The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Outside, a slow-moving thunderstorm grumbled its way across the sky, flashes of heat lightning slicing through the blinds and illuminating the kitchen in soft, broken light. Rain hadn’t started yet—but the pressure was building. The kind of tension that made the air feel heavier, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Jason stood by the sink in nothing but his boxers, a half-empty glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers. It was his third—or fourth. He wasn’t counting anymore. The amber liquid didn’t numb him like it used to, but it helped blur the edges just enough.

His jaw was tight. His chest bare. And his eyes were locked on the closed laptop across the room, like it was some unexploded device.

He hadn’t watched it.

Not the video. Not the footage Dominic had sent. It was still there. Still waiting. A link inside an email they both agreed to ignore. But every night it called to him. Every night, he sat here wondering what was worse: not knowing… or seeing it all.

He hadn’t touched Rachel in a month.

They lived in the same house. Ate at the same table. Slept inches apart. But it was like they were ghosts of themselves, haunting their own marriage. He couldn’t look at her without picturing what those men had done. And he hated himself even more for imagining it—again and again.

The creak of floorboards behind him broke the silence.

Rachel stepped into the kitchen slowly, barefoot and tipsy, her red hair wild around her shoulders. She wore an oversized t-shirt that stopped just below her ass. Thin enough that the shape of her breasts was unmistakable. Her nipples pressed against the fabric, her pale thighs bare.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Neither did he.

Jason kept his eyes forward, sipping his whiskey, pretending her presence didn’t stir something animal inside him.

Rachel opened the fridge and pulled out the open bottle of red wine she’d been nursing all night. She poured a glass with slightly shaky hands and leaned back against the counter across from him.

“You’ve been drinking more,” she said softly.

“So have you.”

She shrugged. “It’s easier than talking.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. Seems to be working great.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Then don’t come in here looking for a fight.”

Rachel sipped her wine. “I’m not. I just… I miss you.”

Jason laughed bitterly. “You miss me?”

“Yes.”

He turned to face her now. “What part of me do you miss, Rachel? The part that paid for you to get gangbanged? Or the part that can’t even look at you without imagining it?”

She flinched. “You think I don’t see the way you avoid me? How you flinch when I touch you?”

“I don’t flinch—”

“You do. You haven’t kissed me in a month. You haven’t fucked me. You haven’t even held my hand.”

Jason slammed the empty glass down on the counter. “You expect me to just fuck you like nothing happened?”

Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “And you expect me to pretend I wasn’t ripped open by your silence?”

Their voices echoed through the house, loud and sharp, bouncing off the walls like thrown knives.

“You fucking loved it, didn’t you?” Jason hissed, stepping closer. “That’s what’s eating me alive. The way you came back looking calmer than I’ve ever seen you. The way you walk around here like you’re carrying some sacred fucking secret.”

Rachel’s face crumpled. Her voice cracked. “You think I wanted to enjoy it? You think I planned to get off on being used by five fucking strangers?”

“Did you?”

She stared at him, chest heaving, hands trembling.

Then, through clenched teeth: “You fucking arranged it!”

Jason blinked. Her words hit like a slap.

She stepped forward now, wine forgotten, eyes blazing through tears.

“You orchestrated it. You brought it into our house. You laid me on the altar and watched me walk out that door. You don’t get to throw stones from the grave you dug.”

Jason’s mouth opened—but no words came.

Rachel’s voice dropped, thick with anger and heartbreak. “You wanted me to like it. You just didn’t want to admit that.”

The room was thick with silence.

Then Jason stepped back, as if something inside him had snapped.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispered. “Their hands on you. Their cocks in your mouth. The way you must have moaned.”

She looked away, ashamed.

Jason's voice trembled with rage. “You fucking liked it, didn’t you?! Was it good? Was it?”

She screamed, “I can’t help it, Jason!”

He froze.

She stared at him, tears pouring now.

“Yes!” she sobbed. “I fucking liked it. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now?”

Jason’s face went pale.

He backed up slowly until he hit the kitchen wall, sliding down it like a man who’d just taken a bullet to the chest. His eyes were glassy. Hollow. Broken.

Rachel’s anger evaporated in an instant.

She rushed to him, dropping to her knees. “I didn’t mean that—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Baby, I’m so sorry…”

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. They cried into each other’s necks, chests shaking with every breath, with every sob that escaped.

His voice was hoarse. “I wanted to hate you for it… but all I can think about is how fucking hard it makes me.”

Rachel pulled back, her hands on his face. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Her fingers drifted downward, cupping his cock through his boxers. It was hard. Thick. Pulsing against her palm.

He choked on a sob. “What’s wrong with me, Rach?”

She leaned her forehead to his. “Nothing. It’s okay. You’re okay…”

She stroked him gently, just holding him while he shook beneath her touch.

They stayed like that on the floor, wrapped in a storm of tears, silence, and something neither of them could name.

The silence in the kitchen wrapped around them like fog—thick, damp, impossible to shake. Jason sat slumped against the wall, Rachel curled into him, her hand still cupping the hardness between his legs through his boxers. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still spinning from what she’d just confessed.

She liked it.

She fucking liked it.

And he was hard because of it.

He wanted to vomit. He wanted to cum. He wanted to cry and disappear and fuck her all at once.

His lips barely moved as he whispered, “Am I wrong for wanting to watch the video?”

Rachel’s breath caught.

She didn’t answer immediately. She just stared at his face, then dropped her eyes to the floor. Her voice was so quiet, it was almost a breath.

“I’m scared you’ll never look at me the same.”

Jason’s jaw flexed. He swallowed.

“I’m scared I’ll never feel sane again if I don’t.”

She looked at him.

And something passed between them. Not forgiveness. Not understanding. But recognition. They were both too far gone to pretend anymore.

Without a word, Rachel stood.

Jason watched her, frozen, as she turned and walked barefoot out of the kitchen—her long t-shirt swaying just enough to reveal the curve of her ass beneath the fabric. She didn’t turn back. She didn’t ask again.

He heard the soft creak of their bedroom door.

Then the sound of a drawer sliding open.

When she returned, the glow of her silver MacBook was already lighting her face. She clutched it like it was radioactive. Her eyes locked with his as she sat down on the floor in front of him again, cross-legged, laptop balanced on her thighs.

Neither of them spoke.

She opened the lid.

The browser was still open. The email, still unread, but no longer marked as new.

Jason’s chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breath.

Rachel moved the cursor toward the video link.

Then paused.

Her finger hovered above the trackpad, trembling slightly.

Jason reached over and covered her hand with his own.

“Together.”

She nodded.

And clicked.

The laptop screen went black for half a second.

Then the video began.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the laptop and the distant sound of rain tapping against the windows. The video opened in slow, deliberate motion.

The first image to fill the screen was Rachel.

She entered the lodge’s grand room in nothing but black heels, a tight velvet choker, and delicate lace panties that hugged her hips like they were stitched onto her skin. Her red hair cascaded in perfect waves over her shoulders, her green eyes wide, uncertain, already glossed with nerves.

Jason’s breath caught. He hadn’t expected to feel… this. The image of her from that night hit like a car crash—raw, erotic, and so far from the woman curled into his side. She looked like someone else. Or maybe she looked exactly like herself—but freed.

On-screen, the five men appeared, stepping into frame with practiced swagger.

Predators.

They surrounded her in a semi-circle, walking slowly, their voices overlapping.

“Fucking perfect.”

“She’s shaking. Look at her.”

“We’re going to ruin you,” one growled, his voice dark and hungry.

Rachel shivered at her own memory. Her hand gripped Jason’s cock tighter, as if she needed to ground herself in him. Jason reached for her breast beneath her shirt, cupping it slowly, reverently. Her nipple was already hard.

On the screen, Dominic stepped forward. The camera he held in one hand zoomed in on Rachel’s face as he whispered something inaudible. She nodded, barely. Trembled.

Then he pushed her down.

Rachel fell to her knees on the thick rug. Her eyes widened as Dominic unzipped and pulled out his cock—thick, veiny, intimidating. She hesitated, lips parted.

He grabbed her hair, twisted it tight, and thrust forward.

She gagged loudly.

Jason stiffened. His pulse raced.

Another man stepped behind her, gripping the back of her head and forcing her deeper. Her throat bulged. Her tears began immediately, streaming down her cheeks. One of them knelt beside her, whispering taunts as she choked.

“Open that little throat. You’re a fucktoy now.”

On the floor, Rachel stroked Jason slowly, her cheeks flushed, her breath uneven.

He couldn’t stop staring.

On-screen, she sputtered and gasped for breath—but she didn’t pull away.

Jason’s hand slid to her nipple, pinching softly. She moaned quietly.

The screen jumped to a new position—Rachel on her stomach, her hands bound above her head with a silk rope. Her ass was raised, legs spread wide.

Vin laid his body beneath her, mounting her on top of him, his cock lining up with her slick pussy.

Marcus crouched above her back, spitting into her ass and rubbing it in.

Jason winced as he watched the men enter her.

One. Then the other.

She screamed—her voice ragged, real.

It wasn’t fake.

She wasn’t acting.

Jason’s gut twisted, unsure if it was rage, lust, or some nauseating mixture of both.

On-screen, her screams turned—slowly—into something else. Her eyes glazed, mouth open as she began moaning into Vin’s neck. Her hips rocked back, accepting the stretch, the pounding. Sweat glistened on her back.

“You’re fucking taking it now,” Marcus grunted, slapping her ass as he thrust into her.

Jason’s hand had drifted back down, gripping Rachel’s ass cheeks as her thong was pulled to the side for both cocks. She whimpered.

Rachel bit her lip, watching herself fall apart.

“I didn’t want to like it,” she whispered.

Jason didn’t answer.

Now she was on her knees again—her face ruined with mascara streaks, her red hair a tangled mess. Dominic stood in front of her, pushing his cock back into her mouth.

Behind her, Rafa knelt between her thighs, already thrusting hard.

Her body rocked violently between them. Her arms limp; her mouth wide.

Jason groaned, watching the footage. The camera zoomed in on her lips stretching, spit leaking down her chin, her moans vibrating against Dominic’s cock as Rafa slapped into her ass from behind.

The sound was obscene.

Wet slaps. Gagging. Deep, animal grunts.

Jason pinched her nipple hard, needing to feel her squirm.

Rachel stroked him faster now, precum slicking his shaft as it pulsed in her grip.

On-screen, she was a toy.

An object.

But she looked… alive.

More than alive—transcendent.

The camera cut to a scene where Rachel was on her back, legs spread and held open by two of the men. Dominic hovered above her, his cock teasing her clit while the others laughed, teased, whispered filth.

Rachel whimpered, her voice trembling. “Please…”

“What was that?”

“Please let me cum…”

The men shared glances. Then, finally, Dominic nodded.

“Make her scream.”

The next few seconds were chaos.

One man rubbed her clit furiously. Another fucked her deep, rough, fast. Her hands clutched at the rug as her entire body arched off the bed.

She screamed as she came—loud, guttural, primal.

And then…

She squirted.

Jason’s breath caught as he watched the explosion of fluid shoot from her pussy, soaking the rug.

Another man slapped her cunt.

She convulsed.

Back on the floor, Jason kissed her neck, inhaling her scent, fingers rubbing tight circles against her clit. Her hand was pumping him faster now, his cock rock-hard and twitching.

Her thighs quivered beside him.

Jason’s voice was thick. “You looked so fucking good.”

“I didn’t know I could cum like that,” she whispered. “I lost myself…”

The final scene opened with her on her knees.

Her face was flushed. Her mouth open; her eyes distant and gone.

The five men circled her slowly.

Each one stroked his cock over her while she panted, moaned, and whispered “please” again and again.

Dominic came first—on her cheek, just below her eye.

Then the others followed.

Hot cum streaked her chin, her lips, her throat. One man pulled her head back and finished across her eyes.

Another aimed for her tits. The last groaned as he coated her lips—and she licked it off with a slow, deliberate swirl of her tongue.

Jason stared in silence, chest rising and falling like a man drowning.

Rachel rested her head on his shoulder, breath shallow.

On the screen, her ruined face smiled. Not sweetly. Not innocently.

But proudly.

She looked like a woman who had been destroyed—and loved every second of it.

“I didn’t know I could feel that,” she whispered.

Jason turned to her slowly, eyes glassy, lips parted.

His cock pulsed in her grip.

He wanted her.

He wanted to fuck her like they had.

But more than that—he wanted her to know that even after all of it…

She was still his.

The moment the screen went black, Jason snapped.

He didn’t speak.

He simply grabbed Rachel by the wrist and yanked her hard into his lap.

Their mouths collided in a violent kiss. No grace. No pretense. Just teeth and breath and aching need. Her breath hitched as he growled into her mouth, voice low and rough:

“You’re mine now. Say it.”

Rachel’s lips trembled against his. Her thighs clenched around his hips as her body pressed against his chest.

“Yours,” she whispered, already panting. “Use me.”

Jason stood abruptly, lifting her with him, hands gripping her thighs as he pinned her to the wall. Thunder cracked outside, the storm intensifying like it was echoing the chaos inside him.

He kissed her again, deeper, meaner. Rachel gasped as his hands slid under her shirt, grabbing the hem and yanking it up and off in one fluid motion. Her breasts spilled free, nipples hard and waiting.

Jason took one into his mouth, sucking hard, almost biting. His other hand slid between her legs, pulling her panties aside to rub her soaked slit with his fingers.

Rachel moaned loudly, gripping his shoulders, arching into his touch.

"They didn’t ruin you," he whispered against her chest. "They just reminded me how fucking bad I want you."

She dropped to her knees, her breath ragged.

She looked up at him through heavy lashes, green eyes glowing in the dark room. "You like it, don’t you? Watching them break me? Watching me take all of them?"

Jason gritted his teeth, hand threading through her red hair. He yanked her head back gently, enough to make her gasp.

"I want to fuck every hole like they did," he growled.

Rachel smirked.

"Then fucking do it."

He stared at her. Her lips were parted, full, already waiting. She stuck her tongue out, teasing him, daring him.

Jason let out a low groan as he freed himself from his boxers.

Her lips wrapped around him instantly, no hesitation. His hands gripped her hair as he guided her head back and forth, slowly at first, then faster. She gagged, moaned, her throat struggling to accommodate him.

He looked down, watching her eyes water, watching her chest rise and fall with every breath she fought to take. Her hands clung to his thighs, and still she didn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Every moan she made sent vibrations up his spine.

But he wanted more.

He pulled out of her mouth and dragged her back up to her feet, spinning her and bending her over the kitchen counter. Her panties were soaked and halfway down her thighs.

He pressed into her from behind, his chest to her back, hand in her hair again.

"You screamed for them," he said darkly. "Scream for me."

He slid into her slowly, letting every inch bury deep. She moaned his name, nails raking across the countertop, hips bucking back to meet his thrusts.

“Harder,” she begged. “Fuck me harder, Jason!”

Jason gave it to her.

He fucked her relentlessly, hands gripping her hips, slamming into her like he could erase the memory of those five men. But Rachel didn’t want to forget. She wanted to remember—and feel something new.

She pulled away suddenly, turning to face him, eyes wild.

Then she pushed him back onto the floor.

She climbed on top of him, straddling him with confidence, dominance.

Her red hair framed her flushed face as she lowered herself slowly, moaning at the stretch. She rolled her hips, grinding, controlling the pace.

“They made me cum so hard, baby” she panted. “Can you do that, Jason? Hm? Can you make me scream like they did?”

Jason slapped her ass, hard. She gasped but didn’t stop.

He growled, sat up, and flipped her onto her stomach.

Now he was in charge again.

He spat on her ass and rubbed it down between her cheeks, slicking her tight ass hole with the same dominance he saw in the video. He rubbed it in with the head of his aching cock.

She knew what was coming.

And she wanted it.

“Please,” she whispered.

He pressed against her tight entrance slowly, inch by inch. Her cries filled the room again, high-pitched and pleading.

He didn’t stop.

He wanted her to remember this. Every second of it. Every brutal, beautiful second.

She clenched around him, nails clawing the floor, her body a mess of pain and pleasure and desperate longing.

“Use my fucking ass,” she moaned. “Like they did. Like you want to. Just fucking take it, Jason.”

He did.

He pounded into her, hips slamming hard, sweat dripping onto her back. His heavy balls slapped against her with each thrust. Her screams fueled him. Her moans broke him.

Their bodies moved like war.

Angry. Filthy. Explosive.

Rachel bucked and writhed, her voice an endless stream of profanities, pleas, laughter, and bliss.

Jason snarled into her ear, biting her shoulder, gripping her hair like a lifeline.

She teased him, mocked him, begged him.

“That’s it, take the claim this fucking ass back. It’s yours, Jason!”

He dominated her, punished her, worshiped her.

And when the climax came, it wasn’t just orgasm.

It was an exorcism.

Jason growled her name as he came deep, shaking, his entire body collapsing over her. Rachel cried out with him, convulsing, overwhelmed, overused, and radiant.

They fell together.

Breathless. Silent. Changed.

Rain still fell against the window. Thunder rolled far in the distance now.

Rachel reached for his hand, laced her fingers through his.

“Don’t let this break us,” she whispered.

Jason looked at her, sweat-drenched, swollen, and glowing.

“Too late,” he murmured, but kissed her deeply anyway.

They lay on the floor together, limbs tangled, hearts still racing.

Jason stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling.

“What if we did it again?” he asked.

Rachel didn’t answer.

She just closed her eyes...

...and smiled.