Part 3

The silence after Evelyn’s question hung thick and heavy, broken only by the low hum of the studio equipment and Sarah’s ragged breathing against George’s chest. Daniel stared at the dark monitor screen, his reflection a pale smudge against the void. His jaw clenched, muscles working beneath the skin. He didn’t look at Sarah, limp and glistening with George’s release. He didn’t look at George, whose arm still possessively encircled her waist. He stared at the blank screen, seeing instead the frantic, captured image of his wife’s surrender burned onto his retinas.

“Daniel?” Evelyn prompted, her voice softer now, laced with a knowing patience that scraped raw against his nerves. “Can you handle watching your sweet wife thank George? Properly?”

Sarah whimpered—a small, broken sound muffled against George’s shoulder. The sound seemed to jolt Daniel. His gaze snapped away from the monitor, finally landing on her. Her eyes were closed, lashes spiky with tears, her face flushed and slack with exhaustion and something else: a dazed, sated vulnerability that twisted something deep inside him. It wasn’t disgust he felt looking at her now. It was a fierce, possessive ache tangled with a hot coil of shame and a terrifying, burgeoning curiosity.

George shifted, his softening cock slipping free of Sarah with a wet, intimate sound that echoed loudly in the quiet garage. Sarah gasped, her body jerking weakly. George kept his arm around her, supporting her weight as she sagged. He didn’t rush her. His expression, usually unreadable, held a quiet satisfaction and a hint of amusement as he watched Daniel’s internal struggle play out across his face.

“Sarah,” Evelyn said, her tone shifting to gentle command. “Look at me, darling.”

Sarah’s eyelids fluttered open. Her gaze was unfocused at first, then slowly tracked upward to meet Evelyn’s. The older woman stood near the tripod, the camera now dormant, her elegant posture radiating calm authority amidst the carnality.

“George gave you something special,” Evelyn murmured, stepping closer. She reached out, not touching Sarah, but her presence demanded attention. “Something powerful. Something you needed, whether you knew it or not.” Her eyes flickered toward Daniel, then back to Sarah. “Now it’s your turn to give back. To show your gratitude. Properly.” She gestured toward George’s lap. “On your knees, sweetheart. Show him how much you appreciated his… generosity.”

Sarah trembled. A fresh wave of tears welled, but she blinked them back. Her gaze darted to Daniel, seeking something—absolution, permission, fear. Daniel held his breath, fists clenched at his sides. He saw the plea in her eyes, the ingrained reflex of the devout wife seeking her husband’s sanction. He saw the lingering haze of pleasure, the raw vulnerability. He saw the faint tremor of anticipation beneath the fear.

Say no, a desperate voice screamed inside his head. Stop this. Pull her away. It’s a sin. It’s degradation.

But another voice, lower and hotter, hissed: Look at her. Look what he did to her. Look how she took it. How she came on it. She’s yours… but she took him.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His silence was louder than any word.

Sarah’s lower lip trembled. She looked away from Daniel, back to Evelyn, then slowly, agonizingly, down to George’s lap. His cock, still thick and impressive even in its semi-softened state, glistened with a mixture of her slickness and his own release. The scent—musky and primal—filled her nostrils. Shame warred with a treacherous flicker of remembered sensation deep within her own throbbing core.

George shifted slightly, making room. His large, warm hand settled gently on her shoulder, not pushing, just guiding. “Easy,” he rumbled, his voice a low vibration.

Sarah swallowed hard. The old carpet fibers scratched her knees as she slid down from his lap onto the floor. The movement sent fresh aches through her overused muscles. She knelt before him, the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadows. She felt impossibly small, exposed. The posters on the walls—exaggerated, grinning figures in impossible poses—seemed to leer down at her. Her huge labia felt swollen, sensitive against the cool air, a constant reminder of the fullness she’d just endured… and the emptiness she felt now.

She hesitated, her gaze fixed on the thick shaft before her. Her mind raced with scripture, condemnation, and the image of Daniel’s conflicted face. But beneath it all, a current of something else flowed—a dark, thrilling curiosity, a visceral memory of the power George had wielded inside her, and a terrifying, undeniable urge to taste it.

“Go on, Sarah,” Evelyn encouraged softly, circling them like a director assessing a scene. “He’s waiting. Show him your appreciation.”

Sarah closed her eyes for a second, inhaling the scent of him—salt, skin, and sex. When she opened them, a strange calm settled over her. The frantic internal debate quieted, replaced by a single, focused imperative. She leaned forward, her movements tentative at first. Her lips brushed the slick head, the skin surprisingly soft and velvety. The taste exploded on her tongue—musky, salty, uniquely George, mingled with her own essence. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was… intimate. Profoundly so.

A low groan escaped George as her lips parted, tentatively taking the head into her mouth. Daniel flinched at the sound, his own cock twitching painfully against the confines of his jeans. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Sarah’s initial awkwardness melted into a hesitant rhythm. She used her tongue, exploring the ridge beneath the head, swirling tentatively. George sighed, a deep sound of contentment, his hand moving from her shoulder to gently cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair—not forcing, just anchoring. Encouraging.

“Good girl,” Evelyn murmured, her voice a satisfied purr. “That’s it. Take him deeper. Show him how grateful you are.”

Sarah obeyed, relaxing her jaw, allowing more of his thickness to fill her mouth. She felt him stir against her tongue, growing firmer, fuller. The sensation was overwhelming—the stretch of her jaw, the weight on her tongue, the salty-slick taste flooding her senses, the low, approving sounds rumbling from George’s chest. It was submission, yes, but it was also power. She could feel his response, hear it, taste it. She was doing this to him. The devout wife, on her knees, servicing another man while her husband watched. The thought should have horrified her. Instead, a spark of defiant heat flared in her belly.

She sucked gently, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue pressing firmly along the underside. George’s grip in her hair tightened fractionally. “Christ, girl,” he breathed, his hips shifting minutely forward.

Daniel watched, mesmerized, and agonized. He saw the concentration on Sarah’s face, the slight furrow between her brows, the way her lips stretched around George’s girth. He saw the slickness glistening on her chin. He saw George’s head tilt back, eyes closed, a look of pure, unadulterated pleasure smoothing his features. Jealousy, sharp and acidic, warred with a sickening fascination. He wanted to tear her away. He wanted to see her take more.

Evelyn moved closer to Daniel, her perfume cutting through the musk. She didn’t touch him, but her presence was electric. “See?” she whispered, her voice pitched low and intimate, meant only for him. “See how beautifully she serves him? How naturally she takes him? She’s learning, Daniel. Learning what her body is truly for. Learning pleasure.” She paused, letting her words sink in, her eyes fixed on Sarah’s bobbing head. “She’s not yours alone anymore. Not really. Not after this. Not after feeling him.”

Daniel’s breath hitched. A tremor ran through him. He looked down at his own hand, still damp from touching Sarah earlier. He looked back at his wife, diligently pleasuring George, her movements growing more confident, more eager. The coil of heat in his belly tightened, spreading lower, drowning out the screaming voice of condemnation. His hand moved, almost of its own accord, to the fly of his jeans. He fumbled with the button, fingers clumsy.

Evelyn saw it. A slow, triumphant smile curved her lips. She didn’t comment. She simply watched, eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction as Daniel freed his own erection, thick and straining. He didn’t touch himself yet. He just held it, gaze locked on Sarah’s mouth working George’s cock, knuckles white with tension.

Sarah, lost in the rhythm, the taste, and the power of George’s response, sensed the shift. She glanced up, eyes meeting Daniel’s over the expanse of George’s thigh. She saw his naked arousal, his conflicted agony, his hand gripping himself. The sight sent a jolt through her. Her movements faltered for a second, a moan escaping around George’s flesh.

George chuckled, a low, dark sound. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he murmured, gently guiding her head back down with pressure in her hair. “Your husband’s enjoying the show. Let him watch.”

Sarah obeyed, sinking back into the rhythm, cheeks hollowing with renewed effort. The taste of George filled her, the scent of him, the sounds he made. But now, layered over it, was the visceral awareness of Daniel watching—hard and aching just feet away. It added a dangerous, illicit edge, a thrill that vibrated through her core. She moaned again, the vibration traveling up George’s shaft. George groaned, deeper this time. “Fuck, that’s it. Take it all.”

Sarah pushed herself, relaxing her throat, taking him deeper than before. Tears sprang to her eyes again, but they weren’t tears of shame or fear this time. They were tears of effort, of surrender, of a dark, exhilarating acceptance. She felt him pulse against her tongue, swelling impossibly thicker.

Daniel watched, transfixed, his own hand tightening around his cock. He saw the tears track down Sarah’s cheeks, saw the determined set of her jaw, saw the way George’s thighs tensed. He saw Evelyn watching him, her smile widening.

“Almost there, Sarah,” Evelyn breathed, voice thick with anticipation. “He’s close. Show him how much you want it. Show him how good you can be.”

Sarah sucked harder, tongue working frantically. George’s breathing grew ragged, harsh. His grip on her hair tightened, holding her firmly in place. “Gonna…” he gasped, the word choked.

Daniel’s own breath caught. He couldn’t look away. His hand started moving—a slow, desperate stroke.

George’s hips jerked forward, burying himself to the hilt in Sarah’s mouth. A guttural cry tore from his throat as he came, hot and thick, flooding her throat. Sarah gagged, eyes widening, but George held her fast, riding out the pulses deep within her. She swallowed convulsively, tears streaming freely now—a mixture of overwhelm and a strange, perverse pride.

Daniel watched, his own strokes frantic now, gaze fixed on Sarah’s throat working, on the tears, on the utter submission. The sight, the raw power of it, the sheer wrongness… it detonated something within him. He came with a choked gasp, his release spurting hotly onto the old carpet at his feet, body shuddering violently as he stared at his wife swallowing another man’s seed.

Silence descended again, heavier than before, thick with the scent of sex, sweat, and release. Sarah slumped back onto her heels, coughing weakly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, chest heaving. George released her hair, his hand dropping to her shoulder, giving it a gentle, almost paternal squeeze. He looked utterly spent, satisfied.

Daniel stood frozen, softening cock still in his hand, breath ragged, shame flooding his features now that the heat had receded. Evelyn surveyed the scene, eyes bright with triumph. She stepped toward Daniel, heels clicking softly on the concrete floor. She didn’t look at the mess he’d made. She looked directly into his eyes, gaze sharp, assessing, utterly devoid of judgment.

“Well, Daniel,” she said, voice smooth as silk, cutting through the heavy silence. “Seems you handled it just fine.” She paused, letting the implication hang. “Sarah learned how to thank George.” Her smile widened, predatory and inviting. “Now… who’s going to thank me?”

The click of Evelyn’s heels on the concrete floor sounded unnaturally loud in the heavy silence that followed Daniel’s release. The scent of sex—musky, sharp, thick enough to taste—mingled with stale coffee grounds and the faint ozone tang of electronics. Daniel stood frozen, softening cock still loosely held in his trembling hand, the evidence of his climax stark on the floor between his feet. Shame burned his cheeks, hotter than the arousal that had just consumed him as he watched Sarah service George. He couldn’t look at his wife, slumped and dazed against George’s leg, nor at George’s satisfied, possessive gaze resting on Sarah’s bowed head. He could only stare at the damp patch on the carpet—a physical manifestation of his shattered control.

Evelyn stopped directly in front of him, blocking his view of the stain. The predatory gleam in her eyes hadn’t dimmed; if anything, it had intensified, sharpened by the raw display she’d just witnessed. Her perfume, expensive and floral, cut through the heavier smells, assertive and demanding. She didn’t touch him yet. She simply looked him over, gaze lingering deliberately on his exposed cock, then traveling slowly up his tense body to meet his eyes. A smirk played on her lips.

“Flustered, Daniel?” Her voice was smooth, a low purr that vibrated uncomfortably in his chest. She tilted her head, a lock of carefully styled silver hair falling across her temple. “Didn’t expect that, did you? Watching her… really watching her… it does things. Awakens things.” She took another step, closing the minimal distance. The heat radiating from her body was unexpected, vital. “You handled it, though. Stood your ground. Admired her work.” Her gaze flicked toward Sarah for a fraction of a second, then snapped back to him, pinning him. “Now it’s time for your work.”

Before Daniel could process the words, her hand darted out—not roughly, but with startling precision. Cool, strong fingers wrapped around his cock, which twitched traitorously under her touch despite his mortification. Her thumb brushed the slick head, smearing the remnants of his own release. He flinched violently, a choked noise escaping him.

“Easy,” she murmured, grip firming. She began to stroke him—slow, deliberate pulls that sent jolts of unwanted sensation through his core. Her touch was nothing like Sarah’s tentative explorations; it was confident, knowing, demanding a response. “See? Still plenty of life in you. Watching her suck George off… seeing her swallow him… it got you hard again. Didn’t it, Daniel? Admit it. You liked seeing your sweet, devout wife on her knees for another man. Liked seeing her take it all.”

Daniel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block her out, block the image, block the feel of her hand moving with such practiced ease. Sin. Degradation. Abomination. The condemnations screamed in his mind, old and familiar. But beneath them roared something else—hotter, more insistent. The memory of Sarah’s mouth stretched wide, her throat working, George’s groan of ecstasy… it wasn’t just horror he felt. It was a sickening, undeniable thrill. His cock hardened further in Evelyn’s grasp, betraying him completely.

“Look at me,” Evelyn commanded, voice losing none of its silk but gaining an edge like steel. He opened his eyes. Her gaze was unwavering, demanding surrender. “You came watching her service my husband. Now,” she leaned in, breath warm against his ear, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “it’s your turn to service his wife. Show me what you learned from watching George. Show me you can handle a woman who knows exactly what she wants—and exactly how to take it.”

Her other hand came up, not to touch him, but to the clasp of her elegant silk blouse. With a deft twist, it opened. She shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, letting it slither to the concrete floor, revealing a lace-trimmed black bra that barely contained full, surprisingly firm breasts. Her skin was pale, finely lined, but it radiated potent vitality. Daniel stared, transfixed, breath catching. The contrast was jarring—the elegant older woman disrobing with the casual confidence of a seasoned performer in this grubby garage studio plastered with lurid posters. The air felt charged, thick enough to choke on.

“George enjoys the view,” she nodded toward her husband, who watched them with lazy interest, hand idly stroking Sarah’s hair as she leaned against him, eyes glazed but fixed on Daniel. “But I prefer participation. Especially from a handsome young man wrestling with his… appetites.” She unzipped her tailored skirt, letting it pool around her ankles. The black lace panties matched the bra. She stepped out of the skirt, standing before Daniel in just lingerie and heels. Her body was a testament to care—still shapely, still powerful. She placed her hands on her hips. “Well? Are you going to kneel, Daniel? Or do I need to make you?”

The challenge hung in the air. The command to kneel, just like Sarah had knelt. The echo was deliberate, cruel, irresistible. Daniel felt the old walls of piety and propriety crumbling—not with a crash, but with relentless, erosive pressure. The need to escape the shame, the terrifying, intoxicating allure of this transgression, the raw, exposed look on Sarah’s face as she watched him… it coalesced into a surge of reckless abandon. He wanted to reject it, to run. He craved it.

With a ragged breath that felt like tearing cloth, Daniel lowered himself. The rough carpet scraped his knees. He knelt before Evelyn, the position humbling, exposing, mirroring Sarah’s moments ago. He looked up at her, fluorescent lights haloing her silver hair, her expression unreadable now—a mask of expectant command. The musky scent of her arousal, distinct from the lingering smells of Sarah and George, filled his nostrils—earthy and potent.

“That’s better,” she murmured, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. She reached down, not to guide his head, but to hook her thumbs into the sides of her lace panties. She slid them down her legs slowly, deliberately, stepping out of them one high-heeled foot at a time. She kicked them aside. “No more watching from the sidelines, Daniel. Time for hands-on experience.” She looked down at him, gaze traveling the length of his body, then back to his face. “Now. Show me your gratitude for the show. And don’t be shy. I don’t break easily.”

Daniel hesitated for only a heartbeat, his ingrained fear like ice in his veins. Then, driven by a desperate need to silence the internal screams—to prove something to her, to Sarah, to himself—he leaned forward. His hands, clumsy with nerves, found her hips, skin surprisingly smooth over firm muscle. He inhaled the intimate scent at the apex of her thighs—a heady mix of musk and expensive soap. His tongue touched her, tentative at first, a hesitant exploration of soft, damp folds. The taste was unfamiliar, complex, and not unpleasant.

Evelyn sighed, a sound of deep satisfaction. Her hand came to rest on the back of his head—not forcing, but applying gentle, undeniable pressure. “Deeper, Daniel. Don’t just tease. Taste me. Show me you weren’t just watching Sarah… show me you were learning.”

He obeyed, pushing past awkwardness, driven by the pressure of her hand and the roaring heat in his own belly. He opened his mouth wider, licking more firmly, exploring texture and folds, seeking the sensitive knot of flesh he knew should be there. He found it, circled it tentatively with his tongue. Evelyn’s breath hitched. “Yes,” she hissed. “There. There.” Her fingers tightened slightly in his hair. “Use your tongue properly. Flick it. Harder.”

He did, mimicking what he vaguely remembered seeing George enjoy, concentrating on that small, responsive peak. Evelyn moaned—a low, resonant sound that vibrated through her body and into his mouth. Her hips pressed subtly forward, grinding against his face. “Good boy,” she murmured, the praise sending an unexpected jolt through him. “That’s it. Don’t stop.”

He lost himself in the rhythm, the taste, the physicality of it. The shame wasn’t gone, but it was drowned by sensory overload, the primal act, the sheer power of eliciting such sounds from this formidable woman. He licked and sucked, his own arousal surging back with brutal force, cock straining painfully against his jeans. He heard Sarah make a small, soft sound behind him, but he didn’t look. He focused on the wet heat against his mouth, the pressure of Evelyn’s hand, the ragged sound of her breathing growing quicker, sharper.

Evelyn’s moans escalated, becoming less controlled, more guttural. Her grip on his hair became almost painful as she rocked her hips more insistently against his mouth. “Oh, fuck… yes… just like that… harder!” Her voice was raw, stripped of usual polished control. Her thighs tensed, trembling around his head. “Don’t you dare stop… I’m close… so fucking close…”

Daniel redoubled his efforts, driven by a frantic need to please, to make her come, to somehow validate this horrifying, electrifying act. He focused every ounce of concentration on the swollen bud, lashing it with his tongue, sucking it rhythmically. Evelyn cried out—a sharp, wordless sound that echoed off the garage walls. Her body arched, pressing hard against his face, thighs clamping around his head as wave after wave of climax shook her. He felt the pulsing contractions against his tongue, tasted the sudden flood of her release—tangy and intense.

He kept working her through it, the aftershocks, until her grip loosened and she slumped back slightly, breathing heavily. She looked down at him, chest heaving, face flushed, eyes half-lidded and glazed with satisfaction. A slow, utterly carnal smile spread across her lips. She ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, almost affectionately.

“Not bad for a first effort, Daniel,” she panted, voice husky. “Not bad at all.” Her gaze traveled past him, toward her husband and Sarah. “See, George? The boy has potential.” She looked back down at Daniel, smile turning dangerous again. “But we’re just getting started.”

She stepped back slightly, disengaging from his mouth. Daniel stayed on his knees, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, heart hammering against his ribs, mind a whirlwind of confusion, shame, and a terrifying, burgeoning hunger. Evelyn reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall away. Her breasts were full, heavy, tipped with dark nipples already pebbled hard. She stood before him completely naked except for her high heels—unabashed, powerful. She placed her hands back on her hips.

“Stand up, Daniel,” she ordered, voice regaining its commanding edge. “Take those ridiculous clothes off.” Her eyes flicked pointedly toward his still-buckled jeans. “It’s time you put that renewed enthusiasm of yours to better use. George deserves a show worth watching.” She glanced back at her husband, then fixed her predatory gaze on Daniel. “Show him how his sweet Sarah’s husband fucks.”

Daniel stared up at Evelyn, her naked form haloed by the harsh garage lights, the command ringing in his ears. Show him how his sweet Sarah’s husband fucks. The words sliced through the fog of shame and residual arousal, igniting a spark of reckless defiance deep in his gut. He saw Sarah’s wide, dazed eyes watching him from where she leaned against George, saw George’s calm, assessing gaze, and something primal surged, overwhelming the last brittle remnants of his resistance.

“Okay,” Daniel rasped, the single word rough and raw. He surged upward, knees protesting, driven by a desperate need to seize control of something—even if it was just this terrible momentum. His fingers fumbled at his belt buckle, clumsy with urgency, the scrape of leather and metal loud in the thick air. He shoved jeans and briefs down his thighs in one frantic motion, his renewed erection springing free, thick and flushed.

He stepped out of the tangled fabric, kicking it aside, standing naked before them all. The cool garage air prickled his skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his core. He felt utterly exposed, vulnerable—yet a fierce, unfamiliar energy pulsed through him.

Evelyn’s smile widened, predatory and pleased. “That’s the spirit,” she purred, stepping closer until her bare skin almost brushed his. Her scent—musky and floral—mingled with the lingering tang of sex and coffee. She reached out, fingers tracing a light, possessive line from his collarbone down his chest. “No more hiding, Daniel. Let’s see what Sarah’s good husband is really made of.” Her touch trailed lower, skimming his abdomen, making muscles jump. “Spoiler alert,” she whispered, breath hot against his neck as her hand finally encircled his shaft, giving it a firm, knowing stroke. “George thinks you’ll do just fine.”

He gasped, the sensation electric, short-circuiting thought. His gaze flickered past her to George. The older man nodded slowly—a silent, unnerving endorsement—arm still resting possessively around Sarah’s shoulders. Sarah’s lips were slightly parted; she looked shell-shocked, mesmerized.

“Stop looking at them,” Evelyn commanded softly, squeezing him gently but insistently. Her other hand pressed firmly against his chest, guiding him backward. “Focus on me. This,” she nodded downward between them, “is yours now. Show me you know what to do with it.” She walked him back until his calves hit the edge of a sturdy equipment case draped with a black cloth. “Lie down.”

He obeyed, lowering himself onto the hard surface, cloth rough against his back. The fluorescent lights glared directly into his eyes. Evelyn climbed onto the case, straddling his hips, knees pressing into his sides. Her weight settled onto him—warm and solid. She positioned herself above his straining cock, the damp heat of her radiating onto him. She looked down, expression one of cool appraisal. “Ready, boy?”

Daniel’s heart hammered against his ribs. He saw the faint webbing of lines at the corners of her eyes, the firm curve of her breasts, the dark triangle between her legs hovering just inches above him. He smelled the lingering salt and musk of her arousal, mixed with the sharp, metallic scent of the studio. It wasn’t Sarah. It was raw, experienced power. And he craved it. He lifted his hips instinctively, seeking contact. “Yes,” he breathed, the word escaping on a ragged exhale. “God, yes.”

Evelyn chuckled—a low, dark sound. “Good answer.” She shifted her weight, sinking down onto him slowly, deliberately, taking him inch by thick inch into her welcoming heat. Daniel’s back arched off the case, a choked groan tearing from his throat. She was tight, impossibly hot, gripping him with practiced, demanding pressure that felt utterly foreign and devastatingly good. She seated herself fully, grinding down, letting him feel every contour. “Fits nicely,” she murmured, rolling her hips experimentally. “See, George? He fills the space quite well.”

George’s voice rumbled from nearby, calm and amused. “Looks right at home, Evie.”

Daniel’s hands found Evelyn’s hips, gripping tightly, needing an anchor. He was inside her—deep inside. The sensation was overwhelming: consuming heat, friction that sparked fire along his nerves, the sheer audacity of the act. He looked up at her face, saw the focused intensity in her eyes, the slight flush on her cheeks. This was happening. He was fucking Evelyn while Sarah and George watched.

“Now,” Evelyn ordered, leaning forward slightly, bracing her hands on his chest, nails digging in just enough to sting. “Show him. Show George how Sarah’s husband moves.” She began to ride him—a slow, deep, undulating rhythm designed to draw out every sensation. “Make it good, Daniel. Make us both believe it.”

He met her rhythm, thrusting upward as she sank down, their bodies finding a ragged, urgent sync. The equipment case creaked faintly beneath them. The sounds of their joining—skin slapping skin, ragged breaths, Evelyn’s low hums of approval—filled the garage. Daniel’s gaze locked with Evelyn’s, a current of raw, desperate energy passing between them. He moved faster, harder—driven by a tangled knot of shame, defiance, and a terrifying, burgeoning need to master this, to prove himself in this perverse arena. Evelyn’s moan deepened, encouraging him, hips meeting his thrusts with equal force.

“See, Georgie?” Evelyn gasped, voice thick with pleasure, never breaking Daniel’s gaze. Her rhythm became more insistent, demanding. “Told you the boy’s a quick study.”

The equipment case groaned under them—a low metal protest lost beneath the wet slap of skin, Daniel’s ragged gasps, and Evelyn’s throaty encouragement. “Yes, Daniel! Harder! Fuck me like you mean it!” Her nails raked down his chest, leaving faint, stinging trails as she rode him, hips pistoning with relentless, demanding energy. Her silver hair, loosened from its careful style, clung damply to her temples. Sweat slicked the swell of her breasts, catching the harsh garage light as she threw her head back—a picture of fierce, unapologetic pleasure.

Daniel’s world had narrowed to the burning pressure enveloping his cock, the demanding grip of Evelyn’s strong thighs around his hips, and the dizzying scent of their coupling—sweat, sex, her expensive perfume now mingled with something primal. He drove upward, meeting her downward thrusts with increasing force, desperate energy building. Shame was a distant echo, drowned by overwhelming sensory assault and the desperate need for release, for validation in this bewildering crucible. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into surprisingly resilient flesh, anchoring himself as much as pushing her down onto him harder, faster.

“Look at her, Daniel!” Evelyn commanded, voice thick and ragged. She slowed her rhythm slightly, forcing him to look past the swell of her breast. “Look at your sweet, God-fearing Sarah.”

Daniel’s gaze, glassy with exertion and confusion, snapped toward his wife. Sarah knelt beside George’s chair, face pale but eyes wide, dark, and fixed unblinkingly on where their bodies joined. George’s large hand rested possessively on her shoulder, thumb idly stroking the curve where her neck met her collarbone. He watched Daniel and Evelyn with calm appraisal, like a patron observing a particularly engaging performance. Sarah flinched as Evelyn ground down hard on Daniel, eliciting a choked moan from him. A visible tremor ran through Sarah’s body.

“See how she watches?” Evelyn hissed, resuming her powerful strokes, breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “See the hunger in her eyes? Poor little lamb. She’s drowning in it. Just like you.” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest again, face inches from his. Her eyes burned into his. “Deeper, boy. Show her what her husband’s really capable of. Show her the beast she married.”

The words, the image of Sarah’s transfixed horror-fascination, ignited something feral in Daniel. A growl ripped from his throat. He bucked his hips violently upward, driving himself impossibly deep into Evelyn’s tight heat. She cried out—a sound of pure, sharp pleasure—inner muscles clenching around him like a fist. “Yes! Fuck! Like that!” she gasped, composure fracturing into raw need.

Daniel’s rhythm became frantic, almost brutal. The case squeaked and shifted under the force. He wasn’t thinking about decency or damnation anymore. He was focused solely on the friction, the heat, the power thrumming through his veins, the undeniable proof of his own capacity for this dark, consuming thing. He wanted to conquer Evelyn, to silence her mocking commands with his own force, to imprint this moment on Sarah’s wide, shocked eyes.

Evelyn met his ferocity with equal intensity, her body a demanding counterpart. Her moans escalated—becoming less words, more guttural sounds of imminent release. “Close… Daniel… so close… don’t you fucking stop…!” Her hips slammed down, grinding against him, seeking that final, shattering friction.

Beside them, Sarah made a small, choked sound. George’s hand slid from her shoulder, trailing slowly down her back. “It’s alright, Sarah,” he murmured, voice a low rumble that somehow cut through the chaos. “Just watch. Learn what pleasure looks like. What it sounds like.” His hand drifted lower, resting possessively on the curve of her hip. Sarah trembled violently but didn’t pull away. Her gaze remained locked on Daniel, lips slightly parted.

Daniel saw it—the raw need warring with terror in Sarah’s eyes. It pushed him over the edge. With a final, animalistic thrust that lifted Evelyn almost off the case, he came. A raw shout tore from his throat—half pain, half ecstatic release—as he emptied himself deep inside her, pulses seeming to go on forever, draining him utterly. His body went rigid, then slumped back onto the hard surface—trembling, gasping for air, utterly spent.

Evelyn collapsed forward onto his chest, her own body shuddering through the aftershocks of climax, damp forehead pressed against his collarbone. She panted heavily, a satisfied hum vibrating through her. “Oh, Christ… yes…” she breathed, voice ragged and thick. “You surprised me, Daniel. You really did.” She lifted her head, a triumphant, utterly sated smile spreading across her flushed face as she looked down at him. “Told George you had it in you. Buried deep, maybe… but it’s out now.”

She slowly pushed herself up, disengaging from him with a slick, wet sound. Daniel felt the sudden, shocking coolness of the air against his spent cock, the wetness smeared across his stomach. He felt hollowed out—drained of thought, resistance, everything except the pounding of his heart and the echoes of intense sensation. Evelyn stood, swaying slightly on her high heels, the evidence of their joining glistening on her inner thighs. She made no move to cover herself, radiating potent, unselfconscious power.

George chuckled softly. “He did indeed, Evie. Quite the show.” He gently squeezed Sarah’s hip. “Wasn’t it, sweetheart?”

Sarah flinched again, tearing her gaze away from Daniel’s naked, sweat-sheened form. Her eyes were huge, filled with a storm of confusion—shock, arousal, betrayal, and something like horrified wonder. She looked down at her own hands, clenched tightly in her lap. “I… I don’t…” Her voice was a thin, trembling whisper.

Evelyn stepped off the case, landing gracefully despite the slight wobble. She walked over to George, movements languid, confident. She leaned down, kissed him deeply—a slow, possessive claim. When she straightened, she turned her gleaming eyes back to Sarah, who shrank back slightly under the intensity.

“No more hiding behind scripture, Sarah,” Evelyn stated, voice regaining its crisp edge, though rough around the edges from exertion. “You saw him. You felt it too, didn’t you? Watching him take me? Watching him fuck like a man possessed?” She gestured dismissively toward Daniel, still prone and breathing heavily on the case. “The genie’s out of the bottle, darling. For both of you.” She picked up her discarded silk blouse, not bothering to put it on, just holding it loosely. “George,” she said, tone shifting to something smoother, more conspiratorial, though no less commanding, “why don’t you show Sarah what she’s been so curious about? Properly. While Daniel catches his breath.” She glanced back at Daniel, a wicked spark in her eyes. “You think he’s earned a front-row seat, don’t you?”