4 -- Kayla

Anyone who has seen the first movie in the Saw series knows the shock that is seeing Jigsaw getting up from the floor of that filthy bathroom at the very end. Anyone who has seen that movie would understand the reaction I had, and always have, when Vincent Gillefort rose from that damn chair, right after Ethan left and I closed the front doors behind him.

The best way to describe it, although not entirely accurately, is tingling. I felt my body tingle. My vagina got wet the moment I saw him coming toward me. Tall. Imposing. With eyes that would turn Medusa herself to stone.

I watched his part in that night's performance just as I had done on other occasions: surrendered. In the silence of a prey that does not want to attract the attention of its predator.

Vincent came. He opened the closet door and went inside, keeping the door open so I could see him gradually build up his full splendor.

I saw him get rid of those ridiculous clothes: the jeans, the T-shirt, the damn pair of white socks. Then I saw him put on each of the pieces that had always been his natural attire. What he was always destined to wear. Giorgio Armani dress pants. An impeccable black Cesare Attolini dress shirt. A black tailor-made Brioni suit jacket over the shirt. The John Lobb Bespoke shoes and the platinum Rolex came last.

“You look gorgeous,” I said to him as soon as he came out of that closet. I had to say it. What stood before me was the epitome of masculine perfection. At the height of his brilliance and triumph.

He smiled, came over to me, and briefly caressed my face. But he didn't say anything in response. He didn't have to. Vincent was perfectly aware of how grand he was.

As if asking to be touched, I held his hand.

“He was nice, Vincent,” I said. “He was polite. Restrained, to a certain point. He did his best to show you respect and apologized for everything afterward. Please control yourself. It was his first time.”

“Kayla, my angel,” he said, covering his eyes with a pair of Armani sunglasses. “You are living proof that self-control is my greatest virtue.”

Vincent then opened the front door of his penthouse and stepped outside.

5 -- Ethan

I took the elevator down the seventy floors of that skyscraper feeling on top of the world. I had just had sex with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Majestic. She could have had a harem of heartthrobs at her beck and call, but instead she had chosen me as the man who would cuckold her husband that night. Me. A nobody.

How lucky can a man get, right?

Well, my luck didn't go beyond the ground floor.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, three huge men in dark suits entered, blocking my exit before I even understood what was happening. I was forced to retreat to the back of the cabin; the only empty space left for me. Without saying a word, one of them pressed a button on the panel, and the doors closed again.

“Hey, what the hell is going on here?” I wanted to know. “Who are you guys?”

“Mr. Gillefort would like to have a word with you, sir,” one of them replied, after checking something on the electronic device. “Don't make a fuss, and everything will be over in no time.”

The elevator went down to a floor that looked like some kind of disused garage, or basement. They dragged me out with a push. I saw fluorescent lights; parking spaces, all empty; no security cameras. The elevator doors closed, and I saw, from the digital display on the wall, that it went back up to the 70th floor. The bouncers held me by the shoulders the whole time it took for the elevator to go up to the roof and down to the basement once more.

I felt like I was up to my neck in shit at that point already. But it wasn't until I saw Vinnie come out of the cabin, dressed in clothes that even in my wildest dreams I wouldn't dare to wear, that I realized just how screwed I was.

Because it was Keyser Söze who got out of that elevator. Not Vinnie. Not Kayla’s wimpy cuckold husband. It was Keyser-Fucking-Söze, man.

“Oh, fuck!” I said in a trembling, squeaky voice.

He came up to me. He took off his sunglasses and handed them to one of his henchmen.

“Hey, Vinnie, what's up?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from sounding too pathetic. “What's the deal with these goons, man? I thought we had an understanding. I told you I won’t be seeing Kayla anymore. I… Hey, man, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“Ethan—” he said, in the same tone of voice Kayla had used with him earlier.

My survival instincts made me figure out real quick what I was supposed to say next. “I'm sorry for everything, Mr. Gillefort. I won't be calling Kayla anymore, sir, I swear!”

“As I said before, Ethan, intention does not always match reality. And in your case, the reality is that you are not quite sorry enough yet.”

And then... well, I guess you know what happened next.

When it was over, I was lying on the floor of that garage, with my body numb and aching. But I hadn’t passed out.

Mr. Gillefort knelt beside me. Not a single drop of sweat was beading on his forehead.

“Now it is enough. Do you agree with me, Ethan?”

“Yes, sir,” I managed to stammer.

“I have just two questions to ask you before we wrap up here. And I want you to think carefully about your answer to each of them, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” he said, patting my sore cheek. “The first one, then. Here goes. Do you want to see my face in front of you ever again?”

“No, sir.”

“I’m afraid I’m not entirely convinced. Surely you can do better than that.”

I had to take a deep breath before answering. “No, Mr. Gillefort. I never want to see you again, sir. Neither you nor your wife. Never again. I swear.”

“All right, I believe you. I wish you would believe me when I say that I liked you. I really did. As Kayla so aptly pointed out, you were friendly, you showed respect in many of our interactions, you apologized. Yes, I liked you. And that is the reason you are leaving here on your own two feet tonight. I accept your apology.”

He stood up, walked over to one of his henchmen, and took something from him. Then he came over to me and knelt again. He placed two objects on the floor in front of me: a paper envelope and a hammer.

"We are almost done, Ethan. I have just one more question to ask. And the question has to do with a choice. If you choose to go home and forget everything that happened tonight, I will give you this envelope. Inside it, you will find a generous sum of money as compensation for everything you have been through. I will ask my security guard to take you home, and I am willing to cover any medical expenses you may incur as a result of our conversation."

He then took the envelope away from me and moved the hammer closer.

“If you choose to file complaints against me or Kayla, or go to the newspapers or the internet, or post any of this on social media, I will give my security guards permission to use this hammer. I will leave it to your imagination how they will use it. So, my second question is simple: which will it be? The envelope, or the hammer?”

I gave him the correct answer, of course. “The envelope, Mr. Gillefort.”

He picked up the hammer from the floor and stood up, leaving the envelope of money next to me.

“Take him home,” he said to another of his henchmen. “Safe. I do not want you to lay a finger on him, is that understood? If he needs to go to a hospital, take him. Stay with him and pay for all his expenses.”

“Yes, sir,” I heard the goon say.

True to his word, Mr. Gillefort did indeed give me a generous sum of money for all my... inconveniences... that night. The driver put me in the back seat of a car, which I don't even remember what type it was, and took me home. He was very nice, by the way, after I managed to gather the strength to talk to him coherently. He even bought me a Bic Mac meal on the way.

Can you believe it?

It's amazing how hungry you get after having sex twice with a billionaire. And then getting beaten up by her billionaire husband.

6 -- Kayla

I was already lying on Vincent Gillefort's king-size bed when he came back from that garage about twenty, twenty-five minutes later. I never really liked that part. The part when he went down.

And with Ethan, of all people? Poor guy. He was nice. I really liked him. Good sex. I was afraid we might have gone a little too far with the humiliation act, and afraid of what Vincent might do to him next.

On the other hand, Vincent had never lost his temper. He is unshakeable. Impossible to bend, impossible to break. I had complete confidence in his good judgment when it came to his own moments of pleasure. And Ethan, as much as I liked him, was already a thing of the past. It was my real man I was eagerly waiting to come back to me.

And he came back. Finally.

Vincent entered the room smiling. He took off his jacket, threw it on the cushioned bench, and sat down at the foot of the bed. Without me asking, he started massaging my feet. Only Vincent knew that my feet were one of my main erogenous zones. That is where my sexual pleasure always begins.

“So? How did it go?” I asked, dreading what he might give me as an answer. But I had to get this over with once and for all.

“A few bruises, a black eye, a little swelling,” he said, with the stoic calm that only he is capable of reproducing. “No broken bones. A few thousands richer.”

He must have felt in my feet my relief.

“He'll be fine,” he added, smiling. “What about you, Kayla?”

“What about me?”

“Was it too much for you? Being part of this again? Having sex with him at my request?”

I sat up on the bed and placed my legs on his lap. He started massaging them. God, how his touch felt good! But he was still waiting for my answer.

“The sex was good. The kissing was good. With you it's better. It’s always better with you. To me, the real torture is saying all that humiliation shit to you. Making fun of you, making you do those horrible things. That indeed is too much for me.”

Vincent sat closer to me. He untied my bathrobe, and gently opened it, slowly exposing to him my naked body underneath it. My breasts, my belly, my shaved pubis.

“It is all part of the act, my angel. And you played your part perfectly, as you always do.”

“I get a knot in my throat every time you make me say those things, did you know that?”

“Then enough acting for today.”

He came up to me and kissed me so passionately that I lost control of my body. I melted into his lips. Then I stopped and smiled at him with that mischievous smirk I had worn all night.

“If I give you one last command, will you obey me?”

“Your wish is my command, Kayla,” he said, twirling the tip of his index finger around my left nipple. “It always has been. It always will be.”

“Show me your pee-pee, then, honey.”

Vincent didn't answer. He just stood up, smiled, and undressed. Slowly. Piece by piece. He pulled down his underwear last. And I saw it. His cock. Beautiful. Proportional. Hard. Glistening with arousal. Pointing at me and begging me to kiss it and put it in my mouth.

“Come to me, Vincent Gillefort,” I called him. “Come to me, my gangster. My man. My love.”

And he did. Fully.

Our sex was intense. Passionate, but raw. Brutal, but tender. Not like other times. With Vincent, it's never like other times. It lasted for hours. In the end, when he came inside me and our bodies were apart, I realized that I had made love to him once again. Yes. Love.

I love him. Intensely. With all my heart.

Even though I can never profess this aloud.

7 -- Vincent Gillefort

I say goodbye to Kayla with a heavy heart.

Every time we do a stunt like we did tonight, saying goodbye to her is always the part that hurts me the most. I don’t care if they call me a cuckold. It doesn’t affect me at all if they call me impotent. It doesn’t affect me at all to get naked in front of the idiots she brings to my penthouse. I can even put condoms on them, as I have already done a few times before, no big deal.

Saying goodbye to her, yes. That is the worst part.

“Are you sure you don't want to stay here tonight?” I ask, trying to delay the moment when I must open the door.

She comes to me. Hugs me tight. Kisses me on the mouth.

And then she pulls away.

“You're my best client, Vincent,” she says, thinking that it will comfort me somehow. “My only client, in fact. But if I spend the night here, I’ll run a huge risk of falling in love with you.”

“And why is that a bad thing exactly?” I ask.

“Our worlds. They are too far apart. And that sucks, if you ask me. But we will always be in each other's lives. Two lonely hearts, walking different paths, but paths that cross onto each other from time to time. That must count for something, don't you think?”

With my head down, I agree. “Someday, Kayla. Someday.”

“Yes, someday. Not today.”

“I just want you to know that when that day comes, it will be a joy to me to make you my wife. For real. No acting.”

“And it will be a joy to me to have you as my husband. No acting.”

I kiss her again, caress her back, and then walk her to the front door.

“My driver will take you home, and I will transfer the money to your account first thing in the morning. The same amount as always. Will I see you again anytime soon?”

I open the door and let her pass.

“Whenever you want, my love,” she says. “Day or night. Dinner or ice cream. Sex or cuddling. A roll in the hay, or a stroll in the park. I am yours, Vincent. Only yours. I always have been. I always will be.”

And then she leaves.

Not forever, I know. But to me, every goodbye hurts as if it were.

It hurts me to see Kayla leave. But, as she herself says, I am unshakeable. My heart soon recovers. I close the door and return to my living room.

I see my glass of whiskey still on its coaster on the table. I take a sip and think about everything that happened here tonight. My performance. Everything went according to plan.

That is the whole point. Pleasure. Anyone who thinks that pleasure in a sexual relationship is only about intercourse is mistaken. Having sex with Kayla afterward is the highlight of the night, of course. To cum inside her. To make her cum as well. That is the main goal.

But it is not the only goal. Especially for a man like me.

To me, sexual pleasure also comes in the form of resilience, overcoming adversity, and conquest. The pleasure of knowing that I am resilient enough to withstand the petty attacks of my opponents. The pleasure of overcoming these offenses and rising from the ashes like a mythological phoenix. And the pleasure of conquering the fear and respect of those who dare to turn against me.

Too poetic? Well, let me illustrate it in simpler terms. My cock throbbed with pleasure with the look of surprise and fear on Ethan's face when he saw me getting out of that elevator. It throbbed with pleasure when I placed that envelope and that hammer in front of him. And it throbbed with pleasure when he submitted himself to me, defeated, not daring to challenge me, the moment he chose to leave with the envelope in his hands.

For a demigod like me, that is what true pleasure is about. In all its facets and nuances.

I drink the rest of the whiskey and return to the bar to wash the glass and put it away with the others. This was my only loss of the night. The whiskey. I mean, what kind of moron drinks a 25-year-old single malt on the rocks? And with three ice cubes, no less? What a waste.

I go look through the windows.

I watch the city sleeping outside. This city is my empire, and the people who are now asleep are my subjects. I watch them from above. Because this is my place. This is where I live. The highest point of Mount Olympus.

This place is my palace. The armchair in front of the sofa is my throne.

This place is a sacred shrine dedicated to the goddess of pleasure, whoever that may be.

A sanctuary. A haven. Not just some wimpy cuckold’s penthouse.

=== THE END ===

Thank you for reading this. This was a story about a dominant wife who brings a guy to her luxury penthouse for a couple hours of cuckolding sessions with her husband. Nothing that hasn't been done before, but this was my take on this theme, to which I added a small plot twist. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Best regards, JSWamp.