Chapter 10: Ruin Me
The next two hours dissolved into a wet, aching blur of sensation. Marcus was a tireless engine of possession. He fucked her on her back, driving her heels into the air beside his shoulders, his thick cock spearing so deep she felt it in her throat. He flipped her onto all fours, taking her doggy style, one large hand fisted in her brunette hair, the other digging into the soft flesh of her hip as he slammed into her, the sound of their bodies meeting a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed off the crimson walls. He laid her on her side, curled around her, and entered her from behind, a position so intimate and devastating she sobbed into the silk. He sat on the edge of the bed and made her ride him, impaling herself again and again, her muscles trembling with exhaustion and unsustainable pleasure.
She came apart repeatedly, each orgasm a seismic tremor that ripped through her, more intense than anything her husband had ever coaxed from her body. They were less peaks of pleasure and whole geographic regions of feeling being rewritten. She screamed into the pillow, she chanted his name like a prayer, she went silent, her eyes wide and unseeing as a pulse of pure electricity locked her spine. Marcus watched it all, a satisfied sculptor observing his work, his own release a controlled, deliberate event he withheld, stoking her again and again until she was a shuddering, sweat-slicked mess, incapable of coherent thought.
It was near midnight when he finally left her there, collapsed on the ruined black silk, every muscle liquefied. The room smelled of sex, salt, and her own surrender. She floated in a numb haze, listening to the distant hum of the city, trying and failing to piece together the woman she had been that afternoon.
The door opened again. Marie flinched, expecting Marcus returning for another round. But there were two silhouettes.
Marcus entered first, now dressed in a dark robe, looking refreshed and ominously calm. Behind him, Nabil filled the doorway. The giant security guard’s expression was one of flat, hungry anticipation.
“Recovering?” Marcus asked, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re adaptable, Marie. I’ll give you that. But you need more than me. They all do. Every single one of the timid little wives I’ve brought into this room. One man isn’t enough to scratch the itch you all pretend you don’t have.”
Marie’s heart began a frantic, hammering rhythm against her ribs. She pulled the silk sheet up to her chin, a futile gesture of modesty.
Nabil stepped forward, his eyes never leaving her. Without a word, he began to undress. His movements were methodical, deliberate. The jacket, the t-shirt, the boots, the trousers. Each article of clothing hit the floor with a soft thud. He stood naked before her, and a whimper escaped Marie’s throat.
Marcus was large. Nabil was something else.
His cock was a monstrous, thick shaft of dark flesh, already half-hard and swinging heavily between tree-trunk thighs. It was longer, thicker, a brutal piece of anatomy that seemed to defy the limits of her comprehension. Veins corded its length, and the head was a broad, blunt helmet. It was a tool of pure, unadulterated penetration.
Marcus settled into the plush armchair in the corner, crossing his legs, a king awaiting a performance. “She’s all yours, Nabil. Break her in properly.”
Nabil’s face split into a grin that held no warmth. He took two heavy steps toward the bed. “Look at you. Little married pussy, all used up and still hungry.” His voice was a gravelly baritone, each word blunt and uncut. “You see this?” He wrapped a massive hand around his cock, giving it two rough strokes. It thickened and rose to its full, terrifying stature. “This is what you need. This is gonna be your new truth. Your mouth, your cunt, that tight little asshole my boss already opened up for me… they’re mine now. I’m gonna stretch ‘em all. Make ‘em fit.”
He loomed over her. “Suck it. Get it wet for what’s coming.”
Trembling violently, Marie pushed herself up. The sheet fell away. She leaned forward, her mind screaming in protest, but her body moving on some deep, shameful autopilot. She opened her mouth and tried to take the head.
It was too big. Her jaw strained immediately, a sharp ache in her hinges. She could barely get her lips around the crown. She flicked her tongue, tasting salt and skin.
“Pathetic,” Nabil grunted, but he was smiling. He placed a rough hand on the back of her head, not forcing, just present. “Wider. Think of your husband’s little dick and open up for a real one.”
She tried, gagging as the broad tip nudged the back of her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes. She pulled back, gasping.
“Again,” he commanded.
She went back down, managing to take an inch more, her saliva slicking the shaft. It was a futile effort, a kitten trying to swallow a log. Nabil watched her struggle, his breath coming heavier.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. With a sudden shift, he pushed forward, stuffing about half of his tremendous girth into her mouth. Her jaw screamed in protest, her throat convulsed, and she choked, her eyes streaming. He held it there, buried in her stretched lips, then leaned down and crushed his mouth to hers in a brutal, possessive kiss. She could taste herself, and him, and the overwhelming sense of violation was dizzying.
He began to fuck her face in short, brutal jabs, gripping her head like a ball. “That’s it… take it, you greedy bitch. Stretch that pretty mouth. Gonna make you gag on it every time I see you.”
The pressure built in his thighs, his grunts becoming more urgent. He pulled out of her mouth, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening cock. “Gonna paint you,” he growled. “Mark you.”
He fisted his cock, stroking hard and fast. Marie stared, paralyzed, at the pulsating head.
It hit her like a warm, sudden slap. The first thick rope of cum splashed across her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She gagged at the bitter, alien taste. The second shot flooded her throat. She tried to swallow, but it was too much, too fast.
Nabil pulled his cock back, but he wasn’t done. “Open your eyes,” he snarled.
She did. The third and fourth pulses shot across her face—hot streaks across her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose. She sputtered, turning her head, but he followed her, coating her hair, her neck, her breasts. It was a deluge, a vulgar baptism. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, dripped from her chin onto her nipples.
He finally finished, his massive body shuddering, giving his cock a few last squeezes over her, milking the last drops onto her forehead.
He stepped back, panting, looking down at his work. Marie sat frozen, her face and upper body glazed white, struggling to breathe through the mess in her mouth and nose.
“Look at that,” Nabil said to Marcus, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Pretty little wife. Now she’s properly used. Just a hole to be filled.” He wiped his cock on the silk sheet beside her. “The rest of her holes will be easier. They’ll have to be.”