The slam of the mansion’s heavy door echoed like a prison gate, sealing her inside his world. For a month, time lost all meaning. The outside world�Jim, her job, her old life�faded into a distant, blurry photograph. Her universe contracted to the opulent rooms of Marc’s home and the relentless, savage demand of his body.
He kept her naked. Always. The cool air of the climate-controlled mansion was a constant caress on her skin, a constant reminder of her exposed, vulnerable state. The plush carpets beneath her feet, the cold marble of the kitchen island against her bare thighs, the slick leather of the couch sticking to her back�every sensation was a footnote to the main event: him.
He fucked her anywhere, anytime. The first week was a blur of hard, possessive taking. Over his dining table, her cheek pressed against the polished wood as he drove into her from behind, his grunts loud in her ear. “This cunt is mine now, Julie. Say it.” Against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, her palms flat on the cool glass, her reflected face a mask of ecstasy as he pounded into her, threatening to push her through the pane. “Let them see what a well-fucked slut looks like.”
He was insatiable. She’d be woken by his hand between her legs, his thick fingers already working her open, his cock already hard and pressing against her back. “Time for your breakfast, Julie.” He’d take her in the shower, water sluicing over them as he lifted her against the tile wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, his thrusts making the glass doors rattle. He’d bend her over the arm of a sofa in the middle of the afternoon and devour her with his mouth before fucking her so deeply she saw stars, her cries absorbed by the expensive upholstery.
Her body began to change. It started with the bruises. Dark, possessive blossoms of purple and blue dotted her hips from where his fingers gripped her, a constantly shifting map of his ownership on her pale skin. The soft flesh of her ass was often marked with the faint red imprint of his hand after a particularly intense session. She’d catch her reflection and a thrill would shoot through her at the evidence. I am his.
The changes went deeper. Her breasts felt heavier, the nipples perpetually sensitized, aching for the rough scrape of his teeth or the pinch of his fingers. But the most profound change was to her cunt. The relentless, daily stretch of his massive cock left her feeling perpetually open. Her once-tight entrance was now a swollen, hungry flower, her pussy lips permanently plump and sensitized, a throbbing, slick reminder of the fucking she’d received and the one she knew was always coming.
She was constantly wet for him. The mere sound of his footsteps in the hall could make her pulse jump and her core clench with empty need. She began to crave it, to need the brutal fullness only he could provide. The psychological shift was complete. She was no longer Jim’s wife playing a game. She was Marc’s fucktoy, living for the next time he would use her holes.
“On your knees, Julie, ” he’d command, and she’d drop without a second thought, her mouth already watering for the taste of him. He’d face-fuck her until she gagged, tears streaming down her face, and she’d thank him for it, her voice hoarse. “Thank you for using my throat, Marc.”
He’d order her to play with herself for him, to show him how wet she could get thinking about his cock. She’d spread her legs wide, fingering her slick, stretched-open pussy for his amusement, moaning as she came with a gush onto his Persian rug. “Look at that, ” he’d growl, his eyes dark with lust. “That pathetic little clit is begging for my tongue. Come here and clean your mess off the floor first, then I’ll give you what you want.”
One morning, about three weeks in, she couldn’t keep her breakfast down. The smell of the eggs he’d made sent her rushing to the bathroom. He stood in the doorway, watching her heave over the toilet, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face.
He didn’t say a word. He simply pulled her up, turned her around, and bent her over the sink. He fucked her right there, his reflection watching hers in the mirror, her face pale but her eyes burning with a desperate, newfound hunger. His thrusts were possessive, deep, and claiming. “This is my seed taking root inside you, ” he grunted, his hands tight on her bruised hips. “You feel that? That’s my baby claiming your womb, Julie.”
The final week was a frenzy. Knowing her time was almost up, he seemed determined to brand himself upon her forever. He fucked her four, five times a day. He took her anal virginity on the bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, her screams of pain quickly morphing into screams of overwhelming pleasure as he stretched and filled that impossibly tight hole. He came inside her there, too, marking another part of her as his.
The day he sent her back, he did it with the same casual authority with which he did everything. He tossed her a simple sundress�the first article of clothing she’d worn in a month. It felt strange and restrictive against her sensitized skin.
“Jim is expecting you, ” he said, his voice neutral, as if commenting on the weather.
She stood there, trembling, her body a living testament to his month-long ownership. Her pussy, swollen and used, ached with a familiar emptiness. Her breasts were tender. The faintest curve, a new fullness to her lower belly, was just beginning to show. She was pregnant. She knew it. He knew it.
He walked up to her, cupping her face with one hand, his thumb stroking her cheek. It was almost tender.
“Remember, ” he said, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “This, ” he pressed his other hand flat against her stomach, “is mine. You belong to me now, more than you ever could to him. Now get the fuck out. Your husband is waiting.” He gave her a hard, possessive kiss, biting her lower lip until she gasped. Then he turned and walked away, leaving her standing by the door, dressed and dripping with his cum from one final, brutal goodbye fuck.
The drive home was a blur. She pulled into the familiar suburban driveway, the house looking smaller, less real than Marc’s mansion. The front door opened before she could even get out of the car. Jim stood there, a hopeful, excited, and nervous smile on his face.
“Julie? Baby, you’re back! I’ve missed you so much, ” he said, rushing down the driveway toward her. His eyes scanned her, taking in the dress, her tousled hair, the faint bruise just visible on her collarbone. His smile widened. “God, you look... incredible. So... fulfilled. Tell me everything. Did you... did you have a good time?”
She stepped out of the car, her legs slightly unsteady. She could feel the sticky evidence of Marc’s last claim drying on her inner thighs. She looked at her husband’s eager, clueless face, and all she could hear was Marc's voice.
This is mine. You belong to me.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Jim’s smile began to falter, replaced by a hint of confusion and concern.
“Julie? Honey, are you okay? You look... different.”
She finally found her voice, it was a raw, used whisper. “Jim... I...”
The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Jim’s face, initially etched with concern, cycled through a storm of emotions. Confusion. Denial. A dawning, horrific comprehension.
“You’re... what?” he breathed, the words barely audible. He took a step back, as if her news were a physical force pushing him away. “No. Julie, that’s not... that’s not possible. You’re not supposed to get pregnant by him. We had a deal. The pills... your pills...”
His voice was rising, cracking under the strain of a fantasy that had curdled into a terrifying reality. He had wanted the thrill, the vicarious pleasure of watching his beautiful wife be taken by a more dominant man. He had not wanted this. This was a permanent mark. A claim that went far beyond a sweaty, secret encounter in their own bedroom.
Julie could only watch him unravel, her own body still humming with the memory of Marc’s possession, her womb now cradling the undeniable proof of it. I’m carrying his child. The thought should have horrified her. It did. And yet, a treacherous, deep part of her thrilled at the primal finality of it.
Before Jim could form another sentence, the sharp, commanding ring of Julie’s phone sliced through the tension. They both flinched. Julie’s hand trembled as she pulled it from her pocket. The screen glowed with a single word: MARC.
Jim’s eyes widened. “Don’t you fucking answer that.”
Her thumb, acting on an instinct that now belonged entirely to Marc, swiped across the screen and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Put it on speaker, Julie.” Marc’s voice was a low, resonant vibration that seemed to travel through the phone and directly into her bones. It was not a request.
She obeyed, her movements robotic, and held the phone between them.
“Jim, ” Marc’s voice filled their tidy suburban living room, an invasive, dark presence. “Congratulations are in order, I hear.”
“You son of a bitch, ” Jim spat, his fists clenching at his sides. “What did you do?”
“I believe the biological process is quite straightforward, ” Marc replied, a smirk evident in his tone. “But we can have that lesson another time. Right now, I need you to listen very carefully. I’m parked down the street. The black sedan. Julie is to come out. Now.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you!” Jim shouted, his face flushing with anger and impotent rage.
“Jim, Jim, Jim, ” Marc chided, his voice dripping with condescending patience. “The time for your permission ended the moment you handed her to me. She comes out now, or the very explicit video of her screaming my name while begging for my child, which I have been live-streaming to a very exclusive client list for the past month, gets a much, much wider release. Do you understand? Her face is very clear in the footage.”
The blood drained from Jim’s face, leaving him pale and shaky. He looked at Julie, his eyes begging her to tell him it was a lie. She could only look away, the heat of a profound, humiliating arousal already spreading through her core at Marc’s ruthless claim. He’d been filming it. Sharing her. The violation was absolute. And it made her fucking soaked.
“Now, Julie, ” Marc’s voice crackled through the speaker, a final, unquestionable order.
She didn’t look at Jim again. She couldn’t. She simply turned and walked to the front door, her husband’s shattered silence a heavier burden than any command Marc could utter. She stepped out into the evening air, the click of the door behind her sounding like the seal on a tomb.
The sedan’s rear door swung open as she approached. Inside, Marc sat, impeccably dressed, his dark eyes burning with possessive fire. He didn’t speak. He just crooked a finger.
She slid into the plush leather interior, the door thudding shut, locking her in with him. The car was filled with the scent of his cologne and power.
“Did you tell him?” Marc asked, his voice a low growl.
“Yes, ” she whispered.
“Good.” His hand snaked out, not to strike her, but to palm her breast through her thin shirt, his thumb flicking over her nipple until it hardened into a painful peak. She gasped, her back arching. “And now the world will know.”
He produced a small, discreet remote from his pocket and pressed a button. The partition between the front and back seats whirred down, revealing a driver. And on the backs of the leather headrests, two small screens flickered to life. On them, in high definition, was Julie. It was from the first night in his mansion. She was on her knees, tears streaking her face as she looked up at the camera, her lips swollen and parted, Marc’s thick, heavy cock resting on her tongue.
“Drive. The slow route, ” Marc commanded the driver, his eyes never leaving Julie’s horrified, excited face.
The car pulled away from the curb, from her home, from Jim. As it rolled sedately through her neighborhood, past the manicured lawns and houses of people she knew, the video played. Her muffled pleas, Marc’s deep voice commanding her to ‘open wider, take it all, you’re my good little breeder, ’ filled the cabin.
“They can’t hear, ” Marc murmured, his mouth close to her ear, his breath hot. “But they can see. Every husband on his evening walk, every wife watering her flowers... they can all see what you are. My property.”
He unbuttoned her jeans, his fingers deft and sure. He yanked them down her hips along with her panties, baring her to the warm air of the car. She was exposed, on display for anyone who might glance into the tinted windows and see the glow of the screens.
“This beautiful, fertile cunt, ” he growled, pushing two fingers inside her without warning. She cried out, her head falling back against the seat as he scissored them, stretching her. “Mine. This tight little ass I broke in.” His thumb pressed against her other hole, making her jump. “Mine. These perfect tits, full of my milk to come.” He squeezed her breast hard. “Mine. And this...” He moved his hand from her cunt to her lower stomach, pressing his palm flat against the faint, still-invisible swell there. “This most of all. Mine.”
He unzipped his slacks, freeing his cock. It was already fully erect, a thick, veined testament to his control. The videos continued to play on a loop, a public testament to her debasement.
“Get on top of me, Julie, ” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for refusal. “Ride my cock where all your neighbors can almost see you. I want to feel that pregnant cunt grip me while you watch yourself become mine.”
Trembling, burning with a shame that only made her need him more, she moved to straddle him. She guided him to her entrance, her body already weeping for him. She sank down slowly, a low, guttural moan ripped from her throat as he filled her, stretching her sensitive, changed body completely.
“That’s it, ” he hissed, his hands gripping her hips, forcing her down to the hilt. “Fuck me, Julie. Show this entire town what happens to pretty little wives who belong to me.”
And she did. She began to move, rising and falling on his cock, her eyes locked on the screen where her own image was taking a different cock with total submission. The duality shattered her. The car ride, the public risk, the relentless fullness�it was all too much. Her orgasm built faster than it ever had, a torrent of sensation pulling tight in her belly.
“I’m... Marc, I’m going to...”
“Come, ” he ordered, grinding up into her, hitting a spot that made her vision whiten. “Come all over my cock, you filthy, public slut. Let everyone see you lose control.”
The climax crashed over her with violent, debilitating force. Her inner muscles clamped down on him, milking his cock as she shook, a silent scream on her lips as she watched her past and present selves fall apart for the same man. As her cries subsided into ragged breaths, she felt his own release. He held her hips still, pumping his hot, deep load into her already-claimed womb, grunting with each powerful pulse, each jet a reaffirmation of his ownership.
The car continued its slow cruise. Marc didn’t let her move, keeping her impaled on his softening length.
“Now, ” he whispered, his lips against her sweaty temple, his eyes on the world outside her window. “They all know"