Evelyn's Deception
Copyright© 2025 by Wtriplet
Chapter 5
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 5 - Evelyn's Deception is a twisty erotic thriller that draws inspiration from the classic 90s genre as well as more contemporary films like Unfaithful and 365 Days. Daniel is a young successful lawyer, Evelyn a femme fatale playing the role of his trophy wife. A home invasion throws their picture perfect life into chaos. As loyalties shift, and the tension builds, old secrets are exposed.
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Crime Mystery Cheating Masturbation Oral Sex Violence
Present: Early Evening, Spring 2025
Evelyn approached the other bedroom. The wooden floor creaked under her weight as she stepped inside, her black knee-high boots clicking softly, a bottle of water in one hand. Daniel sat up on the bed against the bedpost reading a book with his free hand, his left wrist restrained by the handcuff that bit into his skin.
She set the water beside him, her movements gentle as she knelt, the short leather skirt creaking softly, her tight white tank top shifting to reveal the faint outline of her braless breasts.
His shock was immediate, his gaze widening as he took in her outfit: the provocative tank top, the high-riding skirt, the boots—she looked dressed for a nightclub, not tending to a hostage. “What the hell are you wearing?” he croaked, his voice weak and raspy.
Evelyn adjusted the pillow behind his back, her fingers brushing his clammy skin, her voice soft but firm as she stood up. “He’s making me go out for a while. I’m just doing what I’m told. I have to keep him happy.” She offered him the water, the cool liquid dribbling slightly down his chin as he sipped. “Do you need to use the bathroom? I can get him to remove the handcuffs for a bit.”
Daniel shook his head, his breath ragged, his growing unease sending a pang through her chest. “I’m okay for now,” he murmured, his tone hesitant, his suspicion mounting as he studied her attire. “You told work I won’t be in for a few days, right?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice steady, wiping the water from his chin with her thumb, her touch gentle but distant. “I let them know you’re unwell. I am just going to play along. If he was going to do something worse to you, he would have done it by now. I think he’ll eventually leave.”
Closing the door behind her as she left, she felt the weight of his growing distrust.
Evelyn entered the living room, the air shifting with Marcus’s presence, the television flickering with a muted sports channel, the screen casting a bluish glow across the beige sofa. He sat sprawled there, his leather jacket draped over the armrest, the worn fabric creased and weathered from his travels. His black t-shirt outlined his muscular frame, his short dark brown hair slightly disheveled, his head turning from the screen as she entered.
His eyes lit up as he took her in—the tight white tank top, the short black leather skirt, her bare tanned thighs, the knee-high boots—and he stood abruptly, the sofa cushion springing back into place with a soft thud, a whistle escaping his lips.
“Holy fucking shit!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of awe and hunger, his boots thudding against the floor as he walked toward her, his eyes raking over her body with unbridled appreciation, lingering on the curve of her breasts, the sway of her hips, the defiant stance of her boots.
Evelyn rolled her eyes, playfully dodging as she sidestepped him, her voice laced with mock exasperation, a mask to hide the tension coiling within. “Let’s just get this over with,” she said, moving toward the front door.
Marcus’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm with a firm grip, his fingers strong, halting her progress. “Wait, wait, wait! —Let me just take a good look at you—damn. Turn around.” His voice was a command, his grip loosening but not releasing, his body close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him.
Evelyn sighed, rolling her eyes again, but complied, twirling slowly, the skirt gripping her ass, the tank top tight to her body, her boots clicking against the floor. She met his gaze with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Happy now? Let’s go,” she said as she turned toward the door. “I’m not wearing a fucking helmet, so if we get pulled over, you can blow the cop or shoot him or do whatever the fuck it is that you do when you’re in a jam.”
Marcus laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room, his grip slipping from her arm as he stepped back, his grin widening. She led him to the front door, his boots heavy on the floor, the night air cool as they stepped outside, the motorcycle gleaming under the porch light.
The motorcycle roared to life, the engine’s vibration shuddering through Evelyn’s body as she settled behind Marcus, her hands around his waist, her fingers brushing the taut muscles beneath his t-shirt. Her breasts pressed against his back, the tank top offering little barrier.
The cool night air whipped against her skin, tugging at her hair, the leather skirt riding higher on her thighs as they accelerated, the ten-minute ride into town a blur of shadows and streetlights. She clung to him, the proximity forcing her to feel the strength in his frame, the heat of his body, a reminder of the power she was both resisting and exploiting.
As they neared the town, Evelyn’s eyes scanned the familiar streets, her mind racing with possibilities. She spotted a bar on the outskirts, a dive known for its rough clientele—less likely to hold anyone she knew, a place where Marcus would blend in, where their presence might go unnoticed by prying eyes. She pointed in its direction, her voice cutting through the wind. “You can park up over here,” she said, her fingers tapping his waist to guide him, her strategy shifting to exploit the setting.
The bike’s engine cut out with a low rumble outside Denny’s Bar, the last shakes dying off into the chilly night as Evelyn swung her leg over and hopped down, her black knee-high boots crunching the loose gravel. The place hulked there in the dim light, all beat-up wood and sputtering neon, with “Denny’s” buzzing faint red over the door, and a muffled thump of tunes seeping out from inside.
Marcus swung off the bike, his leather jacket rustling as he adjusted it, scanning the area before settling on her. With a sudden, confident move, he slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close as if they were a couple out on a romantic night together, his hand resting possessively on her hip. The contact shocked her, the warmth of his body pressing against her side. Surprisingly, she didn’t immediately push his arm away.
They approached the door where two bouncers stood, their broad frames silhouetted against the bar’s dim interior, their faces stern under the harsh glow of a security light. Marcus flashed a grin, his voice booming with confidence. “Good evening, boys!” he called, his arm tightening slightly around Evelyn as they passed, the bouncers nodding without incident, their eyes briefly enjoying her outfit, before letting them enter.
Present: Evening, Spring 2025
Inside, the joint was alive with racket and movement. The long bar ran along one wall, its beat-up wooden top nicked and scratched from many rough nights, with rows of bottles catching faint gleams from the fading overhead lights.
Tables and chairs were crammed in the middle, packed with antsy folks nursing their drinks, while the booths along the back wall had beat-up vinyl seats slapped together with strips of duct tape. Toward the back, a pool table drew a crowd, sticks cracking against balls, right next to a scuffed dance floor where people moved to the heavy bass pumping from a band crammed onto a tiny stage. A side door hung open to some outdoor spot, letting in a cloud of cigarette smoke. The whole place buzzed with rowdy kids and that seedy edge.
Evelyn raked her eyes over the crowd, on the lookout for anybody she might know. God forbid she spotted a neighbor or some half-forgotten face who’d start prying about where Daniel had gotten to, stirring up trouble that could shred her shaky plan.
She knew from the motorcycle ride that Marcus had brought his gun—she’d felt its cold weight pressed against his side when her arms were around him. She didn’t know how he might react if he felt threatened—would he draw it, fire it, turn the night into a bloodbath? The thought chilled her, her breath catching as she moved through the crowd, relieved when she recognized no one.
The crowd was largely younger college kids, many of whom looked barely 21, their faces flushed with the excitement of newfound freedom, their laughter sharp and unrestrained. Evelyn smirked briefly, a memory flickering through her mind of her own college days, when she’d relied on fake IDs to slip into bars like this.
She noticed a girl at the bar, obviously underage, her nervous smile betraying her as she handed over an ID to the bartender. The man squinted at it, then shrugged, accepting it with a grin and filling her drink order, the girl’s relief palpable. Evelyn’s smirk faded, the nostalgia tainted by the reality of her situation, her mind shifting back to the present danger.
Marcus spoke suddenly, his voice cutting through the noise. “I’ll get us each a drink. Find a table outside—I want to smoke.” His tone was commanding, his eyes meeting hers with a glint of expectation, and she nodded, turning toward the outdoor area.
She wove through the dance floor, the bodies brushing against her, the music pulsing in her chest. Outside, she found a spare table to the side, away from the other smokers, again scanning the area for familiar faces.
From the table, she could see inside to the bar, her eyes drawn to Marcus as he leaned against the counter, laughing and joking with the girl behind the bar, a tall blonde with a flirtatious smile and a low-cut top.
For the first time since her college days, Evelyn felt a surge of jealousy, a hot, irrational twist in her gut, her fingers tightening on the table’s edge as she watched him charm the girl, his hand brushing hers as he took the drinks.
Marcus returned, two glasses of amber liquid in hand, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he lit it, the flame casting a brief glow across his scarred cheek. He offered her the pack, his voice casual. “Smoke?” she declined with a shake of her head, the jealousy still simmering, her mood soured by the scene she’d witnessed. He sat, exhaling a plume of smoke as he sensed her tension.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked after a few minutes of silence, his tone a mix of curiosity and challenge, the cigarette glowing between his fingers.
Evelyn ignored his question, her mind racing to suppress the emotion she couldn’t name. After another period of silence, broken only by the distant thump of music, she changed the topic, her voice steady. “So, are you going to tell me what you want with my husband?”
Marcus took a drag, the smoke curling around his face, his expression vague and noncommittal as he exhaled. “Planned to take some money,” he said, his tone evasive. “But I found something I like a lot better.” His gaze lingered on her, the implication clear, his lips curling into a smirk that spoke of desire.
Evelyn shook her head, fighting back a smile as she rolled her eyes at his comment. She leaned back, never one to let a man have the last word, her voice laced with defiance. “You could just take that girl home from behind the bar and fuck her on the couch, then leave us alone.” The words were sharp, a jab born of her jealousy, her eyes flashing as she watched his reaction.
Marcus’s grin widened, realizing she’d been watching, his laughter low and knowing. “So that’s why you’re in a bad mood! You were watching me, huh?” His tone was teasing, his eyes glinting with triumph as he leaned forward, the cigarette smouldering between his fingers.
Evelyn shook her head defiantly, her cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t watching shit,” she snapped, her voice rising slightly, the lie thin and unconvincing even to her own ears.
“Yes, you were,” Marcus countered, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he leaned toward her. “How did it make you feel? Did it make you jealous? Are you wet underneath there?” He reached under the table, his hand gripping her thigh, the touch bold and uninvited.
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