Chapter 10

“The reward,” Julian commanded, his voice now echoing the cold authority of the neighbors. “Since she guessed correctly, she gets to serve. But she doesn’t get to pace herself.” Julian didn’t let her settle in. He gripped the back of her head with a vice-like intensity, his knuckles white. With a sudden, forceful shove, he drove her face forward, jamming Walt’s thick, heavy cock deep into her throat in one violent motion. Saga’s eyes flew open behind the blindfold, a muffled, guttural gag escaping her as her jaw was forced wide to accommodate the sheer size of his cock.

Julian didn’t stop at the first plunge. He began to drive her head back and forth, using the same relentless force he had used to slap her skin. He treated her head like a tool, a piston in a machine of flesh and friction. He pushed her forward until she was choking, then yanked her back just enough for her to gasp a frantic, sobbing breath of air, only to slam her back onto the shaft. He was not merely facilitating the act; he was orchestrating a rhythmic, punishing assault on her throat, ensuring that every single inch of Walt was felt.

Walt let out a low, guttural growl of approval, his hands coming down to grip Saga’s shoulders, pinning her against his thighs. He looked over her head at Julian, a look of mutual respect passing between the two men. They were no longer husband and guest; they were collaborators in the systematic dismantling of his wife.

“Look at her,” Walt rumbled, his voice vibrating through Saga’s skull as Julian continued the brutal cadence. “She’s fighting for air and loving every second of it.”

The room was thick with the scent of salt, musk, and the sharp, metallic tang of arousal. The other men ... Magnus, Arthur, and Elias, closed the circle. Their presence creating a suffocating wall of heat. They watched with clinical interest as Julian’s grip remained unwavering, his breathing synchronized with the wet, slapping sound of Saga’s face hitting Walt’s pelvis. The blindfold was now soaked with tears and saliva, clinging to her skin as she was driven deeper and deeper into the void of Walt’s girth.

Julian felt a surge of dark electricity. He could feel the vibrations of Walt’s pleasure through the back of Saga’s head, a physical confirmation of the power he was currently wielding. He wasn’t just the navigator anymore; he was the engine. He increased the speed, his movements becoming more erratic and demanding, forcing Saga to adapt or be choked. He wanted her to feel the absolute scale of the man she was servicing, to know that her “reward” was actually a further surrender of her autonomy.

The rhythm of the assault reached a sudden, violent crescendo. With a guttural roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, Walt stiffened, his thighs locking like iron pillars. A massive, pulsing surge erupted deep in Saga’s throat, a flood of hot thick cum hit the back of her pharynx with the force of a physical blow. Her body convulsed, her bound arms straining against the steel of the handcuffs as she instinctively tried to recoil from the overwhelming volume, but Julian’s grip on her hair was an absolute anchor.

He didn’t let her pull away. Instead, he jammed her face forward, sealing her lips tight against the base of Walt’s thick throbbing shaft. Julian leaned in, his voice a sharp, predatory hiss, directed not at his wife, but at the circle of men watching. “Look at her,” he commanded, his eyes wide with a manic sort of pride. “Watch her swallow. Look at the outline of him lodged in her throat.” He shifted her head slightly, forcing the men to see the distorted shape of Walt’s cock stretching the skin of her neck, the visible bulge of the shaft pushing against her throat as she was forced to take every single drop.

Saga was drowning in him. Spurt after spurt of heavy, hot cum blasted into her, filling her mouth to overflowing. She gagged, a wet, desperate sound that only served to excite the men further, but Julian held her there with a clinical intensity, refusing to let a single drop escape. He wanted the others to see the physical evidence of her submission—the way her throat worked in frantic, involuntary spasms to clear the flood that Walt continued to pump into her.

As the final, heavy spurts hammered into her pharynx, Julian kept her sealed tight. He refused to let her recoil, forcing her to endure the suffocating weight of the flood. Saga’s muffled whimpers were drowned out by the wet, slapping sound of her cheeks against Walt’s thighs, her bound arms straining in a useless, instinctive struggle. Her mouth was a cock sleeve filled and overflowing, her throat working in desperate, rhythmic spasms to process the deluge. The sight of her, blindfolded, bound, and physically reshaped by the man’s cum brought a low, predatory rumble of approval from Magnus.

Once the pulsing ceased, Julian didn’t immediately release her. He held her there for a long, agonizing beat, allowing the heat of the cum to settle in her throat and the silence of the room to amplify the sound of her labored, shallow breathing. Then, with a sudden, jarring motion, he yanked her back by the hair.

Julian didn’t let her collapse. He kept her head tilted back, a string of silver saliva and Walt’s thick cum bridging the gap between her trembling lips and the hardwood. He looked up at Walt, his eyes wide and searching, seeking a validation that had nothing to do with marriage and everything to do with the hierarchy of the room. “What do you think, Walt?” Julian asked, his voice buzzing with a dark, eager energy. “Is my wife a good little cock-sucker, or what?”

Walt leaned back, his massive frame still radiating a scorching heat. He looked down at Saga, a broken, leaking thing and then back to Julian. A slow, predatory grin carved its way across his face. “She’s got a desperate hunger for sure, Julian. Mostly, it’s just a reflex to the pain, but she takes a pounding like a pro. She’s a natural-born hole.” He let out a short, barking laugh that sounded like a challenge. “Better than most. She’s a damn good tool.”

The approval hit Julian like a drug. He felt himself inflating, his chest swelling as he absorbed the praise for his possession. But before he could savor the moment, Elias spoke up, his voice cutting through the thick, musky air with a sharp, experimental edge. “The ball sucking guessing game is a bit stagnant, don’t you think?” he mused, circling Saga like a hawk. “Let’s do it a little differently. Instead of guessing who’s balls she’s licking, let’s move the target.”

Elias stopped beside Magnus, their shadows merging into one giant, oppressive blot over Saga’s shivering form. “Make her guess whose cock is in her ass,” he proposed, his tone casual, as if he were suggesting a change in the music. “A real blind test. No scent, no taste—just the raw pressure of the stretch.”

Magnus let out a low, approving rumble, the sound vibrating through the room. “An excellent refinement. The sensory deprivation will be absolute.” He looked at Julian, his gaze commanding and cold. “But we can’t have her completely checked out. Julian, while she’s guessing, you keep that wet cunt of hers on the edge. Finger her. Keep her right on the brink of a climax but don’t you dare let her come. I want her desperate, focused, and utterly unable to find release until we say so.”