Chapter 8

The Darkness -- the Tragedian -- pressed through two degraded old men, broke through her shield of radiant thought, self-control, and morality. And the Darkness was stronger, because behind it were centuries, while behind Annette there was only a short span of culture.

Watching this, Yuri began rubbing his own crotch. The fact that his wife was naked in the basement, knowing her husband was waiting upstairs, drove him mad. He was burning with indignation, irritation...

... and a wild, base desire for her to keep lowering herself. Lower. Down to the level of the last slut.

“Daughter, what if I say we want to touch you,” Omar’s voice sounded. “Feel your softness, your freshness? And we’ll be grateful to you forever?”

Annette’s body trembled at his words, as if the janitor had been stroking her with fingers, not speaking.

“I’d say it’s useless to keep madmen from their madness,” she answered vaguely.

The two men glanced at each other, puzzled. Omar shrugged and walked to Yuri’s wife, already thinking of himself as the leader.

The old man cautiously touched Annette’s back.

“Ah!” the beauty reacted, startlingly sensitive to the contact.

Agitated by that, Omar slid his hand down her lower back, lower, toward her ass.

Annette said nothing, did nothing -- only breathed heavily.

Yuri, watching this impossible obscenity from the side, had already pulled out his cock and was jerking off. He could literally feel the sexual voltage in the basement -- and it wasn’t coming from the men alone.

“Come on, Annette, push him off, get angry -- he’s afraid of you like fire!” Yuri thought hysterically as he worked his small, needy cock.

But his wife did nothing -- if you can call silence nothing.

Then the experienced, cunning old man, guided by the animal instinct that knows what to do when a woman behaves like this, suddenly grabbed the beauty by the hair.

“Mm!” Annette arched at the surprise. “What are you doing?!”

Omar shrank under the threat in her tone, but he didn’t release her hair.

“I ... daughter, should I let you go?...”

“Of course, you should, what kind of tendencies are those?!” she snapped, raising her voice.

But Yuri noticed something ... strange in his wife. She protested in words, but by her stillness, by her whole body, she was indulging the continuation of the obscenity.

The old men feared her. One correct look would have been enough for Omar to flinch away.

But Annette ... Annette didn’t turn around.

Her nipples had tightened. Between her legs she was wet.

“Got it. I’ll let go now...” Omar said. “Just first...”

Not finishing, he slapped Annette’s ass.

“Umpf!” she cried, clenching her fists.

Yuri clenched his cock as he watched another man slap his wife.

There was no longer any doubt: with her silence Annette was telling the old man, “Yes. More.”

And he continued.

Another slap. And another.

“How dare you, you old wanker...” Annette said, not herself.

Those were words she could have allowed herself only in extreme anger -- but there was no anger in her at all.

There was sexual tension. The old men felt it too.

“Sorry, daughter. The devil got into me,” Omar said, and nodded to his friend.