Chapter 3

The hours after they got home were a special kind of hell. A quiet, domestic hell filled with the soft sounds of a life that suddenly felt like a costume. The hum of the refrigerator, the creak of the floorboards, the gentle rustle of Lily moving through the apartment.

She had played her part perfectly in the car, selling the lie of her humiliation with a few well-placed tears and a story of telling Barry off that was so perfectly tailored to Jake’s ego it was a work of art. He had played his part, too, feigning anger and protective concern, all while the raw, filthy truth of what he’d witnessed pulsed behind his eyes. They were two actors in a play only one of them had the full script for.

Now, hours later, the silence in their bedroom was heavier than any argument could ever be. A single, pale bar of moonlight cut across the pristine white sheets, illuminating Lily’s pale small bare shoulder as she slept. Her breathing was soft, even. Anyone looking at her would see his Lily—the sweet, talented dancer who loved her husband with a fierce and innocent passion.

But he couldn’t see that anymore. Not really. All he could see was the woman he’d watched from a dark closet. The woman on her knees on that dusty community hall floor, face smeared with another man’s cum, a look of bewildered ecstasy and wanton lust in her eyes, mascara running down her face. That was the woman he needed to find again. That was the woman who had given him the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life. And tonight, lying beside her in the safety of their bed, he was going to hunt for her.

His hunt began not with a kiss, but with a calculated, possessive touch. His hand found her ankle, the skin cool against his palm. He let his fingers wrap around it, feeling the delicate bones beneath the skin before he began a slow, deliberate slide upward. Over the subtle, powerful curve of her calf muscle, a testament to thousands of hours of dance. Up to the sensitive, hollow space behind her knee. It wasn’t a lover’s caress. It was an assessment. A claim.

She stirred, a soft murmur escaping her lips as she shifted in her sleep. She was still pliant, still trusting. Still his. Her body responded to his touch with the ingrained familiarity of their marriage, turning slightly toward him, an unconscious invitation.

“Mmm ... Jake?” Her voice was thick with sleep, warm and unsuspecting. She rolled onto her back, her eyes fluttering open in the dim light. A sleepy, gentle smile touched her lips. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he said, his voice a low rasp that felt foreign even to him.

He didn’t give her time to process the shift in the atmosphere. Before her sleepy confusion could sharpen into a real question, he moved. With a fluid, undeniable strength, he took hold of her shoulders and turned her over, pressing her face-down into the soft pillows. His hands settled on her hips, large and firm, pinning her in place. The gesture was not one of passion but of possession.

Lily gasped, the sound muffled by the downy cotton. A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through her. This was new. Jake could be dominant, but this felt different. It was colder, more methodical. She thought it was a game, a thrilling one, and her body responded instantly, her hips lifting instinctively toward his touch.

“Arch your back,” he commanded, his voice a low growl right next to her ear.

A happy, compliant sigh escaped her. “Mmm, okay...” She did as she was told, pushing her ass up into the air, presenting herself for him.

That wasn’t it, Jake thought, a wave of frustration already beginning to build. There was no hesitation, no flicker of fear in her response. Only eager, loving submission. He gritted his teeth. He had to push harder.

“More,” he demanded. “Show me how a good girl shows off her ass when she’s told to.” The words were crude, designed to strip away the intimacy and leave only the raw command, but felt clumsy to Lily.

Lily responded with a playful wiggle, a teasing, sinuous movement that was pure, confident sensuality. She even let out a soft, breathy laugh, “Like this, baby?”

He wanted to scream. That laugh, so full of warmth and their shared history, was a wall between him and what he needed. The woman he’d watched with Barry hadn’t laughed. She had trembled. He pushed into her then, a hard, driving thrust that was more anger than lust. He filled her as much as he could, and she cried out, her voice a sharp spike of pleasure.

“Oh, Jake! Yes!”

His name. She said his name. It was an anchor, mooring her to this bed, to this marriage, to him. It grounded the act in love and connection, the very things he was trying to obliterate. He didn’t want to be Jake right now. He wanted to be a faceless demand, a force she had to obey without question.

“Yes ... yes, I’m yours, Jake,” she moaned, her words a promise of devotion that felt like a failure to him. She met his brutal rhythm with a fierce energy of her own, her body rising to meet his every push. She wasn’t breaking; she was partnering with him. She was his wife, loving his strength, reveling in his familiarity, and in doing so, she was denying him the one thing he truly wanted: the sight of her depraved slutiness.

The sex was a frantic, desperate thing. Jake’s rhythm was punishing, driven not by the building of shared pleasure but by a frantic, clawing need to shatter the loving woman beneath him and find the broken creature he’d seen in the community hall. Each thrust was a question he couldn’t ask aloud: Are you there? Can you hear me? Let me see you.

His climax ripped through him, a violent, shuddering release that felt more like an exorcism than a pleasure. It was a purely physical expulsion, a purge of the frantic energy that had consumed him, and it left him feeling hollowed out and strangely empty. He collapsed onto the mattress beside her, his chest heaving, the sweat on his skin turning cold in the still air of the room.

A moment later, Lily’s own climax followed, a deep, shuddering cry that was full of his name. “Jake!” It was a sound of pure, connected bliss. Her body went lax beneath him, completely sated, melting into the sheets.

The sound of his name, spoken with such love at the peak of her pleasure, was the final verdict. He had failed.

He rolled off her, the space between them suddenly feeling like a vast, empty canyon. In the quiet that followed, filled only by the sound of their ragged breaths, the weight of his disappointment settled over him like a shroud.

Lily, completely unaware of the war he’d just lost, snuggled against his side, her body warm and trusting. She draped an arm across his chest and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his shoulder, her voice a contented whisper against his skin.

“Wow...” she sighed. “I love it when you’re like that. So strong.”

Her words, meant as the highest praise, landed like stones in his gut. Strong? He had never felt weaker, more impotent. Her simple, loving gesture was the final, irrefutable proof. Lying there, with his beautiful, trusting wife curled against him, the stark reality crashed down with the force of a physical blow.

He couldn’t be both.

He couldn’t be the man she curled up against for safety and also be the monster in the dark who terrified her into submission. The love in her eyes, the complete trust in her touch, it was a shield. A beautiful, impenetrable shield that protected her from the exquisite degradation he craved to witness. To see that look on her face again—that perfect, ruinous cocktail of shame and lust—he couldn’t be the one holding the glass. He had to be the one watching from across the room as someone else served it to her.

Lily drifted back to sleep within minutes, her breathing deepening into a soft, even rhythm, secure in the afterglow of what she believed was just another night of intense passion with her husband. But for Jake, sleep was a distant country he had no passport for. His mind was a maelstrom, whirling with the bitter clarity of his failure.

He lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling as the moonlight crept across it. He could still feel the phantom warmth of her body pressed against his, could still smell the scent of her hair on the pillow. A wave of aching, protective love washed over him, so powerful it almost made his chest hurt. He loved this woman. He loved her innocence, her fire, her unwavering trust in him.

But tangled within that love now was a new, cold strand of understanding. That very love was the problem.

He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. He traced the delicate curve of her cheek, the sweep of her dark lashes against her skin, the soft bow of her lips, slightly parted in sleep. His wife. His perfect, loving wife.

His mind reiterated the thought. He couldn’t be the one to push her over that edge. His love for her was a safety net, and her love for him was a harness. Every time he tried to push her into the abyss he craved to see her in, their connection would just pull her back from the brink. The fantasy didn’t work with him as the antagonist. It only worked with him as the audience. It required an outside element. A stranger’s hands. A stranger’s voice.

A cold, clear-eyed resolve began to crystallize in the wreckage of his frustration. The path forward was suddenly, shockingly obvious. He had been trying to light a fire with damp wood. The kindling was there—he saw it every day in the pathetic, worshipful comments her followers left on her posts, not to mention Barry. But kindling needed a spark. It needed a catalyst. It needed more than Barry taking control leaving him no more than a boyish peeping Tom.

And lying there in the dark, a cold, predatory smile finally touching his lips, Jake knew just how to create the spark.

Jake didn’t linger in the bedroom. The air was thick with his failure, and Lily’s soft, sleeping breaths felt like accusations. He slipped out of bed and went to his small home office, closing the door with a soft click that sealed him inside his own world.

He sat in the dark, the room lit only by the cold, rectangular glow of his laptop screen as it booted up. He didn’t check emails or browse news sites. His fingers moved with practiced speed, navigating directly to Lily’s Instagram page. He scrolled past a photo of them at the beach, a happy, smiling couple, and went straight to the comments section of her latest dance clip.

His eyes scanned past the usual vapid praise—ur amazing, so pretty—until they found what he was looking for.

BigBear71: You are a true angel, Lily. Seeing you dance is the only thing that gets me through the week.

Jake stared at the words, at the blurry selfie of Barry in a fishing vest beside them. Pathetic, he thought, but the usual contempt was gone, replaced by a cold, pragmatic assessment. He was devoted, obsessive, and desperate for Lily’s attention. A blunt instrument, Jake decided. Clumsy and artless on his own, but powerful if aimed correctly. And he needed to be aimed.

With a newfound clarity, Jake opened a new tab and navigated to the Instagram sign-up page. His frustration had burned away, leaving behind the cold, clean lines of a plan.

The creation of the persona was a quick, efficient affair, a series of deliberate, tactical choices. For the username, he typed TruthSeeker82. It sounded intelligent, serious, superior. For the profile picture, he scrolled through a dozen royalty-free images before settling on a stark, black-and-white close-up of a hawk’s eye. It was predatory, watchful, and perfectly anonymous. For the bio, he typed a single, cryptic sentence, designed to sound profound to men like Barry and intriguing to Lily: Art reveals the truth the artist tries to hide.

With the profile forged, he clicked the “Follow” button on Lily’s page. His new persona, this ghost in the machine, was now officially one of her fans. But he couldn’t be a new fan. He needed a history. He scrolled back methodically through her feed, a digital archaeologist digging for specific artifacts. He ignored the smiling selfies and cute couple photos, his eyes scanning for something else.

He found it in a video from six months ago. A practice session. He paused it at a moment when Lily, exhausted, leaned against a wall, her expression one of raw desperation as she fought to catch her breath. TruthSeeker82 left his first comment: Most people miss this. The honest desperation behind the perfection. This is where the real art is.

He scrolled further back, finding a photo where she was captured mid-spin, her body a blur of motion but her face a mask of ferocious concentration. He commented again: Not grace. Raw power. Don’t ever let them tame that.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the two comments now nestled among the others. They were seeds. Planted in the past, designed to give his new creation a history, a sense of legitimacy. The first phase of the plan was complete.

Having planted his digital seeds, Jake didn’t wait for them to grow on their own. The architect needed to speak to his foreman. He navigated away from Lily’s page and pulled up Barry’s profile. BigBear71. He stared at the name for a moment, the man behind it a vivid, pathetic image in his mind. Then, with cool precision, he clicked the “Message” button.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, typing out the carefully crafted lure.

TruthSeeker82: Hey man. I’ve seen your comments on Lily’s page. It’s clear you and I are the only ones who actually get it. She’s not just some pretty girl doing dance routines, is she? There’s a real fire under there. Something wild.

BigBear71: You have NO idea man. Fire doesn’t even begin to describe it. Everyone sees this sweet little angel ... but I’ve seen the truth. I’ve been with her.

Jake’s breath caught in his throat. His knuckles went white as he gripped the edge of his desk. He leaned closer to the screen, his eyes wide. Before he could even begin to formulate a reply, a second message appeared.

BigBear71: She’s a natural-born cocksucker. Had her on her knees for me in a private audition. Swallowed every drop. She acts all innocent online, but she’s a filthy little slut who loves to be told what to do.

A hot, electric jolt shot straight from the base of Jake’s spine to his groin. Swallowed every drop. The phrase seemed to burn on the screen, a crude, boastful trophy that Barry was now polishing for him. He was reading a firsthand account of his wife’s ultimate degradation, and the sheer triumph in Barry’s tone was the most potent aphrodisiac he had ever known. His cock, which had been dormant moments before, gave a painful, powerful throb against the zipper of his jeans.

Instead of directing, he needed more. He needed to feed the hungry, shameful beast that had just awakened inside him. His hands were trembling slightly as he typed.

TruthSeeker82: Holy shit. I KNEW it. I could see it in her eyes. You have to tell me everything. Don’t leave out a single detail. What was she wearing? How did she look on her knees for you? I need the play-by-play, man. The dirtier, the better.

The reply came almost instantly, Barry’s ego massively inflated, eager to share the details of his conquest with a man he now saw as his peer.

BigBear71: She was wearing this tiny white top and a thong. Looked like a fucking angel ready to be corrupted.{br}

BigBear71: At first she tried to act all artistic, but I knew what she really wanted. I told her to get on her knees and she did it, just like that. Shaking like a leaf, but her eyes were begging for it.

Jake fumbled with the button on his jeans, his fingers clumsy with haste, and freed his own erection. His other hand gripped the arm of his chair, his knuckles white. Another message pinged.

BigBear71: Her mouth was so tight. I grabbed a handful of her hair and just fucked her face. She was gagging, drool and spit running down her chin. It was beautiful. I made her look at me while I did it. She was so soaked with her own sweat and spit her little tube top was practically seethrough. Those perfect little tits are even better in person.

Jake’s own hand wrapped around his cock, his movements becoming frantic, mirroring the brutal, possessive imagery on the screen. He could see it perfectly. His Lily. On her knees. Gagging.

BigBear71: When I came, I made sure to get it all over that pretty face. She just knelt there, covered in my cum, looking up at me like I was a god.

That was the final image. The words on the screen triggered a violent, shuddering orgasm. Jake let out a low groan, his body convulsing as he came hard, spilling his own seed onto his stomach and hand in the silent darkness of his office.

The abrupt silence that followed was deafening. The only sounds were his own ragged breaths and the soft hum of the laptop. He stared at the sticky mess he’d made.

He took a moment, composing himself. He grabbed a tissue from the box on his desk and wiped himself clean, his movements mechanical. The hot, frantic lust had evaporated, replaced by a cold, sharp focus. He had gotten his release. Now, it was time to get back to being the director. His fingers, steady now, returned to the keyboard.

TruthSeeker82: That’s incredible. You own her. So why is she still hiding it online? Why play the good girl for these other losers? You need to draw that out of her in public. Remind her of the slut you know she is. Push her in the comments. Make her show everyone.

A few days passed in relative quiet. The memory of Jake’s cold, demanding lovemaking session had faded, replaced by the comfortable rhythm of their life together. But the seeds Jake had planted online were taking root in the dark.

They were on the couch, the apartment filled with a soft, companionable silence as they scrolled through their phones, the blue light of the screens illuminating their faces. Suddenly, Lily let out a short, sharp laugh. It wasn’t a sound of amusement; it was nervous and uncertain.

“Jake, you have to see this,” she said, her voice a little tight. “The comments are getting ... weird.”

He leaned over, feigning curiosity. She angled her phone so he could see. His eyes scanned the screen, and a jolt of satisfaction went through him. His plan was working perfectly. Barry, emboldened by his new, secret correspondence, had taken the directive to heart. His comment was at the top, a public declaration of a private sin.

BigBear71: Great routine, Lily. How about showing a little more skin? I know you like to be a good girl and perform.

Below it, the other comments had shifted in tone as well, the fawning praise replaced by a cruder, more demanding energy.

GaryJ_55: Yeah, less art, more ass.{br}

MikeR: Stop teasing and give us what we all want.

Jake let out a low whistle, a perfect performance of shock. He slid his arm around Lily’s shoulders, pulling her close. The gesture was intimate, protective, and designed to reframe what she was seeing.

“Wow,” he said, his voice a low murmur against her hair. “They’re really obsessed with you. Look at them, all of them, just begging.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder. “It’s kind of hot, don’t you think? How much power you have over these guys? They can’t stop thinking about you.”

A hot flush crept up Lily’s neck. The shame was real; Barry’s words felt like a brand on her skin, a public humiliation. But Jake’s words were a seductive filter, twisting the raw violation into a narrative of control. The thought of these sad, lonely men being driven to this level of desperation by her ... it sent a confusing, illicit thrill through her.

“I don’t know...” she murmured, but her eyes were still glued to the screen, rereading Barry’s filthy declaration.

Jake saw the conflict in her face, the way her lips were slightly parted, the flush on her cheeks. She was on the hook. He just needed to give one last, gentle tug.

“You should reply to him,” he suggested, his tone casual, as if he were suggesting a movie to watch. “Just a little something to keep him guessing. A winking emoji or something. It’s just a game.”

He then retreated, picking up a magazine and feigning interest, giving her the space to make her own “choice.” He watched her from over the top of the page. He saw her bite her lip, her thumb hovering over the screen of her phone. The internal debate was written all over her face. After a full minute of tense silence, her thumb moved with sudden, decisive speed.

A moment later, she looked up, her eyes wide with a potent, undeniable thrill.

“Oh my god, Jake. I did it. I replied.”

He saw the notification pop up on her screen from across the room: BigBear71 has sent you a message.

“What did he say?” Jake asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Her cheeks were flushed a deep, beautiful red. “He’s ... losing his mind,” she breathed, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “They all are.” She was no longer a reluctant participant being pushed into a game; she was an active, excited player who had just discovered the power of her hand.

The energy from that one simple reply lingered for days. Lily was buzzing, constantly checking the flood of new, desperate DMs her single winking emoji had unleashed. Jake watched her, letting her marinate in the feeling of power he had manufactured for her. Then, on a night when she was particularly giddy from the online attention, he made his move.

“Look at this,” he said, gesturing to her phone, where a dozen new, increasingly desperate comments had appeared under Barry’s initial salvo. “You’ve got them in a frenzy. We can’t just let that energy go to waste. You know who your real fans are now ... the ones who aren’t afraid to say what they really want.” He paused, letting the idea hang in the air before delivering the pitch. “You should do something just for them. A private show. An invite-only livestream. We’ll pick the most dedicated ones.”

Lily’s heart gave a hard, nervous thump. “A private show? For them?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Jake, there are ... like, ten of them who are this crazy. That’s a lot.”

“It’s not about them, Lily,” he said, his voice low and persuasive. “It’s about you. It’s about seeing how far you can push them, and their lust for you. It’s completely anonymous. They can’t see you, but you can control every single one of them. You’re in total control.”

His words were a potent drug. The image of a dozen desperate men, hanging on her every move, commanded by her from the safety of their bedroom ... the resistance inside her crumbled. Her feigned reluctance barely masked the raw thrill that shot through her veins. “Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s do it.”

Jake’s smile was predatory. He pulled his laptop onto his lap, Lily leaning in close, her chin resting on his shoulder as they looked at the screen together. He drafted the message while she watched, a co-conspirator in her own seduction. It wasn’t a simple link. It was a summons, crafted to feel both exclusive and demanding. He typed it directly into the direct message field on her Instagram account.

SUBJECT: AN EXCLUSIVE INVITATION

You asked for more. You wanted to see the real thing, uncut and unfiltered. For one night only, I’m granting a select few of my most dedicated fans access to a private, interactive performance. This is not for everyone. This is for those who appreciate the art in its rawest form. Click the link below at 10 PM EST. Don’t be late. And be ready to participate.

With a final, shared look of thrilling conspiracy, Jake copied the message and sent it, one by one, to the ten chosen names. The invitations were out. The stage was set.

The night of the stream, the air in their bedroom was thick with a strange, electric tension. Jake was the director, the stage manager, moving with a calm, focused purpose that belied the feverish intensity in his eyes. He picked out her costume himself. It wasn’t much of a top at all, more a tight band of thin, stretchy black cotton. It was cut to stop just a fraction of an inch below her breasts, leaving the entirety of her flat, toned stomach and supple waist completely bare. The fabric was so tight it pushed her exquisitely perky breasts up and together, creating a tempting swell of flesh above the minimalist neckline. The shorts were even more audacious. They were made of a whisper-thin, almost transparent white material that clung to every curve. Cut scandalously low, the waistband dipped into a sharp V at the front, pointing directly down toward the faint, shadowed mound between her legs. In the back, the thin fabric was stretched taut across the two perfect, firm cheeks of her ass, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Just enough to keep them guessing,” he’d said with a predatory smirk.

She sat on the edge of their bed, the laptop open in front of her. Jake sat beside her, his hand resting on the trackpad, ready to manage the technical side. He sent the private link to the list they had “collaborated” on—a curated list of the ten thirstiest, most demanding followers, with BigBear71 at the top.

The viewer count on the screen began to climb. 3... 5... 8... 10. Ten faceless men, watching her. Her pulse hammered in her throat.

For a moment, she just sat there, moving her shoulders sensually, letting them look. The chat window was a chaotic stream of greetings. Then, the demands began, led by the one she expected.

BigBear71: Turn around. Slowly. Show us that perfect ass.

The command was echoed instantly by others.

MikeR: Yeah turn around slut{br}

GaryJ_55: show us the goods

Lily’s eyes darted to Jake. He met her gaze, and then gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. Permission granted. She stood up and turned slowly, her movements deliberate, feeling the weight of ten pairs of unseen eyes on the curve of her ass, barely veiled by the sheer fabric of her shorts. The chat window exploded...

This time, she saw the specific words scrolling by on Jake’s laptop.

MikeR: FUCK YES LOOK AT THAT ASS{br}

SoCalDude: those long dancer legs ... holy shit{br}

BigBear71: Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Like it was sculpted by God himself.

A hot flush of pure, undiluted pleasure washed over her. It wasn’t shame; it was validation. The praise, even the crude, misspelled lust, was potent. A small, genuine smile touched her lips. She leaned closer to the laptop’s camera, her voice a low, breathy purr that was meant for them and them alone.

“You boys like that?” she whispered, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. “I thought you might.” She then read Barry’s comment aloud, her voice soft and teasing. “‘Sculpted by God himself’ ... That’s sweet, BigBear.” She looked directly into the camera lens, a direct challenge to all of them. “What else do you want to see?”

Her question, her invitation, was answered instantly.

GaryJ_55: Take the top off.{br}

SoCalDude: TITS OR GTFO{br}

BigBear71: Show us what a good girl you are, Lily. Take it off for us.

This was it. A real line. A wave of heat washed over her, a dizzying cocktail of fear and pure, adrenaline-fueled excitement. She hesitated, her body frozen for a long second, her eyes locked on Jake’s. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His very stillness was the answer, a silent dare. Show me, his burning eyes seemed to say. Show me what you can do.

Slowly, deliberately, she hooked her thumbs under the hem of the tight crop top. The fabric was constricting. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled it up, the material sliding over her ribs, then over the soft swell of her breasts. For a split second, she hesitated again, then pulled it the rest of the way over her head, tossing it aside.

She stood there, bare-chested, exposed for her anonymous, demanding audience. Her breasts were exquisitely perky and youthful, not large, but perfectly formed. In the cool air of the room, her nipples had puckered into two hard, tight points of delicate pink, their pebbled texture almost visible even through the low-resolution webcam.

Jake let out a sharp, audible intake of breath. His hand, resting on the laptop, tightened, his knuckles turning white. He stared at the screen, at the image of his wife’s perfect breasts being broadcast to a handful of strangers, and a dizzying surge of possessive pride and raw, overwhelming lust washed over him. His cock gave a hard, painful throb in his jeans. This was it. This was the vision.

The chat window, which had been momentarily silent with anticipation, erupted in a torrent of raw, unfiltered desire.

SoCalDude: HOLY FUCK{br}

MikeR: FUCKING PERFECT TITS{br}

GaryJ_55: i wanna suck on those pink nipples so bad{br}

BigBear71: Mine. You’re showing those to me. Perfect.

Lily watched the words scroll by, her heart hammering against her ribs. She saw their worship, their crude demands, their pathetic, slobbering lust laid bare for her to see. And she felt no shame. All the fear she had felt just moments before was burned away, replaced by a wave of intoxicating power. She could make these men say anything, do anything. She had complete and total control over them. A slow, confident smile spread across her face, a smile that held a hint of cruelty as she looked into the camera, knowing exactly what she was doing to the ten faceless men on the other side.