Sally and David

Once in my room, I waited for five minutes before pulling the door open slightly, the buzz of the collar a familiar and ominous warning. I lay on the bed, biding my time, my thoughts a whirlwind of escape. At about 2:15, there was a tap on the door, and she stepped in.

 "Get up, please, David, and put the chair in the middle of the room," she said, her voice a low, menacing purr.

 I considered ignoring her, but the sight of the fob controlling the collar in her hand left no room for disobedience.

I stood and did as she asked, placing the chair in the middle of the room.

 "Sit down, please, hands behind your back," she commanded

I complied and quickly felt the cold metal of the handcuffs snap into place, binding me to the chair. She stepped behind me, her movements efficient and precise. Once satisfied, she left the room, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked into her room, leaving me in a state of anxious anticipation.

I heard her rustle around, the sound of drawers opening and closing. When she reentered, she held a soft rope in one hand and a gag in the other, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and something darker. "What the fuck," I thought, my mind reeling as I realized the extent of her control. She bent down and tied my ankles to the chair legs, her touch firm and unyielding.

"Open your mouth, David," she said, her voice low. I kept my mouth firmly closed. The slap caught me off guard, a sharp, stinging pain that had me opening my mouth in shock. She took the opportunity to ram the gag into my mouth, the taste of rubber and her control a bitter pill to swallow. I gagged as it was pushed to the back of my mouth, and the strap tightened behind my head. She leaned forward and kissed me on my plugged mouth, a mockery of tenderness. 

"I don’t want you to hurt yourself with any silly ideas of shouting or anything," she said, as if she were doing me a favor. She looked at her watch, a silent countdown to Mike's arrival. 

"Must get on, David, Mike will be here in a little bit, I want to be ready for him," she said, her words laced with a promise of something darker.

Twenty minutes later, she returned, transformed into a vision of pure seduction. She wore a mid-length black dress that clung to every curve of her voluptuous body like a second skin, her tanned legs bare and gleaming, accentuated by black 3-inch heels that clicked with predatory promise. Her face was made up to perfection—smoky eyes that promised sin, lips painted a deep crimson that begged to be kissed. She smelled of expensive perfume and raw, unadulterated lust.

She twirled slowly, showing off her curves with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly what effect she had on men. "Do you think Mike will like this?" she purred, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "I know he's always fancied me. Do you think his wife will mind sharing him for the afternoon?" Her smile was beaming, triumphant, as she leaned down and stroked my face with mock tenderness. "Ohh, David, don't look so sad. I've brought you something to watch so you don't get lonely up here."

She held up her iPad, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "You get to see everything, darling. Every touch, every kiss, every moment I make him mine." She hooked the fold-over pad cover on a coat hanger, positioning it perfectly for my viewing. "I want you to see how a real man reacts when I give him what he's been craving for years."

She inserted the earbuds, her fingers lingering at my ears. "You'll hear every sound, David. Every moan, every whispered word, every time he tells me how much better I am than his wife." She kissed my gagged mouth, her lips cold against the rubber. "Maybe you'll learn something about how to please a woman properly. Or maybe you'll learn your place, watching from the sidelines while your wife becomes another man's fantasy come to life."

The screen flickered to life, showing the front door camera. "He's going to beg for me, David. And I'm going to give him everything he's ever wanted. Everything you could never provide." She adjusted the angle one final time, ensuring I wouldn't miss a single moment of her seduction. "Enjoy the show, cuckold. This is what happens when you fail to satisfy your master."

I looked up at the iPad, and on the screen was a camera feed. It was from one of the many cameras she had installed around the house so that she could keep an eye on me. This camera feed was fixed on the front door. Every second stretched into an eternity, each one a painful reminder of my captivity and her control. My breathing sounded too loud in my ears, magnified by the earbuds, a constant, humiliating reminder of my presence. Beneath it all, the faint tick of the clock downstairs kept time—steady, indifferent, a cruel countdown to what was to come. Somewhere, glass touched stone with a gentle clink, and a cupboard opened and closed, the sounds a haunting symphony of domestic normalcy that felt anything but normal.

Then the doorbell rang, a sharp, jarring sound that cut through the tension like a knife. I jerked instinctively, the chair answering with a dull protest. My pulse spiked, a betrayal of my emotions that I couldn't control. On the screen, she appeared, already composed, already ready. She smoothed the front of her dress, a deliberate, seductive gesture, and adjusted the neckline just a fraction, a small but significant act that promised more. She tilted her head and looked directly up at the camera, her eyes gleaming with a mix of triumph and something darker. She blew a kiss, a mocking gesture.

 Only then did she open the door, her movements slow and deliberate, a predator ready to claim her prey. Mike stood there, awkward as ever, clutching a bottle of wine like a shield, a pathetic attempt to protect himself from what was to come. She didn't step back right away. Instead, she leaned in—just enough to shorten the space between them, just enough to claim it. Her hand brushed his arm as she moved aside, a casual touch that was anything but innocent.

"Mike," she said, her voice low and sultry, "I'm so glad you came." Her words were a mix of warmth and something else, something calculated and dangerous. He laughed, nervous and uncertain, his discomfort a stark contrast to her confidence. "I was worried," he said. "You sounded… pretty upset." She exhaled softly, the kind of sigh meant to invite concern and sympathy, a masterful act of manipulation.

"I am. It's been a lot," she said, her voice laced with vulnerability. She led him in, her hand lingering at his elbow longer than necessary, a possessive touch that left no room for misunderstanding. The door closed with a final, echoing click, a sound that resonated upstairs.

"I made us a drink," she said, her voice a low, inviting murmur. "I hope that's alright. I just needed something to take the edge off." "Of course," Mike said quickly, his eagerness to please evident in his tone. "You've had a rough time."

The feed shifted smoothly and professionally to the lounge, a seamless transition that spoke to her meticulous planning. She sat beside him on the sofa—not touching, but close enough that space itself felt intentional, charged with unspoken promises. Their knees nearly met, a casual intimacy that was anything but innocent.

"You know," she said, her voice low now, conversational, "you always were easy to talk to." Her hand settled on his knee as if it had simply landed there by accident, a casual touch. She crossed her legs slowly, the fabric of her dress shifting, riding a little higher, a deliberate, seductive move that was both subtle and unmistakable. Nothing overt. Nothing you could point to. Everything unmistakable.

Mike cleared his throat, a nervous, uncertain sound that spoke of his discomfort and desire. "I-I'm here to help," he said, his voice a mix of concern and something more. She smiled at that, not kindly, but appreciatively.

"You always are," she said, her voice low. Something cold settled in my stomach, a sickening realization of what was to come, a twisted dance of seduction and control. "It's lonely," she said lightly, her voice a mocking whisper, "with David not here." She didn't rush to explain. She let the word lonely hang between them, weighted, suggestive, a silent promise of what was to come.

”He left," she added after a moment, her voice low. "I suppose he needed space." Silence followed, a heavy, oppressive weight that hung in the air, a pregnant pause. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her— "Funny thing is… other than me, you seem to be the only one who misses him." The meaning wasn't for Mike. It was for me, a cruel, mocking reminder of my place, my humiliation, my captivity.

Mike shifted, his discomfort palpable. His voice dropped, a low, uncertain murmur. "I guess… I always cared about you both." She nodded slowly. "I know," she said, her voice a low, dangerous purr.

Her hand stayed where it was, a possessive touch. She lifted her glass, fingers relaxed, unhurried, and took a slow sip. Over the rim, her eyes flicked up—straight into the camera, a silent, mocking promise of what was to come. Not a smile. Not quite.

If only Mike could have known that upstairs, I was bound to a chair, gagged, and forced to witness this intimacy being assembled piece by piece. The realization hit me like a physical blow, a sickening understanding of her true intentions. This was the punishment, meticulously crafted and delivered with cruel precision. For my disobedience, for believing I still mattered, for daring to think I had any power in this twisted game.

Mike shifted on the sofa, the cushion giving a quiet sigh under his weight, a sound that seemed to echo the tension in the room. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into his glass as if it might give him the right words, the courage to navigate this dangerous terrain. "You know," he said slowly, his voice a mix of concern and something more, something that promised his own downfall, "you shouldn't have to go through all this on your own." His words hung in the air, a silent plea for connection, for understanding.

She didn't answer right away, letting the silence do the work, a masterful act of manipulation that left him hanging, uncertain, and eager to fill the void. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, tired, a performance of vulnerability that was anything but real. "I'm used to it," she said, her words a low, dangerous murmur that promised more, something darker, something more sinister.

He turned toward her fully now, concern overtaking caution, his eyes searching hers for a truth that wasn't there. "That's not fair. Not after everything you've done for people. For him," he said, his voice a mix of anger and something more. She smiled faintly, the kind of smile meant to discourage disagreement.

He hesitated, then reached out—just briefly—his fingers brushing her forearm as if to emphasize sincerity, a pathetic attempt to connect, to comfort. The contact barely lasted a second, a fleeting touch that was a lie, a promise of something more that would never come. "I mean it," he said, his voice a low, uncertain murmur. "If you need anything. Anything at all." His words were a silent plea, a promise of devotion that she would exploit without mercy.

She looked down at where his hand had been, then back up at him, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "That's kind of you," she said, her voice a low, dangerous purr. She didn't move away, a silent invitation, a trap that he was too eager to fall into.

He swallowed, a nervous, uncertain sound that spoke of his discomfort and desire. "I just… I don't like the idea of you sitting here alone, thinking you have no one," he said, his voice a low, desperate whisper, a plea for connection, for understanding.

Her knee touched his this time, not pressed, just there, a casual intimacy that was a lie, a claim of ownership. "Well," she said lightly, her voice a mocking whisper, "you're here now." Her words were a promise.

He laughed, a little embarrassed, a nervous, uncertain sound that spoke of his discomfort and desire. "Yeah. I guess I am," he said, his voice low.

She leaned back, settling in beside him, close enough that he could smell her perfume properly now, not overpowering, but intimate, familiar. "You know," she added, as if confiding something small, something insignificant, "I almost didn't answer your call. I didn't want to impose." Her words were a lie, a manipulation.

"I'm glad you did," he said quickly, too quickly, his eagerness to please evident in his tone. "Really. I mean—" He stopped himself, then continued anyway, his voice a low, desperate whisper.

"David always seemed so… certain. About things. About you two," he said, his voice low. Her expression changed—not sad, not angry, but thoughtful.

"Yes," she said, her voice a low, dangerous purr, a promise of what was to come, a threat, a command. "Certain." She lifted her glass, then paused, her eyes flicking up to meet his, a silent, mocking promise of what was to come.

"Would you mind topping this up for me?" she asked, her voice a low, inviting murmur. He stood immediately, too eager.

He took her glass from her hand, their fingers touching this time, longer than before. As he poured, she spoke casually.

"It's nice," she said, "having someone here who doesn't expect me to explain myself."He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting hers, and a silent understanding.

"You don't have to explain anything to me," he said, his voice low. When he handed the glass back, he didn't let go right away.

Neither did she. She lifted her glass in a small, private toast, then finally withdrew her hand. "Thank you," she said, her voice  low, "It means more than you know." And I knew then, with a sickening certainty, that he wouldn't leave early. He wouldn't ask questions.

She pours him another drink, her fingers brushing his as she hands over the glass. "So how's work been?" she asks, but her eyes are already doing something else.

They'd been chatting for twenty minutes, harmless small talk about his job, the weather, and his wife. She'd been inching closer on the sofa, her bare leg now pressed against his. Mike notices, clears his throat, and tries to keep up the conversation.

I noticed that all talk of me had been sidelined, until…..

“You know, Mike, David hasn’t been paying me any attention for some time. She placed her hand high on his thigh. “At one time, I thought he might be having an affair or something.”

“Oh, I can’t believe that. He replied, about to continue, when she asked. 

“Do you think about me?" She says it casually, like she's asking about the time. "When you're alone. Do you think about what I'd be like?"

The question hangs in the air. He stares at her, mouth slightly open. She takes the glass from his hand and sets it on the coffee table. Then her hand slid high up his thigh to just under his crotch. She smiled to herself, noticing the hardness growing in his jeans. 

"Because I think about you," she whispers, her hand gliding over his growing erection. "I think about this."

Her mouth finds his neck. Her hands are at his belt, working the buckle with practiced ease. He groans, his cock already straining against the denim.

"Wait," he breathes, but his hands are stretched out on the back of the sofa.

"No waiting." She slides off his lap, kneeling between his legs. Her fingers free his cock, thick, hard, already leaking at the tip. She licks it once, slow, from base to head.

She risked a look up at the camera, giving me a malicious smile before she took him in her mouth, no preamble, no teasing. Just deep, wet, enthusiastic sucking. Her head bobs, her tongue working the underside of his shaft. He threads his fingers through her hair, trying to control the pace, but she's in charge.

After a minute, she pulls off with a pop. He complained as she stood up. Then smiled as she stepped out of her dress, revealing she was pantie-free. 

Upstairs, I was trying to shout through the thick rubber gag she’d shoved in my mouth. Tears in my eyes,  pain in my cock as it crushed itself against the cage.  

She steps to her bag, pulls out a small silver foil pack, tears it, and pulls the rubber out. She’d never used one of them before, even when we first met.  I could see in glorious 4k on the pad her nipples were rock hard, and her pussy was swollen and most. 

She took hold of his cock, and he sighed as she slid the rubber over the head of his cock and down its shaft.   Then squeezed his balls and pulled at his cock, indicating the floor.

She maneuvered herself into a kneeling position, facing the camera.

“Take me now, Mike, your wonderful cock, give me your wonderful cock, I want to feel something again.”

The cuffs bite into my wrists, secured to the chair behind my back. I bite into the gag, and I see everything on the crystal-clear screen of the iPad.

“Fuck me”, she says. “Right here”

He doesn't ask about me. Doesn't question why she's offering. He stands, steps out of his jeans, and lines up. I watch his cock disappear into my wife's pussy. She moans, but her eyes are open, and she is looking directly into the camera. 

"Harder," she gasps, pushing back against him. "Make me scream."

He grips her hips, starts pounding. I can hear it—the slap of flesh, her wetness, his grunts. She never breaks eye contact with the lens. With me.

"That's it," she pants, her voice breathy but clear. "Fuck me like he can't."

Mike’s oblivious. He just fucks her harder, his balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. She reaches back, spreads her ass cheeks wider, giving me a better view of his cock stretching her open.

“God, you're so big, it hurts so good, you're so much more of a man than David.”

She was banging nails into my heart. Every word, every action, was devised to hurt me.

She comes with a shudder, pussy clenching around him, but her eyes stay locked on the camera. Her orgasm face is for me—triumphant, cruel. Mike follows seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning as he empties inside her. 

On screen, Mike’s thrusts stutter and stop. He’s buried himself deep, groaning as he came. My wife pushes back against him, milking every drop. When he pulls out, the condom is hanging from his cock, heavy with cum, sagging like a water balloon.

She turns, kneels in front of him. Takes the base of the condom in her fingers. "Let me," she says, voice sweet.

She slides it off slowly, carefully, keeping the reservoir tip upright. The latex is opaque white, full. She holds it up to the light, examining it like a prize. Then, deliberately, she pinches the open end and ties a tight knot. The cum sloshes inside, trapped. She looks directly into the camera, holding it up.

She grabs her dress, as if for protection, and holds it to her.  The shift is jarring. One moment she's moaning, grinding back against him; the next she's holding her dress so tight, face twisted into something like disgust.

Mark is still catching his breath, cock half-hard and glistening. “What—“

"You should be ashamed." Her voice is ice. "You're a married man. David's best friend."

He stares, confusion flooding his face. "You—what? You invited me—"

"I invited you for a drink." She stands, backing away, clutching her dress at her throat. "You took advantage. I was vulnerable. Emotional."

I watch through the iPad, the scene unfolding like a soap opera. My cock, which had been straining, now felt limp with dread. She was playing another part; she was writing the narrative.

"That's not true —" Mike’s hands were up in defense. "You were all over me. You said—"

"I said what you wanted to hear." She pointed a trembling finger. "You forced yourself on me."

Mike's face goes pale. He yanks up his jeans, hands shaking. "That's a lie. That's a fucking lie."

"Is it?” She said, smirking. "Who do you think your wife will believe? The grieving wife home alone, or the married man who came over while her husband was away?"

Silence. Then Mike's voice, small: "What do you want?"

She laughed, sharp and cold. “I want you to fuck off and never come back.”

I hear Mike's sharp intake of breath. "You're insane.” He said, backing away, he turned to leave, and over his shoulder he shouted, “No wonder David has fucked off from you, you crazy bitch.

The front door slammed, then the car door, then the gravel as Mike made his escape. “Lucky bastard, “  I thought to myself,”At least he get’s to escape.”