His Name My Mark

I sit like a god--legs spread, cock semi-hard but heavy with threat--on a throne not made of gold, but of power, control, and your complete fucking surrender. The room hums with heat, thick with the scent of oudh, sweat, and your cunt slicking down your thighs. Candlelight dances across my skin like it knows it's illuminating sin.

And there you are.

Kneeling between my legs like a dirty little temple whore waiting for communion. Your knees are red from the floor. Your mascara's already a mess, and we haven't even started. Your mouth is parted, breathing shallow, like you're high off the thought of choking on me. And you are. You fucking are.

You don't speak. Don't dare. Your fingers find my zipper and drag it down like you're undressing something sacred. You peel open my pants and my cock falls out--warm, pulsing, half-hard and menacing. Your breath catches, and I see it--that shudder, that involuntary twitch in your thighs. You're soaked already.

You lean forward and just... take.

No warning. No tease. Just your lips wrapping around me like you've waited your whole fucking life for this moment. Warm, wet, sinful.

You suck like you're trying to pull my soul out through the tip. Your tongue licks along the underside, swirling, teasing, tasting. Your hands press to my thighs, steadying yourself as you take more and more of me until your nose is buried in my lap and I feel your throat convulse around me.

You gag--and fuck, I groan.

Because that sound? That choke? It's the music of worship. And baby, you worship me with your mouth.

Your eyes never leave mine. Watered, pleading, but locked--like you're begging me to spit on you, slap you, tell you what a dirty little slut you are for loving this. For loving me.

Your tits bounce with every thrust of your throat, heavy and perfect, and that fucking chain--his name--gleams like a joke hanging above your sin-soaked cleavage. I smirk. Because you're his on paper, but you're mine in every filthy, aching, dripping way that matters.

And I'm about to make sure you never forget that again.

I slide my foot between your legs, press my toe to your soaked panties, and circle. Slow. Teasing. Just enough to make your hips twitch. You moan around my cock--desperate, muffled, raw--and I feel the vibration all the way up my spine.

I grab a fistful of your hair, force your mouth down hard, balls slapping your chin. Your spit's everywhere--slick and stringing, dripping off your lips, down your neck, pooling between your tits. You choke again, but you don't pull away. You fucking lean into it.

And now I'm thrusting.

Hard.

Fast.

Punishing.

My cock slams in and out of your throat, using it like it's a hole made just for me. The slurping, the gurgling, the wet pops of your lips sucking back the drool--this is filth. This is worship. This is ownership.

You cry, gag, moan, and I see you losing yourself. I see you becoming mine.

The pressure builds. My balls tighten. My breath comes ragged. I fuck your face with brutal, claiming strokes until I can't hold it.

Then it happens.

My voice rips from me, low and guttural.

And I cum.

I bury myself deep in your throat and unload--thick, hot, endless. You gulp it down like a good little cumslut, but it's too much. It spills from the corners of your mouth, oozes down your chin, coats your tits, drips off your nipples.

One thick strand slides down the chain around your neck--painting his name in my filth.

You collapse back on your heels, breathing like you've run a marathon, lips red and swollen, eyes dazed with cock-drunken pride. Your tongue flicks out, licking up the last drops from your lips.

Ruined.

Claimed.

Fucking perfect.

And I?

I lean back, still twitching, grinning like I just baptized you in sin.

Because I did.

And now?

Now you wear my cum like it's a crown.

You're still on your knees, mouth wet and leaking, tits glistening with my cum, and your thighs are trembling--slippery with need. But I'm not done with you. Not even close.

I rise from the throne slowly, cock half-hard, twitching, dragging against your cheek as I walk past you. I look down, tilt your chin up with two fingers, and smile like a devil ready to drag you straight to hell.

"Get on the bed," I growl. "On all fours. Let me see what kind of mess you've made down there."

You scramble up like a slut desperate to be used. The sheets are cool beneath you, but your skin is burning. You arch your back, spread your legs, and your pussy--god, your pussy--gleams in the candlelight, dripping and swollen, clenching around nothing like it knows what's coming.

I get behind you, spit into my hand, and drag it across your folds--coating you in slick, in spit, in want. You moan, high-pitched and needy, your ass wiggling like you're begging for it. I slap it once--hard enough to sting--and you cry out, the sound of pure pleasure laced with pain.

Then I press in.

Not slow. Not gentle.

One savage thrust, and I'm buried balls-deep inside you, stretching you wide, filling every inch. You scream into the mattress, fingers clawing at the sheets. Your cunt grips me like it's starving, walls pulsing around my cock like it's finally getting what it's craved for days.

"You feel that?" I grunt, hips snapping. "That's mine now."

You nod, babbling nonsense--yes, yes, yes--but I don't slow. I can't. You're milking me with every thrust, juices splashing against my thighs, your body jerking with every impact.

I lean over you, grip your hair, yank your head back, and whisper filth straight into your ear.

"Tell me how many times you've dreamed of this."

"Every night," you whimper.

"How many times you fingered yourself thinking about choking on my cock while he kissed your forehead in the next room?"

You shudder, humiliated and turned on beyond belief. "Too many..."

I chuckle darkly, slamming deeper. "You dirty little cheating slut."

My hand slides under you, finds your clit, and rubs--vicious circles, fast and cruel--until you start to unravel.

"I want you to cum on my cock," I growl, "but you don't get to be quiet. I want you to scream loud enough he fucking hears it."

You lose it.

Your back arches, your pussy clamps down, and you break apart around me--screaming, sobbing, soaking me with the force of your orgasm. You tremble, whimpering, completely fucked out.

But I'm still not done.

I pull out, roll you onto your back, and straddle your face. My cock--wet, glistening with your cum--slaps against your cheek.

"Clean it," I demand. "Show me how much you love your own taste."

Your lips part, tongue darting out, licking me clean, taking me back into your throat like you're grateful for the chance. Like this is the only place you ever belonged.

When I finally cum again--groaning, hand twisted in your hair--it's all over your face. In your mouth, your eyes, across your lips.

You wear it like warpaint.

Like pride.

And I?

I lean down, grip your chin, and make you look at me.

"You belong to me now."

And fuck... you nod.

Because you know it's true.

You're still on your back--naked, dripping, painted in sin. My cum glistens on your lips, your chin, smeared across your cheekbone like a filthy crown. Your thighs are still trembling from the orgasm I wrung out of you, your cunt still twitching, begging to be filled again.

That's when the door opens.

He steps in--your husband. Buttoned-up, neat, jaw clenched tight. But the second he sees you... he freezes.

His breath catches.

He sees the wreckage.

Your ruined mouth.

Your flushed chest.

Your thighs soaked and spread wide for me.

His eyes flick to me--cock still hard, still wet with your need--and then back to you.

"Happy birthday," I say, voice low, wicked.

He swallows hard. "What the fuck..."

You don't hide. You don't cover yourself.

You smile.

You fucking smile.

"Watch," I command him. "You don't move. You don't speak. You watch while I do everything you never could."

I drag you by the hips to the edge of the bed. You're already moaning, breathless, eager. Your legs spread wide, open invitation. Your eyes flick toward him--just for a moment--teasing, cruel, hungry.

Then I slide back in.

You cry out like you've been starving, like your body was made for this exact kind of brutal invasion. I fuck you slow at first--deep, rhythmic, letting him see every inch disappear into your dripping cunt.

You look right at him, eyes glassy, lips parted.

"He's... so much bigger," you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

He flinches.

You moan louder, more theatrical now, like you want him to hurt. "God... I can feel him in my stomach."

I lean down, kiss you, bite your bottom lip. Then I look at your husband.

"She begged for it," I say. "Begged to taste me again. Begged to ride another man's cock while her loving little husband sat there jerking off to the sound of her being split open."

He's frozen. You can see his cock twitching in his pants, guilt and arousal battling across his face.

"You wanna see her ride me?" I ask him, smirking.

He doesn't speak. He just nods.

I roll you over, guide you on top of me, and you slide down--moaning like a slut in heat. Your hips roll, grinding, bouncing. Every bounce makes that chain around your neck slap against your tits, still marked with streaks of my cum.

I grab your ass, spreading you for him, showing off the mess you've made. "Look at your wife," I growl. "This is who she really is."

You turn your head, lock eyes with your husband, and ride me harder.

"Do you see this?" you pant, sweat dripping. "Do you see how full he makes me? How deep he fucks me?"

You're not asking for permission anymore.

You're taunting him.

I lean up, lips grazing your ear. "Tell him," I whisper. "Tell him what you really want."

You grind slow, wicked. You look him dead in the eye.

"I want you to sit down... unzip your pants... and watch me take every drop of another man's cum."

He obeys.

Because this? This is your new tradition.

And you?

You're never going back.