He waits angrily. He doesn't like failure, and Angie's refusal to submit makes Him look like a failure. So He traveled 1200 miles to remind her why He hated failure, and why submitting was a much easier alternative. He paces in the living room until He sees the car lights flash in the driveway, hears the click of her heels on the asphalt. He glances at Roy, her husband, seated in the corner of the room, a not unattractive man, but also not assertive enough to ask for the sex he wants, which is why He is here. His job is to teach them, to train them, to make them fear the alternative, which makes them submit to acts they may otherwise decline. He knows they like it; it is society that makes them say "I don't do anal," "I won't lick pussy," "I won't deep throat your fat cock." But they always cum when they do it.
He glances at Roy, a look that says clearly, be quiet, stay there, watch, listen, learn. Roy nods. He paid for Angie's great body, the blonde hair, the perfect teeth, and then she had refused to play her role. So he had sent her to Him for a month of training, and when she had come back she had immediately resumed refusing the anal sex he so desperately craved. But Roy is not willing to force her; despite watching tape upon tape of Angie taking cock after cock up that tight back passage; he can not bring himself to ram himself home when she refuses, and so he settles for missionary, once a week, until finally he picked up the phone and called Him.
So now He is here, in the living room, and that's her key in the lock, the door swinging open, and before she knows what's happening, He's locked the door, His hand like a vise on her arm, and He's wheeling her roughly into the room. She stumbles on her heels and rights herself, her eyes immediately locking on the large flat screen television, frozen on an image of herself with a tongue buried in a dripping wet cunt. She flinches and knows immediately that it is Him; her insides clench and she wants to scream.
"Take off your top," He orders, and her fingers are on the buttons of her suit jacket before she even thinks to fight. When she hesitates He rips the buttons, tears the front of her silk shirt, until she's standing in her skirt and bra. "The bra," He snaps, and tears are rolling down her cheeks as she takes it off, as He presses play on the TV and she watches herself plunge her tongue into a stranger's cunt, suck on her clit, spread her labia wide and stick her tongue inside. The curtains are open and she knows that anyone passing by will see the show. The sooner it ends, the better.
"Get on your knees," He grunts, and she does so, opening her mouth automatically for the fat cock she knows is coming. Without prelude He forces himself down her throat, so her nose touches His stomach, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Roy watching, stunned. He pulls out and slowly pushes back inside, His fingers tweaking her thick nipples, and He tells her to suck on the tip, make lots of noise. She obeys, though this does not get her off, and she can hear the slurping from the television and her face heats with embarrassment. He plunges back down her throat, face fucking her mercilessly, as her husband watches on, eyes wide. "Get it wet, you know where it's going," He orders, and the tears come faster.
"Please, no," is all she can make out before He's pulling her up to her feet, pushing her onto the couch, then bending her over the arm, hands on the floor, ass high in the air. He knees her legs apart, shoves the skirt over her hips, and rips his fingers into the crotch of her pantyhose, splitting them apart. She wears no panties, and He spits on her ass crack, rubbing it in thoroughly, though not penetrating her with his fingers.
"I hear you haven't been listening," He says. "I had to travel a long way to remind you of our lessons."
