Chapter 5: Almas straddles Nabil's face, her soaked thong pressing against his lips as she recounts watching Zara take three cocks at once: 'She screamed when they came inside her - all three at once - and you know what your pathetic wife did next? She crawled to me and begged to clean their cum from my pussy with her tongue.'
Her question hung in the air like a physical blow. "Does knowing she got railed on some bastard’s desk... does it make you hard? Even now?" Nabil stared at Almas’s hand hovering near the damp lace on his thigh. His cock, spent and shrunken moments ago, gave a traitorous twitch beneath the wet fabric. Shame flared hot and immediate, warring violently with the sickening image Almas had painted – Zara, his Zara, bent over, taken raw by a stranger. Used. Called a cheap slut. By her own voice. The confirmation still echoed, shattering something fundamental within him.
He tried to recoil further into the worn sofa cushions, pulling the shirt tighter, but Almas moved faster. Her hand slammed down, not on his cock, but on his chest, shoving him flat against the backrest. The force knocked the breath from him. Before he could react, her other hand hooked into the waistband of the borrowed lace thong and yanked.
The delicate fabric, already strained and damp, ripped easily. It tore down his legs, a final shred of pathetic modesty discarded onto the floor like trash. He was completely exposed, naked, vulnerable on the sofa, his softening cock lying flaccid against his thigh, the remnants of his earlier release glistening coldly on his skin.
"Pathetic," Almas breathed, her gaze raking over his nakedness with cold appraisal. "A limp, useless little worm. No wonder Zara needed real cocks." She placed one high-heeled foot firmly on the sofa cushion beside his hip, then the other. She stood above him, straddling his prone body, the intricate black lace of her thong mere inches from his face. The scent of her, musky and potent, mixed with the lingering smell of his own humiliation, filled his nostrils. Her shaved cunt was a dark shadow behind the sheer lace. "Get up. On your knees. Now."
Trembling, tears leaking silently down his temples into his hair, Nabil obeyed. There was no fight left. Only the hollowed-out shell of betrayal and the terrifying dominance radiating from Almas. He slid stiffly off the sofa cushion onto the rug before the unlit fireplace, kneeling on the scratchy fibers. He kept his head bowed, unable to look up at her, at the dark triangle above him. The cold air of the room prickled his exposed skin.
Almas didn’t step down. She remained standing on the sofa cushion, looming over him, her stance widening deliberately. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of the lace thong. "Look at me, worm."
He forced his head up. Her eyes were chips of obsidian, devoid of warmth, filled only with cruel amusement and absolute control. She slowly, deliberately, peeled the lace down her thighs. It caught for a moment on the curve of her hip, then slid free, joining his ruined garment on the floor. She was naked from the waist down.
"Sit back on your heels," she commanded. "Hands behind your back."
He complied. He sat back, resting his weight on his heels, arms pulled behind him, wrists crossed. Utterly displayed, utterly subjugated. The position forced his chest slightly forward, his head tilted back to look up at her. The apex of her thighs was directly before his eyes, the neat, dark curls glistening slightly. The musky scent intensified, overwhelming.
Almas reached down with one hand, fingers sliding through her own wetness. She brought her glistening fingertips to his lips. "Taste," she ordered.
He hesitated, a sob catching in his throat. Her other hand slammed into a fist in his hair, yanking his head back viciously. "Taste it, you fucking coward! Taste what a real woman tastes like! Not like your dried-up, whore wife!"
He opened his mouth, a choked whimper escaping. Her fingers pressed roughly against his lips, smearing her slick fluid. The taste was tangy, earthy, complex. Unmistakably female. Unmistakably her. She pushed her fingers further in, rubbing them against his tongue. "Suck. Clean them."
He sucked obediently, the humiliation burning through him, yet a traitorous warmth stirred deep in his pit of his belly. She pulled her fingers free with a wet pop, dripping saliva.
"Good little slut," she murmured, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous purr. She shifted her stance slightly, widening her legs further, the dark folds of her sex mere inches from his face. "Now you’re going to listen. You’re going to listen to what your perfect wife really craves. What she begged me to let her do." She reached down again, not touching him this time, but tracing her own lower lips with a fingertip. "Remember Mark? The one who fucked her raw on the desk?"
Nabil flinched, the name a brand.
"Mark has a friend," Almas continued, her voice smooth, hypnotic despite its cruelty. "Bigger. Rougher. We hired them both. For Zara. My little
Almas’s fingertip traced lazy circles around her clit, glistening with her own wetness. “Mark’s friend,” she hissed, her voice thick with cruel relish, “was built like a fucking draft horse. Cock like a beer bottle.” Below her, Nabil trembled, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils, a sickening counterpoint to the images flooding his mind. He kept his hands locked behind his back, obediently seated on his heels, his gaze fixed on the dark triangle hovering inches from his face. “They didn’t waste time,” Almas continued, her hips shifting slightly, bringing her slick folds closer to his mouth. “Mark shoved her face down onto the desk, pinned her wrists. Held her there while his friend lubed up that monstrous fucking dick with spit.” She chuckled, a low, dark sound. “Zara screamed when it first pushed in. A real scream. Not play-acting.”
Her hand descended, fingers tangling roughly in Nabil’s hair. She didn’t guide him, she forced him forward, grinding his face hard against her pussy. “Lick,” she commanded, her voice sharp as a blade. “Lick me clean while you hear how your wife took two strangers.” The taste exploded on his tongue – musky, tangy, overwhelmingly potent. He flinched instinctively, a muffled sob vibrating against her flesh. Her grip tightened painfully. “Lick, you pathetic fuck! Or do you need me to describe how she begged for it harder? How she came screaming when that thick cock stretched her asshole wide open?”
He obeyed. His tongue, clumsy with shame and revulsion, pushed past her outer lips, finding the swollen, slick heat within. He lapped tentatively, the salty-sweet fluid coating his tongue, the intimate texture overwhelming. Almas moaned, a sound of pure, dark satisfaction, grinding her hips against his face. “That’s it,” she purred, her voice dropping to a husky whisper dripping with malice. “Taste me, Nabil. Taste what real desire smells like. What your wife really craved.” She rocked against his mouth, forcing his tongue deeper. “She loved it. Loved being split open. Loved being used. Mark’s friend came deep inside her cunt, pumped her full. Then Mark pulled out, still hard, shoved his cock into her gaping asshole while she was still dripping.” Nabil gagged, his tongue still working against her clit, tears streaming freely now, mixing with her juices on his chin. The betrayal was a physical wound, ripped open anew with every filthy word.
“She was so fucking messy,” Almas sighed, grinding harder, forcing Nabil’s nose into her curls. “Cum leaking out both holes. Mark’s friend wasn’t done. He grabbed her hair, dragged her off the desk onto her knees.” Almas’s free hand slid down her own stomach, fingers dipping briefly into her wetness before trailing lower. “Right here,” she hissed, pressing her fingertip against her own asshole, presenting it inches from Nabil’s mouth. “He shoved her face right into his buddy’s ass crack. Told her to clean the sweat off his balls. Lick his fucking asshole clean.” She pressed her fingertip harder against her puckered rim. “Lick mine, Nabil. Lick my ass while I tell you how your wife obeyed.”
The command shattered him. He froze, his tongue stilled against her clit, his whole body rigid with horror. Licking her pussy under duress was one violation; this was something else entirely, a deeper degradation. Almas yanked his hair savagely. “NOW!” she roared. “Lick my asshole, you worthless cuck! Taste it! Just like Zara tasted that stranger’s!” Defeated, utterly broken, Nabil leaned forward. His tongue, trembling violently, extended tentatively. It touched the tight, crinkled ring of muscle. The taste was different, earthy, musky, intimate beyond comprehension. He flinched but didn’t pull away. He dragged his tongue flatly across her asshole, the coarse hair scratching his nose.
“Yes,” Almas hissed, arching her back, pushing her ass harder against his face. “Just like that. She sucked his balls clean. Licked every inch of his taint. Gobbled his ass like it was fucking dessert.” Nabil kept licking, his movements becoming rhythmic, desperate, driven by a horrifying mix of obedience and a traitorous, deep-seated arousal that warred with his disgust. He licked her asshole with slow, broad strokes, then flicked the tip of his tongue against the tight pucker. Almas moaned again, grinding her hips in a slow circle against his mouth, smearing her wetness across his cheeks and nose. “She swallowed his cum when he came again,” Almas gasped, her voice thick with her own building pleasure. “Swallowed every fucking drop. Said it tasted better than yours.” She reached down, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing hard in time with Nabil’s tongue on her ass. “Faster!” she demanded. “Make me come while you listen to how your wife became a filthy piss-slut for them!”
Nabil obeyed, increasing the pressure and speed of his tongue against her asshole, simultaneously trying to maintain the rhythm on her pussy as she ground against him. The dual sensations, the relentless degradation, the graphic descriptions of Zara’s betrayal – it fused into a horrifying, electric current through his core. Almas’s breathing became ragged gasps. “They… they stood over her,” she panted, her hips bucking erratically against his face. “Both of them. Pissed all over her. Her face, her tits, her cunt… soaked her.” Her fingers worked furiously on her clit. “She opened her mouth… drank it… fucking gulped it down!” Almas’s body tensed violently. A guttural cry tore from her throat as her thighs clamped hard around Nabil’s head, trapping him against her as her orgasm ripped through her. Her wetness gushed against his chin, her asshole clenched rhythmically against his probing tongue. She rode his face through the convulsions, her cries echoing in the shadowed room, the scent of sex, sweat, and utter domination thick in the air. She slumped slightly, panting, her grip on his hair loosening just enough for him to gasp for breath, his face slick with her fluids, the taste of her ass and pussy and the phantom taste of Zara’s humiliation coating his mouth. Almas looked down at him, her eyes dark pits of satisfied cruelty. She traced a fingertip through the mess on his cheek. “Good boy,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Now you know.”