After moving to my husband’s hometown due to marriage, I found myself feeling lonely and isolated, knowing hardly anyone in the new environment. To combat this, I joined a hobby club to make new friends. Time spent with them was enjoyable, and one day, I was invited to a drinking party.
Feeling it would be rude to decline, I attended the party. The attendees were heavy drinkers, and I soon found myself heavily intoxicated. A kind man offered to send me home in a taxi, and I trusted him to do so.
However, when I woke up, I found myself in an unfamiliar room, lying on a bed in just my underwear. Panic and fear surged through me as the man approached, saying, “Your husband is away on a business trip, right? You can stay here.” He pressed his hard member against my thigh.
When I resisted, saying, “Please stop,” he coldly replied, “You can’t sue me for rape; you brought this on yourself.” Trembling with fear, he grabbed my hair and said, “If you don’t want to have sex, take care of this,” forcing his erect member towards my mouth.
Reluctantly, I had no choice but to comply. The room filled with the sound of my reluctant sucking. My arms were tied behind me as I continued to pleasure him orally. Sitting on the bed, he mocked me, saying, “What a bad wife you are, sucking another man’s cock while your husband is away.”
Tears filled my eyes as I was compelled to respond, “I’m happy to be sucking someone else’s cock.” His mocking intensified as he forced himself deeper into my mouth, making me realize the full extent of his control over me.
“You’re truly a dirty whore,” he said, moving me into a missionary position. His rough hands explored my body as his tongue teased my most sensitive areas. The combination of humiliation and pleasure overwhelmed me, and despite my shame, my body responded to his touch.
He laughed as he moved to a cowgirl position, commanding, “Show me how much you enjoy it.” Despite my initial resistance, the pleasure soon overtook me. I began to move my hips, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving me. My consciousness blurred as I became completely lost in the forbidden desire.
“You’re mine now,” he declared as I reached a sexual climax, his words cutting deep into my soul. His movements grew more intense, and my body continued to respond to his pleasure.
The next day, he continued to dominate me, not letting me leave. He forced me to lick his entire body, my will completely broken. Rumors among friends and his threats kept me in line, and I found myself returning to him, drawn by a mix of fear and twisted desire.
Under his control, I awakened to forbidden desires, unable to escape his grasp. This forbidden night led me down a path I could not turn back from, lost in the depths of his control and my own awakened pleasure.
Despite my initial resolve never to see him again, three days later I found myself summoned by his cold, demanding voice. He called me to meet him in his car, where he forced me to perform fellatio for nearly an hour. The confined space, filled with the sound of my reluctant sucking, turned into an unbearable prison of humiliation and suppressed pleasure.
Afterward, we went to a hotel where he made me lick his entire body, my humiliation deepening with each degrading act. The memory of my husband’s face haunted me, tears of shame and betrayal mingling with the saltiness of his skin. But my body, traitorous and desperate, responded to his touch with a hunger I couldn’t control.
Then came the call from the friend who had invited me to the drinking party. “I heard you’re dating him now. Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you!” she said cheerfully. Shocked, I learned that a fabricated story of domestic abuse was being used to justify my presence with him. It was a sickening cover-up, binding me further into his web.
Shortly after, he sent me explicit photos of myself from the previous encounters. My heart raced with fear as he called, “I’m picking you up now. Be ready.” My compliance was absolute; the fear of exposure and the twisted need for the pleasure he inflicted drove me to obey.
He made me agree to a one-year contract, promising not to ejaculate inside me and instructing me to take birth control when with my husband. The terms were humiliating, but I had no choice. In the car, he exposed himself and pressed my face down, forcing me to service him. “You really do love this, don’t you?” he sneered.
As he neared climax, he demanded, “Beg me to let you swallow it.” My voice, weak and broken, complied, and he rewarded me with a torrent of his release, filling my mouth and throat. “From now on, say it without being asked,” he ordered, patting my head like a pet.
The hotel room became a place of relentless training and degradation. He commanded me to wash him with my tongue, turning even mundane tasks into acts of humiliation and erotic torment. My identity as a wife and a person dissolved, replaced by his complete domination over my body and mind.