a woman who moves so quickly from one man to another ends up leaving the first. End of story. That would be a shame.
Maybe let the neighbours hear or see Claire having so much fun with a husband who isn't hers.

[Oneillfranko]

Loving this. Excellent writing and storytelling skills.

[shamed411bee]

Classic. Love it!

[Jujube]

All I can say is Wow! I think this is one of the best cuck stories on the Internet! I’d definitely publish it on Literotica, your talent with words, mood, and just general hotness is off the charts! I think you know exactly how to propel the story, with her boyfriend staying over at Claire’s apartment, chastity cages, sissygasms, and supervised cum-eating! And of course, lots of toe-curling orgasms. Your turning Claire into a love-struck cumslut for her alpha god is pure fire ! I think delving into Elliot’s psychology and surrender is worth exploring as well, after all, it’s a cuckold story! Keep going please

[happystrife]

also if you want guide the story in any way please send me DMs and I will try to tailor the story accordingly

You are on the right track. keep going. whatever is in YOUR head needs to get on paper. this is literally the hottest cuckolding story of all time. Don’t let your vision / brain try to accommodate other people’s horn dog shit.

part of what makes this so hot is that it’s real. Like this lowkey happens. It happened to me. It’s like you are writing about my personal experience.