Chapter 177: Morning After
The dawn light through the narrow window of his cell felt like an accusation.Rupert lay on the thin cot, every muscle sore in a way he’d never known. The ache was deep, internal, a phantom violation that pulsed dully in time with his heartbeat. The plastic cage felt alien, a sick joke glued to his flesh. He could still smell the lube, the leather, her perfume. When Ruby’s key rattled in the lock, he flinched.“Breakfast in ten,” she said, her voice crisp. She was back in her black vinyl corset, hair perfect.“Don’t bother showering. You’re clean enough.”
The Adjacent Quarters dining room was a study in muted humiliation. Eight small tables, each set with a single plain white plate and a glass of water. The cucks—‘Green,’ ‘Grey,’ ‘Brown,’ all the colours of mud—filed in silently. They avoided each other’s eyes.Rupert sat, the hard chair pressing against his tender ass. He stared at his empty plate.Ruby clapped her hands once, a sharp crack that made everyone jump.
“Good morning, gentlemen.Or whatever’s left of you.” A sleek projector screen descended silently behind her. “Before we serve your… nutritious start to the day, we have a special premiere. A little cinematic entertainment from last night’s Public Suite. Courtesy of our multi-angle, high-definition cameras.”
A cold dread, sharper than any physical ache, coiled in Rupert’s gut. He knew, before the first flicker of light, exactly what he was about to see.The room darkened. The projector whirred.And there she was.Margot.Larger than life. Her crimson hair was a wild cascade over her bare shoulders. She was on the circular bed, kneeling before Leo.The bull’s physique was a sculpted counterpoint to her voluptuous curves. The camera lingered on her face, on the adoring, hungry look in her eyes as she gazed up at him, his thick cock resting against her cheek.
“Hello, lovers,” Margot’s recorded voice purred, a whisper picked up by sensitive microphones. “Shall we give them a show?”
Rupert wanted to vomit.He wanted to scream. He could only stare, trapped by the leather cuff still on his wrist, by Ruby’s watchful gaze, by the silent presence of the other broken men.The film cut to a different angle.Close-up. Margot’s mouth, pink and wet, opening to take the head of Leo’s cock. Her lips stretched around the girth. A little moan escaped her, a sound Rupert hadn’t heard in years, as she sucked him deep, her head bobbing with a practiced rhythm. The tiny gold bell on her clit piercing jingled faintly with her movements, a cruel, festive counterpoint.“Look at her throat,” Ruby commented quietly from the shadows. “See how it bulges?She’s taking him so deep. Such a good girl.”
Leo’s hands fisted in her hair, not gentle. He guided her pace, fucking her face with slow, deliberate thrusts.The sound was obscene: wet, gagging, desperate. Margot’s eyes watered, but she never pulled away.She reached between her own legs, fingers working in quick circles. The bell jingled faster.
“She’s getting off on this,” one of the other cucks murmured, a note of horrified awe in his voice.The scene shifted again. Leo pulled Margot onto all fours. He mounted her from behind, one hand gripping her hip, the other pawing at her heavy breast.There was no tender lovemaking here. This was raw, animalistic fucking.Each thrust slammed into her with a force that made her whole body shake. The bedframe thudded against the wall in a relentless rhythm.“Yes!Fuck, yes! Right there!” Margot’s cries were unabashed, gloriously profane. “Fill me up, baby! Give it to me!”
Rupert watched, mesmerized by the horrifying choreography of it.His wife.His Margot. Being split open by another man, reveling in it, begging for it. He saw the moment Leo’s thrusts grew erratic, heard the guttural grunt as the bull buried himself to the hilt and held there. Margot’s back arched, a silent scream on her face as her own orgasm ripped through her, making her clench around him.
The screen froze on that image: Margot’s ecstatic, contorted face, Leo’s possessive grip on her body, a thin trickle of sweat tracing the line of her spine.The lights came up.No one moved. The only sound was the faint hum of the projector retracting.Ruby stepped forward, a remote in her hand. “Nutrition,” she announced, as if nothing had happened. Two staff members wheeled in a trolley of bland, beige porridge.Bowls were placed before each man.It was cold.
“Today’s agenda,” Ruby continued, pacing. “Your wives and their bulls will be enjoying the private beach.Au naturel.Your task is service.You will be attendants. You will stock the ice buckets, you will deliver the champagne, you will bring platters of fruit and cured meats when the bell is rung. You will be silent, you will be unobtrusive, and you will keep your eyes suitably downcast. Unless, of course, you are instructed to look.”
She stopped behind Rupert’s chair.He could feel her breath on his ear. “Any questions, ‘Blue’?”
He shook his head, a tiny, defeated motion.“Good.Eat up. You’ll need the energy.”
The beach was a postcard of debauchery. The sun beat down on a crescent of white sand, where the hotwives and their bulls lounged on large cabana beds.Bodies, tanned and oiled, glistened. Laughter, easy and sensual, floated on the salt-tinged air. The cucks, dressed in identical loose linen trousers and nothing else, their plastic devices starkly visible, moved like ghosts at the periphery.
Rupert’s assigned station was near a cluster of three cabanas.One of them was Margot’s. She lay on her stomach, Leo beside her, his hand idly stroking the swell of her ass.The tiny gold bell on her glinted in the sun. Rupert kept his head down, rearranging bottles in an ice bucket, the clink of glass loud in his ears.
A soft, silvery ding from Margot’s cabana.The bell.
Ruby, overseeing from a shaded pergola, gave a slight nod.
Rupert picked up the tray he’d prepared: a bottle of chilled rosé, two glasses, a bowl of plump strawberries. He walked over, the hot sand burning his feet. He stopped at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on the woven canvas.“Just set it here, please,” Margot said, her voice lazy with contentment.
He knelt, placing the tray on a low table. As he straightened, his eyes flickered up, just for a second.Margot was watching him, a small, cryptic smile on her lips. Leo hadn’t even looked up.
“Thank you, darling,” she said, the word ‘darling’ a delicate knife twist.
As Rupert turned to go, Leo’s voice, deep and casual, stopped him.“Actually, stay for a moment.Hold the ice bucket. My hands are full.”
Leo’s hands were, in fact, now cupping Margot’s breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples.Margot sighed, melting back against him. Rupert stood, frozen, the heavy ice bucket in his hands.
He watched as Leo’s mouth found Margot’s neck, as his hands slid down her stomach. He watched as Margot shifted, rolling onto her back, her legs falling open in a gesture of utter invitation. The sun illuminated the neatly trimmed red curls there, the glint of her piercing. Leo leaned over her, kissing her deeply, one hand resuming its lazy exploration between her thighs.Margot’s breathing hitched. Her hips arched off the bed.“God, Leo…” she whispered against his mouth.
“Need something, beautiful?” he murmured.“Your mouth.I need your mouth on me.”
Leo didn’t hesitate. He slid down her body, his broad shoulders pushing her thighs wider. And then he buried his face between her legs.Rupert’s grip on the ice bucket tightened. He was forced to watch, to hold his post. Margot’s head fell back, a soft cry torn from her throat.Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, then tangled in Leo’s blond hair. The bull’s movements were expert, voracious.The sound was explicit, wet and hungry. Margot’s pleas became a fractured chant. “Yes… right there… don’t stop… fuck…”
Her back arched violently, her knees clamping around Leo’s head. A sharp, delighted scream pierced the beach’s lazy atmosphere. Her orgasm shook her, leaving her trembling, spent.Leo finally lifted his head, his chin glistening. He grinned up at her, then looked directly at Rupert, holding his gaze.
“You can go now,” Leo said, his voice thick.
Rupert stumbled back, the ice bucket slipping from his numb fingers, crashing onto the sand.He didn’t stop to pick it up. He just turned and walked, blindly, the image of Leo’s wet, triumphant face seared into his mind, the sound of Margot’s ecstasy echoing louder than the surf, the jingle of a tiny gold bell ringing in time with the shattered pieces of his old life. The service bell chimed again from another cabana, a demand he could no longer hear.