It had been two weeks since they watched the video. Two weeks since Rachel collapsed sobbing into Jason’s arms, her body slick with sweat and guilt and something darker—something neither of them had a name for yet.

Now, the silence in the house pulsed with soundless echoes of it.

Each night, they played the video again. Sometimes together, side by side on the living room floor, trembling and stroking each other in time with the onscreen rhythm. Sometimes alone—Jason with his hand clenched tight around himself in the hallway bathroom, headphones in, teeth gritted. Rachel, in bed, biting a pillow, legs trembling as she rewound the scene where Rafa forced her throat open.

What had begun as shame had morphed into something else entirely.

Obsession.

Jason no longer touched her gently. He took her like he needed to prove something—to her, to himself. Every night he pulled her hair, called her names he’d once been afraid to whisper.

“Fucking beg like you did for them,” he growled one night as he pinned her to the kitchen counter, rutting into her like a man possessed.

Rachel moaned beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, her mouth half open as she gasped, “Please, Jason… use me.”

They didn’t even wait for nightfall anymore.

That morning, Jason had woken to find her under the covers, his cock already between her lips, her eyes glowing with that same wild gleam she wore in the video. Her mouth was soaked, warm, willing—and he came in her throat before he’d even opened his eyes.

He stared at the ceiling afterward, feeling the orgasm pulse through him like a warning.

This wasn’t normal.

But what was normal, after what they’d done?

⸻

Jason was unraveling slowly, thread by thread.

Every dream he had now began the same way: her kneeling in a circle of cocks, mascara streaking her cheeks, tears in her eyes that shimmered with pleasure. Sometimes, in his dreams, she looked at him as they fucked her. Smiled through her moans. Whispered, “You can’t stop thinking about it, can you?”

He woke up panting. Rock hard. Always hard. It was driving him mad.

He started taking cold showers, but even that became a ritual—he’d stroke himself under the freezing water, the images flashing like lightning behind his eyelids.

He wanted to possess her. To erase them from her skin. To mark her again and again until only he remained.

But he couldn’t.

Because deep down, he didn’t want to erase it.

He wanted it back.

Rachel was changing, too. Not just in bed, but everywhere.

She walked differently now, hips swaying like she was still sore from it. She leaned into mirrors, touching her lips like she could still feel them bruised. Her orgasms had become louder, deeper. She came harder now, needed longer to come down from them—shaking and whimpering even after Jason had finished.

And she flirted with her shame like it was an old lover. Teasing. Dangerous.

One night, they were sitting on the couch, freshly showered after another marathon fuck, still naked. Rachel reached for the remote.

She paused before pressing play on the video again. Then she turned to Jason. “Do you think they miss me?” she asked.

He blinked. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You think they still talk about my pussy?”

He stared at her, heart pounding.

She laughed softly—darkly—and pressed play anyway.

⸻

It came in the middle of a Wednesday. An email. From Dominic. Subject line: Round Two?

Rachel was in the shower. Jason had just finished masturbating on the edge of their bed.

He opened it. The message was short. Direct.

Our investors are still talking about Rachel. They’ve watched the tape more than any other. We’re prepared to offer $2 million for another night. Same rules—or new ones, if you prefer. Let us know.

Link attached: New lineup. New ideas. Let’s talk.

Jason sat there, frozen. His cum was still drying on his stomach. He didn’t move.

He clicked the link.

It led to a locked site. Password protected. Video thumbnails blurred, but the titles were clear: The Goddess Returns. Owned. Every Hole. Multiple Angles.

His hand trembled as he closed the laptop.

Later that night, Rachel curled up beside him on the couch. They didn’t speak for a few minutes.

But she felt the tension.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, rubbing his thigh.

Jason opened the laptop again. Pulled up the email. Let her read it.

She didn’t say anything for a long time.

Then she laughed—soft and breathy, not joyful.

“Two million… Jason.”

“We said we wouldn’t,” he replied hoarsely.

She bit her lip. Her legs curled under her. Her fingers slid up his thigh again.

“But we didn’t say we didn’t want to…”

The video played again that night. Neither of them had to say it. Their bodies made the decision for them.

They fucked like animals on the living room floor, their limbs shaking, Rachel’s moans echoing off the walls, Jason growling into her neck.

He fucked her harder than he ever had.

And when they came—together, messy, feral—Rachel collapsed on top of him and whispered:

“This is who we are now.”

⸻

The next morning, the video was still playing in the background. Jason made coffee while Rachel sat on the barstool wearing nothing but his shirt and lace panties.

She was watching the spitroast scene again. Fingers curled into her thigh. Her breath was shallow.

Jason poured whiskey into his mug instead of creamer.

He turned to her. Finally spoke.

“If we do this,” he said. “I want to be there. I’m not hiding in the dark again.”

Rachel paused the video. Her hand slid off her thigh.

“Jason…”

He didn’t blink. “I need to see it. With my own eyes. Not through a screen. Not after.”

Her lips parted, a mix of shock and something darker.

She nodded slowly.

He pulled up the email, responded to Dominic with shaking hands.

We’ll do it—one last time. But I want to be there. That’s the deal.

Dominic’s reply came within minutes.

Even better. You deserve a front-row seat.

Attached were directions. A Denver penthouse, one week from Friday.

Jason read the words three times before closing the laptop.

Rachel stood across from him, arms crossed under her breasts.

They didn’t speak again that night.

But when they went to bed, she climbed on top of him and rode him until tears slid from his eyes.

⸻

The bathroom glowed with warm light—soft, ambient, almost holy. Steam clung to the mirror edges like breath, curling at the corners. Rachel stood bare before it, hips slightly cocked, skin glowing from lotion and anticipation. She smoothed the straps of her red lace lingerie over her shoulders—custom-fit, hugging her curves with dangerous precision. The cups lifted her breasts just right, nipples faintly visible beneath the sheer fabric. A matching thong wrapped her hips, framing the soft curve of her ass.

She slipped on the heels. Blood red. Six inches. Her thighs flexed as she adjusted her stance, each muscle coiling like it knew what was coming.

She practiced her moans in the mirror.

Soft at first.

Then parted her lips wider, let her voice break just slightly. Her eyes glazed as she imagined it. Remembered it.

Behind her, Jason stood in the doorway, his shoulder pressed against the frame.

He hadn’t moved in minutes.

Her eyes met his in the mirror—flashing heat and sorrow, want and something dangerously close to glee.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, voice barely more than a breath.

Rachel turned slowly, the hem of her black silk dress fluttering as she moved. With a sultry smile, she lifted the back of the dress, just enough to expose the red lace hugging her ass.

“I know,” she said. “But I want to.”

Jason swallowed hard.

He dressed with robotic precision. A navy button-down, pressed dark slacks, dress shoes polished to a mirror sheen. His hands trembled only once—when he buttoned his cuffs—and Rachel saw it but said nothing.

He dabbed cologne onto his throat.

It was the first time in weeks.

The scent hit Rachel like a memory. Masculine. Sharp. Her thighs clenched.

Jason was already half-hard by the time the black SUV arrived—its windows tinted, the driver anonymous. He opened the back door without a word.

As they stepped inside, Rachel reached for Jason’s hand.

Their fingers laced together; neither of them spoke.

⸻

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse. No hallway. No doors.

Just one quiet ding, and then the space unfolded around them like a secret.

It was artful. Expensive. Minimalist.

Black marble floors, chrome fixtures. A wide-open living space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Denver. Lights glittered across the skyline like scattered embers, glowing against the night.

Rachel stepped out first, her heels echoing like soft declarations.

Jason followed, his jaw tight.

They weren’t alone.

Dominic stood near the wet bar in a fitted vest and slacks, sipping bourbon with practiced ease. He smiled—confident, shark-like.

Marcus lounged on the leather sectional, shirtless already. Tattoos bloomed across his chest.

Rafa leaned against the window, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Two new men flanked them. One tall and tan with a full sleeve of ink across both arms and neck. The other broad-shouldered, darker, his jaw square and unreadable.

No words were spoken yet.

Dominic approached with two glasses—crystal, heavy, filled with rich amber bourbon.

“To the returning goddess,” he said, handing one to Rachel.

Jason’s hand trembled as he accepted his.

Rachel clinked hers gently to her husband’s. “To the show,” she whispered.

The bourbon was strong. Burned going down. Jason welcomed the fire. He needed it.

⸻

At the center of the penthouse living room, facing the open space like a throne—stood the chair.

It was custom-built.

Polished steel frame with black leather cushioning. Thick cuffs hung from each armrest. More at the ankles. A padded headrest arched behind it with two additional straps draped loosely on either side, waiting for a willing neck.

Jason stared at it.

His cock twitched.

Dominic stepped beside him, setting his empty glass down. “If you want to be here, this is where you watch,” he said. “No distractions. No touching. You get the full view. You endure all of it.”

Jason didn’t reply.

Rachel turned to him, her expression unreadable.

Then, slowly—sensually—she moved behind him. Her hands touched his shoulders, then slid down to his forearms.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

He let her lead him.

The chair hissed slightly as he sat. The leather was cool against his back. His heart thundered in his chest.

Rachel knelt beside him and reached for the cuffs.

“I love you,” she said, eyes on his as she looped the leather around his wrists. “Don’t forget that.”

He didn’t look away.

Not even when the cuffs clicked tight.

She stood and moved to his ankles, strapping them in just as slowly, her fingers brushing the fine hairs on his legs. Jason could feel the blood surging through his veins, the pressure mounting in his groin.

By the time she stood, his cock was visibly hard, straining against the fabric of his slacks.

Rachel leaned down, her hands on his waistband.

“Let’s get you ready too,” she purred.

She undid the button, pulled down the zipper. His cock sprang free, flushed and glistening at the tip. She kissed the base. Just once.

Behind her, the five men began to undress.

Jackets shrugged off.

Belts undone.

Shirts tossed aside, followed by pants and boxers, until all of them stood naked and semi-hard, their bodies powerful and confident under the sleek lights of the penthouse.

Jason’s breathing quickened.

Rachel turned, lips parted.

The night had begun.

⸻

Jason’s wrists were already raw from where the cuffs rubbed against his skin. The leather creaked softly with every futile flex of his arms, every unconscious twitch of his fingers as he sat, helpless, with his pants still bunched around his ankles. The chair held him open—arms wide, chest bare, legs spread—like a witness strapped to a crucifix of desire and dread.

Across from him, Rachel moved through the space like a dark flame. Her red lace lingerie clung to her curves like sin incarnate, her long red hair brushed over one shoulder, cascading down like blood on silk. The soft lighting of the penthouse turned her skin to gold, and the floor-to-ceiling windows caught the gleam of the Denver skyline behind her, but Jason saw nothing beyond her.

The five men circled her slowly.

Dominic was first, shirtless now, his lean muscle coiled with anticipation. Marcus followed, bigger, thicker, the veins on his arms pumping with heat. Rafa stood tall and expressionless, his eyes pinned on Rachel like a predator watching its prey. The two new faces—one heavily tattooed, the other quiet and cruel-eyed—completed the circle.

Jason’s cock stood helplessly, painfully hard between his thighs. He could feel his own pulse in it. Could feel every desperate ache in his body, every breath grow louder in his ears.

Rachel turned slowly to him, lips parted, pupils wide with adrenaline. Her heels clicked softly on the floor as she lowered herself to her knees.

Like a goddess of ruin.

Dominic stepped forward first, fingers in her hair, tilting her face up to him. “Back for more?” he said, voice low and thick.

Rachel smiled. “You didn’t think I’d forget how good you all made me feel, did you?”

Marcus’s cock brushed her cheek. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned her face into it, nuzzling it like it belonged to her.

Jason’s breath hitched.

He felt the restraint chair bite into his skin as he strained to lean forward, to touch her, to stop her—or maybe to beg her to continue. He didn’t know anymore. He just needed something. Anything.

Rafa moved behind her and knelt, parting her thighs. “Goddamn,” he muttered, tracing the inside of her legs with rough fingers. “Completely soaked.”

Rachel moaned softly, a sound barely louder than breath. Then Marcus reached down and slapped her cheek with his cock. She gasped, stunned, her lipstick smearing across the shaft as she turned her face, mouth parted.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” Dominic growled, standing before her again.

Rachel nodded slowly, then opened her mouth wide.

Jason tried not to moan, but failed. He watched as she took Dominic in—inch by inch, her throat flexing, her mascara beginning to smear as tears welled in her eyes. She gagged, but didn’t stop. One hand stroked Marcus, the other reached for the tattooed man, jerking him while Dominic bucked into her mouth.

Jason’s thighs trembled. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Rachel blinked up at him through lashes clumped with tears and mascara, her cheeks flushed. Her hand movements grew more desperate, more rhythmic. Then she moaned around Dominic’s cock—a hungry, vibrating sound that made every man around her tense, made Jason’s cock twitch violently in the cool air.

His fists clenched around the chair arms.

Rachel released Dominic’s cock from her lips with a slick, wet pop and whispered—deliberately loud—“This is only the beginning.”

She turned toward Jason again, licking the spit from her lips as her hands never stopped moving.

“I want you to see all of it this time,” she murmured. “Every filthy second.”

Jason didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

But his eyes—wide, dark, unblinking—told her everything.

She smiled.

Dominic’s hand released Rachel’s hair as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, lips swollen, chin slick with spit. She stood slowly, heels clicking back against the marble floor.

Jason’s eyes never left her. He was panting now, not from exertion—but from the overwhelming pressure building in his body, the fever pitch of being both aroused and powerless.

“Face him,” Dominic said.

Rachel obeyed without hesitation, walking on trembling legs to the center of the living room again. She turned to Jason, her body framed in gold light from the windows, and dropped slowly onto her hands and knees.

Her red lace lingerie barely held together, straps tugged and askew from the roughness of the last scene. Her ass arched up perfectly. Her head bowed. Her eyes locked onto her husband.

“Watch me,” she whispered.

Then they descended.

Rafa was the first to kneel behind her. His hands gripped her waist, spreading her cheeks wide. Jason could see the slick glisten of her arousal coating her thighs. The sharp inhale that left Rachel’s lips told him she felt the tip press against her opening.

Jason strained against the restraints with a growl buried deep in his throat.

Rafa entered her in one hard thrust.

Rachel’s head snapped back, a moan tearing through her chest.

Jason’s eyes widened, his knuckles white as he clutched the armrests, body twitching with every brutal, rhythmic thrust that followed. Her breasts swayed beneath her, brushing the cold floor. Her moans deepened—shameless, raw.

“You see that, bud?” Rafa grunted, slamming into her. “She’s wetter than last time.”

Marcus was next—stepping behind Rafa like it was a ritual. When Rafa pulled out, Marcus took his place, rubbing the head of his cock between her cheeks before pressing into her ass.

Jason’s stomach twisted. The visual alone nearly unraveled him.

Rachel screamed, a sound so guttural it sent a tremor through Jason’s chest. But then she looked up at him—and smiled through the agony.

“Every hole, baby,” she panted. “Like you wanted.”

The others took their turns—alternating, flipping her, adjusting her body like she belonged to them. Each thrust made Jason’s cock twitch, oozing precum onto his thigh. Each moan made his vision swim. He was trapped in a waking dream—a nightmare laced with unbearable arousal.

“Scream for them,” Jason hissed, voice ragged. “Scream for me.”

Rachel met his gaze mid-thrust, her mouth falling open as she gasped through another violent penetration.

“Jason!” she cried out, voice cracking. “Jason, please—watch me!”

Her body convulsed. She came hard—legs shaking, nails scraping the floor, her voice cracking as she wailed his name. The men didn’t stop; they kept taking her, over and over.

Jason’s body was on fire. Helpless and soaked in sweat, his cock bobbed with every thrust she received, desperate for release. But he wasn’t allowed to touch. Not yet.

He could only watch.

Rachel looked up at him with glassy eyes, tears and mascara streaking her cheeks. Her hair was a mess, her lipstick gone. But her smile—wild, radiant—made his chest ache.

“Show me,” Jason growled. “Show me what a dirty whore you are!”

Rachel nodded, still moaning.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But right now… I want them to break me again.”

The words sent Jason over the edge emotionally.

But not physically.

His orgasm stayed caged, denied by leather cuffs, by distance, by the unbearable beauty of watching his wife surrender everything.

Rachel lay panting, her arms trembling beneath her. Her body glistened under the amber ceiling lights—slick with sweat, cum, and abandon. Her inner thighs were glistening, her hair tangled, her chest rising in shallow, urgent gasps.

Jason couldn’t look away. He couldn’t speak.

He was strapped down and broken open—cock red, angry, twitching without relief. And still… still she took more.

Dominic’s voice cut through the air, calm, cruel, commanding.

“Ride me.”

Rachel’s head lifted. Her eyes found Jason’s again—searching him, begging him to see her. Needing permission. Needing more.

Jason’s mouth twitched, a tortured smile forming.

“Go.”

She straddled Dominic’s lap like it was instinct. Her legs were barely steady as she reached between them and guided his thick shaft to her soaked entrance. She was already stretched, raw, still dripping—but she wanted him.

Wanted all of them.

With a cry that sounded like both pleasure and surrender, she sank down on him.

Her head dropped back.

Dominic grabbed her hips and pulled her deeper, groaning as her body swallowed him.

Jason moaned through clenched teeth, his wrists jerking against the restraints again.

Rachel began to move—slow at first, then more urgently. She fucked him with a purpose, grinding her hips in wild circles, then bouncing as she got lost in the rhythm of it. Dominic leaned back on his hands and let her take control, his abs clenching with each wet slap of her body against his.

And then the others returned.

Marcus stepped behind her again, gripping her hair and pulling her head back. She opened her mouth instinctively, and he slipped inside. Her moan vibrated down his length.

Rafa stood to her left, offering his cock for her hand. She reached for it without hesitation. On her right, one of the new men did the same, and soon both of her hands were pumping thick, veiny shafts while she rode Dominic with desperate abandon.

Jason had never seen anything like it.

His wife—his beautiful, once-shy wife—was a goddess of filth now. A primal force. A woman being devoured and worshipped all at once.

She pulled off Marcus with a wet pop, panting, drool hanging from her lip.

Then she turned her head toward Jason, sweat pouring from her brow, and rasped, “You like seeing me ruined like this?”

Jason swallowed hard, his whole body trembling. “Yes,” he growled. “Yes, fuck yes.”

Dominic grabbed her throat as she bounced harder, angling his hips up into her, slamming into her soaked cunt. Her body convulsed again.

“I’m close,” she whimpered. “Jason—I’m gonna—”

One of the men reached down and slapped her clit. Hard. She screamed.

It happened again. And again.

Rachel cried out as her legs began to shake violently. Her voice cracked. Her body bowed, and with one final brutal slap to her clit, she exploded.

She squirted hard, gushing all over Dominic’s lap, coating his thighs, the leather couch, and the floor. Her hands went limp. Her body trembled like a struck tuning fork.

Jason moaned in agony, the image burned into his brain. He was rock hard, pulsing, leaking, on the edge of madness.

Dominic didn’t stop.

He thrust into her again, forcing her through the overstimulation. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. The men around her groaned in approval.

Jason whispered like a prayer, “My filthy, perfect wife…”

Rachel collapsed forward against Dominic’s chest, shaking, twitching.

One of the men stepped forward and reached down to grab her by the hair.

Dominic smirked. “She’s not done yet.”

Rachel’s body had barely recovered from her last orgasm when they lifted her off Dominic. Her limbs hung loose, boneless with release. But the men weren’t finished—not even close.

Jason’s heart pounded like a war drum, chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. His wrists strained at the restraints, his cock angry and twitching. He had never needed release like this. Never wanted so much and been allowed so little.

Rachel’s knees were spread, her body slick and trembling as Marcus guided her onto all fours once more, right in front of Jason. Her back arched in submission, cunt swollen, ass red and exposed. Strings of cum dripped from her thighs.

Rafa and the two new men circled her again like wolves.

“Her body remembers us,” one murmured. “Look how it welcomes us back.”

Rafa slid into her pussy without resistance. Rachel gasped, her spine arching deeper.

Then another man stepped forward and slid into her ass. There was no hesitation this time—her body accepted him greedily, her mouth falling open with a guttural moan that sounded like pain but melted into something obscene.

Jason could barely process it.

Two men, inside her again.

Pounding her from behind—her mouth hanging open, eyes rolled back. Her breasts swung with every brutal thrust.

She was sobbing now, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming force of it all.

“I can’t—I can’t—” she cried.

“Yes, you fucking can,” growled the man in her ass, slapping her hip hard. “You love this.”

Rafa reached under her and rubbed her clit in tight, ruthless circles.

Rachel screamed.

“Fucking break me,” she sobbed. “Please—don’t stop—”

Jason moaned aloud, tears brimming in his eyes. His wife was coming undone before him—worshipped, used, degraded… glorious.

Marcus walked around to her front. His cock dripped from earlier use, but he was hard again.

He slapped her face with it once—twice.

She whimpered, but opened her mouth.

He slid in, and she moaned around him, choking slightly as he pressed deep into her throat.

It was chaos. Filth. A symphony of moans, grunts, wet slaps, and Rachel’s increasingly unhinged cries of ecstasy.

Jason couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe.

He watched her eyes flutter, watched her body jolt as she squirted again—violently, uncontrollably—soaking the men, the floor, everything.

She convulsed, screamed his name, “Jason!”

It ripped out of her throat like confession, betrayal, and love all at once.

The men groaned around her, bodies stiffening, pace accelerating.

Marcus pulled out of her mouth just in time, stroking himself fast.

Dominic stood near her head now, his cock rock hard and dripping as he watched her collapse.

Rafa and the man in her ass both slammed into her one last time—deep and brutal—and moaned as they came.

She trembled, filled, leaking.

Jason’s body seized as he watched them pull out—both holes dripping with cum.

Then the others came closer. One knelt and came across her chest—thick ropes splashing across her tits. Another across her back.

Dominic, finally, stroked himself and came directly on her face. Her cheeks. Her lips.

Rachel didn’t flinch.

She moaned, opened her mouth, and let it drip from her tongue.

And then she turned—slowly, deliberately—and crawled toward Jason.

Her body trembled. Her knees slipped in the mess beneath her. But she moved like it was a sacred ritual.

Jason was crying now. Not from sorrow. From awe.

From torment.

She reached him and placed her sticky hands on his thighs. Looked up at him, her face utterly ruined. Cum glistening on her cheeks, tears mixing with sweat, hair tangled in wet strands.

“Do I look pretty, baby?” she asked, her voice hoarse, broken, intimate.

Jason moaned, “You’re perfect.”

She leaned in and kissed the head of his cock. Soft at first. Reverent.

Then she opened her mouth wide and took him in—hungry, desperate.

His whole body bucked against the restraints.

She moaned as she sucked, bobbing deeper, letting him fuck her throat like the others had.

Jason groaned—loud, primal, guttural. And when he came, it was an explosion.

A scream tore from his chest as she swallowed, every drop, her mouth wrapped around him like salvation.

He sagged in the chair, body twitching, spent.

Rachel crawled back, smeared and glowing. She curled up beside him on the floor, her head resting on his thigh. Silent. Content.

For the first time all night, the room was silent.

The city lights beyond the windows shimmered softly, the hum of distant traffic a faint echo against the glass.

Jason stared ahead, eyes glazed, breath ragged.

Rachel didn’t speak. She just lay there, soiled, used, adored.

Jason finally whispered, voice rough as gravel, “This is never going to leave us.”

Rachel closed her eyes. “I hope it doesn’t,” she whispered.

The night had taken them.

And they didn’t want it back.