Chapter 3

Catherine’s life tilted off its axis in the month following that first hotel night, her days and nights consumed by Darnell. It started with clandestine hotel meetups she arranged—discreet suites booked under fake names, her sapphire dresses and satin slips traded for tight skirts and plunging tops she’d never wear in public. The first was a boutique hotel downtown, three days after their debut. She waited in a corner suite, her heart pounding, until Darnell strode in, his black tank top clinging to his chiseled frame. He didn’t speak—just shoved her against the wall, hiked her skirt, and fucked her standing up, his massive cock splitting her open. She came fast, her moans echoing off the marble, her legs trembling as he pounded her, his thrusts deep and relentless. He pulled out, spun her around, and bent her over the desk, taking her again from behind, her hands scrabbling at papers as she screamed into her arm, cumming twice more before he flooded her pussy with his cum. She slumped against the desk, panting, her body sore but alive, his grin a dark promise of more.

A week later, he summoned her to his penthouse for the first time—a sleek, high-rise lair overlooking the Potomac, all glass and leather. She arrived in a red wrap dress, nervous but eager, and he greeted her with a smirk, pulling her inside. He fucked her on the couch first, stripping her slow, his hands rough on her hips as he entered her, his cock stretching her with every thrust. She came hard, her voice raw, her nails digging into the leather as he kept going, his stamina a marvel she couldn’t comprehend. Then he taught her—pushed her to her knees, his jeans dropping to reveal that huge black cock, thick and veined, pulsing with power. “Suck it,” he ordered, and she hesitated, her lips parting uncertainly. He guided her, his hand in her chestnut hair, showing her how to take it—slow licks at first, then deeper, her mouth stretching around him. She gagged, eyes watering, but he coaxed her, “Relax, baby, you’ll get it,” and she did, learning to deep-throat without choking, his cock sliding down her throat until her nose pressed against his pubic hair. He groaned, “Fuck, that’s good,” and she felt a perverse pride swell in her chest, a thrill at mastering it for him.

Their encounters shifted after that—Catherine stopped setting the dates. Darnell took over, texting her demands: “Hotel, 9 p.m.,” or “My place, now.” She obeyed, her life bending to his schedule. One night, at a black-tie gala with Edward, her phone buzzed mid-speech—Darnell: “Restroom, stall 3, five minutes.” She froze, Edward droning beside her about tax cuts, her mind racing. “I need to powder my nose,” she mumbled, slipping away, her heart hammering as she entered the women’s room. Darnell ambushed her, locking the stall door, his hands yanking her gown up to her waist. He fucked her against the wall, fast and brutal, his cock plunging deep as she bit her lip to stifle her screams, cumming so hard her knees buckled. He pulled out, wiped his cock on her thigh, and left her trembling, gown askew, as she stumbled back to the gala, her excuse—”I felt faint”—barely covering the flush on her cheeks.

The shift deepened—hotels became quick, dirty fucks in whatever room he chose, his penthouse a playground for longer sessions. One night, he bent her over his kitchen island, fucking her pussy raw, then pulled out and made her suck him again, her throat taking him fully as he praised her: “Good little cocksucker, ain’t you?” She beamed, perverse pride glowing, her lips slick with spit as he came down her throat. Another time, he fucked her on his bed, legs over his shoulders, her screams bouncing off the walls as he came inside her, then flipped her over and took her again, his cum dripping from her pussy as she came, her body a shuddering mess. Each time, his praise grew sharper, more degrading—”Nice tight pussy, slut,” or “You’re my cum-hungry bitch now”—and she craved it, desperate to please him, her dignity fraying with every word.

Her life unraveled around his demands. At a donor dinner, Darnell texted: “Meet me, 10th floor, now.” She excused herself—”Bathroom emergency”—leaving Edward mid-conversation with a oil tycoon, her heels clicking as she raced to a hotel room where Darnell waited. He fucked her over a chair, her dress bunched around her waist, her pussy taking his relentless cock as she came, her moans loud enough to risk discovery. At a charity auction, she ditched Edward with a vague “I’ll be right back” to suck Darnell off in his car in the parking garage, deep-throating him until he came, his hand gripping her hair as he growled, “That’s my dirty little trophy.” She swallowed, pride surging, then returned to Edward, lipstick smudged, her excuse—”I got lost”—met with his annoyed grunt.

Catherine’s world frayed at the seams—important events missed, Edward’s suspicions rising, her excuses flimsier each time. Darnell’s texts ruled her, his cock her obsession, his praise her drug. “You’re built for this, ain’t you, my slut?” he’d say, fucking her against his penthouse window, the city below a blur as she came, her body shaking. She nodded, breathless, craving his approval, her marriage, her status, her old life slipping away as she gave him her mouth, her pussy, her everything—whenever, wherever he demanded.

Catherine’s affair with Darnell spiraled deeper over the weeks, his aggression sharpening, his demands growing bolder. He didn’t settle for hotels or his penthouse anymore—he craved the thrill of risk, and she followed, her body and will bending to his. One humid afternoon, he texted her: “Meet me, 5th and K, now.” She found his black SUV parked on a busy street, horns blaring, pedestrians streaming past. He pulled her into the front seat, his jeans already unzipped, his massive cock hard and waiting. “Suck it,” he growled, his hand shoving her head down. She hesitated, the windows untinted, people just feet away, but his grip tightened, forcing her mouth onto him. She took him deep, her throat stretching, gagging wetly as he thrust up into her, his other hand gripping the wheel. Cars honked, a passerby glanced too long, and she came from the sheer danger of it, her pussy clenching in her panties as he came down her throat, grunting, “Good fuckin’ slut.” She pulled back, spit on her chin, pride and fear warring in her chest as she stumbled out, her lipstick smeared, praying no one recognized her.