50. Wife's POV

NOTE: This fictional story features only adult characters (18+) and portrays consensual interactions throughout.

He groaned under his breath, collapsing onto the bed with a satisfied grin. “I swear… that cunt of yours goes right on the top. Out of all the ones I’ve had, yours takes it.”

His words hurt, like a slap on the cheek, yet at the same time it felt nice, like a pat on the back.

Top? He... He said Top. My cunt... is on top. My mind kept repeating it over and over. Top. Out of all the women he’d fucked, out of all the bodies he’d used, he liked mine best? My eyes drifted down to my swollen, used cunt, still shining from the sweat and wetness. A proud warmth spread inside me, triumph swelling where there should have been disgust. I’m at the top… I’m the best.

He smirked, tilting his head toward me. “Now, we’re officially fuckbuddies.”

I blushed, my heart stuttering. F-fuckbuddies? The word was so wrong, so dirty, yet... it made me shake with excitement. We are… fuckbuddies. I am his fuckbuddy. Fu-ck-bu-dd-ies.

It felt so indecent just to hear it, let alone to have it said to my face. I kept my head down, eyes fixed on the floor, too embarrassed to lift them—because I didn’t want him to see the pathetic smile forming at my lips, the way I was blushing and enjoying every word from his mouth.

“So you better take your fat ass to my dick whenever I call you.”

My head moved in a quick nod, my body responding to him in a flash, my eyes still locked on the floor. Whenever he calls… The words rang in my ears like a command etched into me. I am his fuckbuddy now—that meant whenever he wanted me, I had to go. My pussy involuntarily clenched at the thought. He’ll call me… and I’ll come running.

“Bitch, he shouted suddenly, voice loud. “Reply when I say anything.”

I flinched, panic rushing through me. “O-Ok!” The words tumbled out instantly, weak and apologetic.

His grin spread slowly, satisfied, like he had just broken me a little further. He leaned back, eyes raking over me. “That’s right. You’re built for this. Made for fucking by fat cocks.” He gave his cock a little wiggle. “Every inch of you screams cockslut, and I’m sure you know it by now, don’t you?”

Cockslut? The words stabbed through me, cruel but... true. I am… he’s right. I am made for fucking by cocks like his. My throat tightened as the confession slipped out. “Y-Yes…”

My face burned hotter the moment I said it, shame flooding me, but my nipples tightened under his stare. I hated how much his cruelty lit me on fire inside. Made for fucking… The thought buzzed in my head, arousal peaking again.

“Ah, look at me,” he muttered suddenly, reaching into the drawer beside the bed. I watched, confused, as he dug through clutter with a focused look. His hand stilled, and his lips curved up. “Perfect.”

My heart thudded, unease rising. When he turned back, a black marker was in his hand, cap already off.

He walked towards me with a smile, crouching down in front of me, eyes locking onto mine. “You need to have my number.”

I froze, eyes wide, brows furrowed, my lips slightly opened. I tilted my head slightly, unsure if I should speak or move, staring at the marker in his hand and then back at his face. What… is he doing? My stomach fluttered with a strange tension, and my hands itched to grip my bare thighs.

“Don’t move,” he ordered.

The cold tip of the marker pressed hard against my tits. I gasped as he dragged it across my skin, bold black digits scrawled over my tits like I was nothing but a page for him to write on.  He didn’t ask, didn’t care what I thought. He just used me, treating me like his property, like my body existed only for him to do as he sees fit.

And... can you look at this, this reaction of my body. How fucking... disgraceful.
Why? Why is my cunt leaking? Why is my body burning with need? Why do I enjoy being humiliated like this? Why does my body respond this way? Is this really me? What has happened to my self-respect?
Since when?

My body reacting just like it always had been to every humiliation at his hands. My pussy throbs and drips, a clear response to his degrading actions.

He finished the last number, then pressed the tip against my nipple, circling it slowly. A whimper ripped from my throat. My chest heaved, nipples straining against his teasing touch.

He leaned back, smirking cruelly, eyes dark with amusement. “Look at this. My favorite masterpiece. This pussy, these tits. It all belongs to me now. Your husband may think it’s his,” he murmured as he leaned closer, his hand gripping the back of my neck. “But he’s only borrowing what already belongs to me.

My breath shuddered, his words digging deeper than the ink ever could. A ragged moan escaped through my shut mouth. Every word, every touch had me drowning in pride, knowing how far I had fallen.

“Make sure to remember this number,” he muttered, tapping the fat digits smeared across my tits with his finger. “Tomorrow, you’re gonna drop me a message first thing. That’s the first thing you do. Alright?”

I swallowed, cheeks blushing as I nodded. My eyes slipped down, as I stared at the ink sprawled across my chest.

He chuckled again, leaning closer until his breath tickled my ear. “Though I do feel kinda bad for your husband. Poor guy... but what can he do, huh? If his woman’s this much of a slut?”

My lips quivered, as I helplessly agreed with his every word.

“Don’t go shy on me now, not after all we did together” he growled, tilting my face up until his eyes pinned me in place. “Tell me... can you even compare him with me?”

I trembled pathetically at his cruel words, each one cutting into my husband and me.

*Slap

His hand came down sharp across my tits, the sting spreading through me. “Open your mouth, Bitch. Say it.”

“I… I can’t…” My words cracked, shame clinging to each syllable.

Another slap to my tits, harder, nipples throbbing. “Say it!”

... I...

*Slap

Tears blurred my eyes as the words slipped out in a broken gasp. “H-he… he’s nothing…”

“That’s better.” His smirk widened as his cock pressed against my thigh. “Again. Louder.”

“H-He’s nothing,” I whimpered, guilt twisting in my chest even as my pussy agreed with arousal.

“And you?” His voice dropped cruelly “What are you?”

“I… I’m…” My voice faltered.

The sting of his palm snapped against my tits again, harder.

“I’m… I’m your bitch,” I cried out, the words spilling raw and submissive.

His laugh was mocking, vibrating against my skin as his hand tightened on my neck. “Damn right you are. Say it louder. Let it sink into that dirty brain of yours.”

“I–I’m your bitch,” I repeated, voice shaking, shame clawing at me even as I dripped, soaking the inside of my thighs.

He slapped my tits hard. “Pathetic. Louder. With some pride. You like being mine, don’t you?”

My face burned, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. “Y-Yes… I like being yours… I like being your bitch.”

He leaned close, his lips brushing my ear, hot and cruel. “And your husband? That poor idiot? Tell me what he gets.”

My chest heaved, my throat closing in refusal, but another sharp slap across my tits ripped the words out of me. “H-he gets… nothing.”

His grin widened, cruel satisfaction glinting in his eyes. Now, tell me what he is.”

My throat locked up, shame squeezing tighter than any hand.

SMACK. His palm crashed against my tits again, the sting tearing a cry out of me.

“Say it,” he shouted.

Tears burned my eyes as the words stuck in my throat. “H-he’s… my husband’s… useless.”

“That’s right,” he growled, squeezing my chin until it hurt. “Again. Louder.”

“My husband’s useless!” I cried, my voice cracking as humiliation seared through me. My cunt throbbed traitorously at the same time.

He laughed, deep and mocking. “He can’t fuck you, can he? Tell me who really fucks you right.”

I whimpered, twisting under his grip. “Y-you do…”

Another slap to my tits made me gasp, nipples stiff with pain and pleasure.

“Not good enough,” he snarled. “Say it right. Your husband can’t fuck you. Only I can.”

My whole body trembled as I forced the words out, broken and ashamed. “M-my husband can’t fuck me… only you can…”

His smirk spread wide, satisfied. And a happy sob broke out of me, and underneath it, my body pulsed in greedy agreement.

“Now get the fuck out of here, quick,” he barked,  “Your husband could come out any moment.”

I scrambled to my feet, knees weak, tumbling forward slightly and leaning on him for support. My lower body felt completely numb, tingling in a way that made it hard to even think.

He chuckled low, brushing a hand along my arm. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

I fumbled with my clothes, hastily tugging them back on, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The big digits scrawled across my tits glared back at me, bold and humiliating. My face flamed, cheeks hot as I swallowed my shame.

With my hands pressed lightly against my chest, I headed out, trying to move as normally as possible. I sank onto the sofa in the living room, heart racing, waiting for my husband to appear. My mind felt foggy, body still pulsing with the shame and pleasure of what had just happened.

Minutes passed. He still wasn't out. Perhaps his stomach was hurting a lot. I lay on the sofa with my head turned towards the hallway, waiting for him to walk in.

My entire body felt tired and heavy. I could feel my eyes shutting again and again, and I snapped them back open. It needed rest. And I couldn't fight it any longer. So that's it, I finally gave in to that strong pull of sleep.