Worship the hotwife | 2

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Part 2: The Binding

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He didn’t speak right away. Couldn’t, really—his mouth was still slick with the taste of me, lips swollen, eyes dazed like a man who’d seen the face of God and begged for more.

I stood slowly, stretching like a cat who just devoured something helpless. I didn’t bother covering myself. Why would I? My skin still glowed with the high of orgasm, my thighs glistened, and my pussy pulsed with slow, satisfied waves. I wanted him to see me like this—wrecked and radiant.

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But when I looked down again, that strange black mark on his collarbone pulsed once. Sharp lines. That same symbol from the letter. Intricate. Elegant.

I bent to trace it with my fingernail.

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“Do you feel that?” I whispered, watching him twitch beneath my touch. He whimpered.

“That’s not just ink, baby. That’s a claim.”

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His eyes fluttered open, half-lost in subspace. “Yours?”

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I tilted my head, amused.

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“No, sweetheart. Mine is what you already are. That? That’s a reminder. Of what happens when you give yourself fully to a woman like me.”

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He licked his lips, tasting me again. “I—I want to.”

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“Of course you do.” I chuckled, stepping around the chaise to where his cock strained obscenely against his pants. “But it’s not about what you want anymore, is it?”

I pressed the sole of my foot against his chest and pushed him back down.

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“Tell me what I am to you.”

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He swallowed. “You’re everything.”

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“Not good enough.”

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“You’re my goddess. My queen. My wife—my—"

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“Hotwife.” I corrected, letting the word drip from my lips like venom. “Say it.”

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“My hotwife,” he whispered. “My everything.”

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I crouched beside him, one hand sliding over his cock, still trapped in his pants. Poor thing was throbbing and leaking already. I didn’t even need to stroke it—just hovering near was enough to make him squirm.

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“You know,” I said, my voice syrup-sweet with danger, “my husband tied my garter this morning. Kissed my thighs. Told me to be good for you. Said he’d be waiting at home with a plug and a live feed.”

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The stud’s eyes widened.

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“Oh yes, baby. He loves watching. Gets off on knowing I’m out here taking cock—or in your case, taking control—while he sits there with his little cage and his hands behind his back.”

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I reached into his pants and finally wrapped my fingers around his shaft, slow and possessive.

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“You want to be part of that world, don’t you? Be one of my toys. Another mouth to sit on. Another cock to tease, ruin, and leave dripping.”

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He nodded, breathless. “Yes. Please.”

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“Good.” I leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Because I don’t need a man who wants to fuck me. I need a man who’ll thank me when I’m done using him.”

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And oh, I used him.

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I bound his wrists to the arms of the chair with silk cords—firm but comfortable. I straddled him again, but this time, I didn’t sit on his face. No. That prize had already been earned. This was different.

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This was punishment.

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I hovered my dripping pussy just out of reach—so close he could feel the heat radiating off me, smell the musk of his own work, and see how I still twitched from that first orgasm. But no matter how much he leaned, he couldn’t reach me.

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He was rock hard. Caged by skin and silk and rules.

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“You’re going to sit there and watch,” I purred. “No touching. No licking. No begging. Just obedience.”

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He groaned, hips bucking up.

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I slapped his thigh—sharp. “Don’t you dare try to fuck air in my presence. You want friction? You earn it.”

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And then, I picked up my phone. Hit a button.

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The big screen in the corner of the room flickered to life.

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There he was.

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My husband. Naked. Plugged d. Bound. His eyes were wide as he saw me on camera, straddling this other man, dripping, in full control.

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“Say hi to him,” I told my stud. “He’s watching you serve me. Watching you worship what used to be his. What still belongs to him… but only when I say so.”

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I turned slightly, spreading my lips with two fingers as I looked into the camera.

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“This is what your wife smells like after a real man’s tongue, baby,” I cooed. “Now stroke your little caged cock while I ride his lap, and don’t let him come.”

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Then I turned back to the ruined man in front of me.

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“Are you ready to hold still?” I asked, smirking. “Because I’m going to grind against you ‘til I come again. And if you so much as twitch that cock without permission…”

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I grabbed him by the throat, gently, but with promise.

“…I’ll leave you here. Tied. Naked. Alone. With my scent still on your lips and not a single drop of relief.”

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His moan was desperate. Ragged.

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But his voice?

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His voice was reverent.

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“Yes, ma’am.”

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