Chapter 170: First Night Welcome
The shower had washed away the physical evidence but not the feeling. Margot’s skin still hummed, a low-grade current beneath the surface. She slipped into the sheer white robe provided, the silk whispering against her sensitized flesh. The gold ring, with its tiny, silent bell, felt heavier, a persistent anchor to what had just happened.
A soft chime sounded in the suite. Ana’s voice, gentle through the intercom. “The sunset gathering is beginning on the main terrace, señora.”
The terrace was an expanse of weathered teak and candlelight, suspended between the darkening sapphire sky and the black velvet sea. Seven other women stood or sat in clusters, all in similar sheer robes, their forms backlit by the fiery horizon. The air smelled of jasmine, salt, and expensive perfume.
Champagne flutes glinted in the dying light. A long table groaned under platters of glistening oysters, towers of scarlet lobster, bowls of fat, purple olives. Margot accepted a glass, the bubbles sharp and crisp on her tongue.
A woman with a severe black bob and hawk-like eyes sidled up to her. She introduced herself as Simone. Her gaze dipped to Margot’s robe, noting, Margot was sure, the outline of her piercings. “Fresh meat,” Simone said, her voice a smoky drawl. “I can always tell. You’ve got that ‘just-got-laid-by-a-stranger’ glow. Who’d you draw? Leo?”
Margot nodded, taking another sip to steady herself.
“Lucky you. He’s a thoroughbred. Built like a dockworker and fucks like he’s charging by the hour. My bull last year, Christoph, was all brute force. Lovely, but no finesse. This year I have Alessandro. Italian. Talks dirty in three languages. My cuck, ‘Grey’, nearly came in his little cage just listening to the voicenotes I sent.” She laughed, a sound like breaking glass. “How’s your man settling in? ‘Blue’, isn’t it?”
The use of the codename was a jolt. It stripped Rupert of his identity, turning him into a concept. “I… I assume so,” Margot said. “They took him straight from the airport.”
“They always do. Standard procedure. They’ll have them all in the common room now, getting the rules drilled into them. No approaching the main hotel. No attempts at contact. Meals delivered to their quarters. Daily ‘reports’ to be written. They’re probably sitting there in their little jumpsuits, cocks straining in those plastic prisons, absolutely pathetic.” Simone’s eyes shone with a merciless delight.
A brunette with a soft, motherly face joined them. She was ‘Green’s’ wife, Eliza. “Don’t be too hard on them, Simone. My Geoffrey… ‘Green’… he’s so eager to please. He sent me off with a handwritten list of things he hoped my bull would do to me. It was actually quite sweet. In a perverted way.”
“What was on the list?” asked a younger woman, her blonde hair piled high.
Eliza smiled wistfully. “Oh, you know. That he’d make me come with his tongue first. That he’d… take me from behind and call me names. That he’d finish on my back and make ‘Green’ clean it up with his tongue later.” She said it all with the calm tone of one discussing a grocery list. “I gave the list to Marco—that’s my bull. He said he’d see what he could do.”
The group laughed, a warm, conspiratorial sound. Margot’s initial tension began to melt, replaced by a sense of dizzying camaraderie. This was a sisterhood of shared secrets.
“The humiliation rituals are the best part,” confessed a redhead named Chloe (‘Yellow’s’ wife). “Last year, my bull made a video of me sucking him off, zooming in on my wedding ring. Then he made ‘Yellow’ watch it on a loop while he polished all his shoes. The poor darling was a mess. He wrote in his report that it was the most aroused he’d ever been. They’re all such wrecks. We’ve broken them so beautifully.”
Margot thought of Rupert, gentle, oblivious Rupert, sitting in a sterile room somewhere. Was he wearing a jumpsuit? Had they made him watch something? A cold, thrilling trickle of power ran down her spine.
“What did your Leo do?” Simone asked, arching a brow at Margot.
All eyes turned to her. She felt a flush rise on her chest. She took a breath, leaning into the new version of herself.
“He fucked me like he was punishing me for my husband’s existence,” she said, her voice clear. “No talking, no kissing. Just his cock, splitting me open on the bed. He made me say my cunt belonged to others now. And I came screaming it.”
A appreciative murmur rippled through the group. Eliza reached over and squeezed her arm. “There you go. You’ve got the spirit.”
“The first time is always a revelation,” Simone purred. “That moment you realize your husband’s dick is a useless, sentimental trinket compared to the real thing. ‘Grey’ hasn’t been inside me in four years. He licks Marco’s leftovers from me every night, and that’s the only pussy he gets. He’s never been happier.”
The champagne flowed. The stories grew more graphic, peppered with filthy language and roared laughter.
“...and he just kept slamming into my ass, calling me his ‘greedy little cuck-sow’…”
“...I came so hard I saw stars, and all I could think was ‘Paul would have tapped out twenty minutes ago’…”
“...he made me taste myself on his cock, said my cuck husband would never know my flavour was that strong...”
Margot listened, laughed, and added her own details. She described the feel of Leo’s hands, the brutal pace, the obscene, wet sounds of their fucking. Each confession was a thread weaving her tighter into this glittering, amoral web. She belonged here. This was her design.
As the moon rose, a silver path on the water, Ana appeared. “Ladies. Your companions await you in your suites for evening protocols.”
The women exchanged glances, smiles turning private, hungry. They drained their glasses.
Simone leaned close to Margot as they drifted back inside. “Enjoy your second helping. And remember,” she whispered, her breath warm against Margot’s ear, “the real fun starts tomorrow when they bring the cucks to the viewing gallery. Nothing like seeing ‘Blue’s’ face while Leo rearranges your guts.”
Margot walked back to her suite alone, the sea breeze cool through the sheer silk. The hollow, well-used ache between her legs was a badge. She pushed open her door.
Leo stood by the terrace doors, silhouetted against the night. He had changed into dark trousers and nothing else, his torso a map of lean muscle in the low light. He turned, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
“Did you have a pleasant dinner?” he asked.
“I did,” she said, untying her robe. It fell open. She let it slide from her shoulders, standing naked before him once more. The bell on her piercing gave a faint, clear chime as she stepped forward.
He set his glass down. His eyes tracked her movement. “And what did you discuss?”
“Our husbands,” she said, stopping an arm’s length from him. “Their weaknesses. Their cages. What you do to us that they never could.”
A slow smile touched his lips. He closed the distance, his hand coming up to cup her jaw, his thumb rough on her lower lip. “And what do I do that they never could?”
“You ruin us for them,” she breathed.
His hand moved from her jaw to her throat, not squeezing, just holding, a dominant claim. He walked her backwards until her knees hit the foot of the bed. “On your knees. Face the terrace.”
She obeyed, kneeling on the cool tiles, facing the vast, star-dusted night through the glass. She heard the clink of his belt, the zip. Then his hands were on her hips, pulling her back.
“Arch your back. Present it.”
She did, pushing her ass out, lowering her shoulders. She was completely exposed, offered. She heard him spit into his palm, a crude, wet sound, then felt the broad, slick head of his cock nudge against her other entrance.
He didn’t ask. He just pushed.
The burn was intense, a sharp, stretching invasion. She cried out, her fingers scrabbling against the tiles. He gave her no time to adjust, sinking deeper with a relentless, corkscrewing motion until he was fully seated, his hips flush against her ass.
“Fuck…” she gasped, the fullness overwhelming.
He began to move, short, hard strokes that burned and filled in equal measure. One hand fisted in her red curls, pulling her head back. The other snaked around her hip, his fingers finding her swollen clit, the gold ring. He pinched it, twisted it, making the bell jangle frantically with each of his thrusts.
“This is what you bought, Margot,” he grunted, his pace quickening, his balls slapping against her. “This is the premium package. A cuckold’s wife taking it up the ass from a real man. You think ‘Blue’ is imagining this right now?”
“Yes!” she wailed, the pain melting into a deep, wrong, spectacular pleasure.
“He’s imagining it, and his little plastic dick is straining, and he’s getting nothing.” Leo’s fingers worked her clit ruthlessly. “You’re going to come on my cock in this tight ass, and tomorrow, he’s going to watch while I stretch this pretty pussy wide open. He’s going to watch you beg for it.”
The crude words, the brutal penetration, the deft manipulation of her piercing—it coalesced into a detonation. Her orgasm ripped through her, a seizure of raw sensation that made her scream into the night, her body clenching violently around the invading thickness.
He roared, pounding through her climax, then stilled, buried deep. She felt the hot, internal pulse of his release, another claiming in a forbidden place.
He held there for a long moment, then slowly pulled out. She slumped forward onto the tiles, trembling, spent.
She heard him zip his trousers. He walked to the door, pausing.
“Sleep well, Margot,” he said, his voice calm once more. “Big day tomorrow. Your audience awaits.”
The door clicked shut. She lay on the cool floor, the taste of salt and champagne and degradation on her tongue, the sea whispering promises of the spectacle to come.