Chapter 5: The Masked Revelation
The frozen image of Betty’s terrified face still haunted the air between them, a spectral accusation hanging over the stained coffee table. Roger felt gutted, hollowed out by the video’s revelation, his brother’s predatory smile confirming every monstrous suspicion. Before he could form a coherent protest, another sharp knock rattled the apartment door. Mri simply raised an eyebrow, a silent command. Roger moved on numb legs, opening it to find Betty standing there, eyes downcast, clutching a small overnight bag – but transformed. A sleek, featureless black leather mask covered her entire head, only her mouth and lower jaw visible, her familiar auburn hair tucked completely out of sight. She wore a severe, high-collared black dress that flowed to her knees, buttoned tightly up the front, looking eerily anonymous. "Right on time," Mri announced, his voice cutting through Roger’s daze. "Your… entertainment has arrived."
Mri gestured Betty inside. She moved with stiff, mechanical steps, stopping just inside the living room, her masked face angled towards the worn carpet. The scent of her familiar perfume, usually comforting, now felt like a cruel joke layered over the lingering stench of Roger’s shock and Mri’s cologne. "Kneel," Mri commanded, his tone devoid of warmth. Betty obeyed instantly, sinking gracefully onto her knees before Roger, her posture unnervingly submissive. Roger’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of disbelief. "This one’s been in training," Mri said conversationally, circling behind Betty like a panther assessing prey. He placed a possessive hand on her masked head. "Had to break her in thoroughly. Started off reluctant, tight as a fucking drum. Needed constant… correction."
"Show him," Mri ordered, his fingers tightening in Betty’s hair. Roger watched, paralyzed, as her trembling hands rose to the buttons of her dress. She worked them open slowly, one by one, revealing naked flesh beneath. There were no undergarments. The dress fell open, pooling around her kneeling thighs, exposing her full breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle between her legs. Roger’s gaze snagged on the small, distinct strawberry birthmark just below her left breast – the one he’d kissed countless mornings. Recognition slammed into him anew, colder, harder than before. This wasn't anonymous. This was his wife, naked and masked, kneeling at his feet because his brother commanded it. His cock, traitorously, stirred against his zipper, a hot pulse of shameful heat flooding him.
"Took weeks," Mri continued, his voice a low, intimate rasp beside Roger’s ear, narrating the nightmare. "Teaching her her true purpose. How to be a proper little cocksleeve. Had to reward obedience, punish hesitation. Made her service my associates. Watched them use her mouth, her pussy, her tight little ass." Each word was a lash. Mri nudged Betty’s shoulder. "Demonstrate your primary skill, pet. Show my brother how well you swallow." Betty flinched but leaned forward. Her masked face tilted up towards Roger’s crotch. Her slender hands, shaking slightly, fumbled with his belt, then his fly. Roger couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He watched his wife’s familiar fingers pull his hardening cock free into the stale apartment air. Her breath hitched, a tiny, muffled sound behind the leather.
"Go on," Mri purred. "Show him what a perfect cockslut you've become." Betty opened her mouth. Her tongue, pink and familiar, darted out nervously, licking a tentative stripe up the underside of Roger’s shaft. He groaned, a sound torn from deep within him – horror, arousal, utter degradation twisting together. She took the swollen head between her lips, warm and wet. "That's it," Mri murmured, stepping closer, a voyeur to Roger’s ruin. "Suck it deep. Like I taught you. Take it all the way down that eager throat." Betty obeyed, sinking slowly, taking more of him into her mouth, her head bobbing with a rhythm Roger knew she hadn’t learned from him. He felt the tight suction, the soft pressure of her tongue swirling around the crown, the back of her throat fluttering against the tip as she took him deeper. Saliva slicked his length.
Mri’s narration was relentless, a scalpel dissecting Roger’s marriage. "She gags beautifully now," he said, almost fondly. "Learned to relax her throat. To breathe through her nose. To take it rough." As if on cue, Betty’s masked head dipped lower, forcing more of Roger’s cock down. She gagged, a wet, choking sound that vibrated deliciously around him, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through his core. Tears welled at the corners of her visible eyes, spilling over, tracing glistening paths down the smooth leather covering her cheeks. Roger whimpered, his hand instinctively tangling in her hair, not sure if he meant to push her away or hold her there. "See how she cries?" Mri chuckled darkly. "Loves it. Gets her filthy cunt dripping. She comes hardest when she’s choking, when she feels utterly used. Just a set of holes to be filled." Betty’s muffled moan vibrated around Roger’s cock as Mri described her arousal, her body trembling. Roger stared down at the masked face working his shaft, the tears, the lips stretched obscenely wide around him, the small, secret birthmark stark against her pale breast. His wife. Sucking his cock on her knees, commanded by his brother. The whiskey glass slipped from his nerveless fingers, shattering on the floor like his world. Amber liquid spread across the worn carpet, soaking into the fabric like blood.