Hey guys here is the continuation of my story
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Sorry for the delay I've been busy
There will be like 3 more parts idk… however long it takes to get to current date.
Well here is the next part, lol.
The Fourth Fuck
Two more weeks.
No real discussion. No big announcements.
Just tension — thick and heavy in the house.
We all knew what was coming.
We just weren’t saying it out loud.
That afternoon, Sarah found me sitting in the living room.
Scrolling through my phone.
Pretending not to wait.
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking.
Her T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, no bra underneath.
"Fourth and final," she said, casual. "Caleb’s apparently bringing a little thank-you gift for me."
She winked at me.
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
When Caleb arrived, he carried a black box wrapped in red ribbon.
He didn’t even look at me at first.
Just kissed Sarah — deep and slow — and handed her the box.
Sarah took Caleb’s hand and pulled him upstairs immediately.
Laughing.
Giddy.
I sat there for a while.
Heart hammering.
Hands trembling.
I hesitated.
Then climbed the stairs.
The door to our bedroom was wide open.
The lights dimmed low.
The smell of sex thick in the air already.
And there she was.
Sarah, naked except for a thick black leather collar around her neck and attached to it a leash.
A silver tag glinting under the light:
"Sarah Jones — Property of Caleb Smith."
She was on all fours on the carpet.
Face flushed.
Panting.
Begging.
Caleb stood over her.
Cock slick and glistening.
He kneeled down and placed his massive manhood on my wife's perfect heart shaped ass.
He grabbed his cock and moved it against her opening.
Dragging it slowly along the soaked slit between her thighs.
Teasing her.
Owning her.
Sarah whimpered:
"Please… please fuck me…"
Caleb chuckled low:
"Say it right."
Sarah shivered, looking down at the floor with desperate eyes:
"Please, Caleb… please fuck your slut…"
He slid inside her — deep and brutal — one smooth thrust.
Sarah screamed.
Collapsed forward onto her elbows.
Caleb grabbed her hips roughly, yanking her back onto him.
"That's it, baby. Take Daddy’s cock. Take it deep."
The wet, filthy sounds filled the room.
The slap of skin.
Sarah’s high, broken moans.
Caleb leaned over her, growling low:
"Who fucks you better, slut?"
Sarah gasped:
"You! Only you, Daddy!"
A brutal thrust — deep and punishing.
Sarah sobbing now:
"Fuck me harder… please… ruin me!"
Caleb’s laugh was slow and cruel:
"That’s what you need, isn’t it, whore? A real man to break you?"
Sarah sobbed:
"Yes… yes, break me… ruin me, Daddy…"
Another brutal thrust.
Caleb slowing slightly now — savoring it.
Dragging it out.
"Tell me who owns this pussy," he growled.
Sarah hesitated.
Crying.
Shaking.
Another deep thrust.
"Say it."
Sarah broke:
"You… you own me, Caleb… you own my pussy…"
Caleb grunted.
Thrusting into her harder now — sharper, rougher.
Sarah cried out:
"Yes! Yes! It’s yours! I’m yours!"
And then — the final knife.
Sarah twisted her head slightly — looked right at me standing in the doorway.
Eyes wild.
Mouth trembling.
And as she stared directly into my eyes — she reached between her legs.
Found the base of Caleb’s condom.
And peeled it off him.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Caleb’s black cock glistened slick and bare in the low light.
Sarah still hadn't looked away from me, she stared deep into my watery eyes and then shot me a devilish grin.
Sarah gasped, trembling:
"Breed me, Daddy! Breed your little slut!"
Caleb didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed the leash wrapped around Sarah’s throat.
Pulled it tight.
And slammed into her bare, raw, brutal.
Sarah screamed — loud, desperate — into the carpet:
"Breed me! Make me yours forever! Please! Please fill me up!"
Caleb grunted, pounding her harder, dragging her back onto him with the leash wrapped tight in his fist.
Sarah sobbed, babbled between thrusts:
"Fill me! Knock me up! Please stuff me full of your cum…!"
Another savage thrust.
Sarah’s voice was wild now:
"Fuck me like I’m already yours! Mark me! Own me!"
Caleb growled deep:
"You’re already mine, slut."
One final brutal thrust.
Sarah screamed.
I stumbled away from the door.
Downstairs.
Waiting.
About half an hour later, I heard soft footsteps coming down.
Sarah appeared.
Still naked except for the collar and leash.
Hair messy.
Legs slick with cum trailing down her thighs.
She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and flopped lazily onto the couch next to me.
"Don't worry, he pulled out," she said casually, grinning.
Like it was a joke.
I nodded.
Staring at the wall.
Pretending to believe her.
Then I heard him.
Footsteps on the stairs — slower, heavier.
Caleb emerged a few seconds later.
Still naked.
Still hard.
Not even pretending to hide it.
His cock glistened under the living room lights — a silent, brutal reminder of exactly what I’d just heard upstairs.
He walked in without a word and sat down on the couch beside us — legs spread, body relaxed, like he owned the furniture, the air, the room.
Because he did.
Sarah didn’t hesitate.
She stood again — slowly — turned toward Caleb, and stepped between his legs. She placed one knee on the cushion beside him, then the other, straddling his lap like she’d done it a thousand times.
She settled onto him with a soft, involuntary gasp.
The kind you couldn’t fake.
The kind that told me he was already inside her.
She curled into his chest, facing sideways toward me now — her legs draped over his thighs, her back arched, the tip of her collar chain resting against his bare sternum.
Then she smiled.
Like this was normal.
Like this was earned.
“I’ve been talking with Caleb,” she said brightly.
Her voice had that same too-happy rhythm she used when she wanted to pretend she wasn’t doing something awful.
Then her smile twitched — just a little — as Caleb’s hips shifted beneath her.
A subtle roll.
Just enough to make her breath catch.
“We’ve been thinking,” she continued, “maybe this whole ‘four times’ thing shouldn’t be so… rigid.”
Another shift from Caleb.
Slightly less subtle.
Her tone hitched mid-word.
She blinked rapidly — collecting herself — then pushed on.
“You said four. I remember. But four is kind of… arbitrary, right?”
She gave a soft little laugh — breathless and broken at the edges.
“A few… a few could be a few hundred… these things are relative…”
I stared at her.
Jaw clenched.
She looked at me with that same pitying expression I’d started to recognize.
Not mocking.
Just… finished.
“It’s just sex,” she said, her tone gentling as her breath began to stutter again — her voice struggling to stay steady as Caleb’s hips moved beneath her, rhythm slow but building.
“If you really wanted me to stop, Henry… you’d say something.”
Another breath.
Another moan, this time half-swallowed.
“You’d say it.”
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
She turned her face back toward Caleb’s, hair spilling down her back as she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Daddy,” she whispered — not playful now, not ironic.
Worshipful.
Broken.
Certain.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and started moving again.
More deliberate now.
The couch creaked beneath them.
Sarah’s voice dissolved into gasps between half-formed thoughts.
Her hand gripped the back of his neck, and I saw her mouth move — begging for more, for deeper, for all of him.
Then louder, eyes shut tight:
“If you pull out,” she panted, “I’ll kill you…”
She was shaking now.
Every thrust stole a word, stole a breath.
“Fill me…”
“Please…”
“Make it real…”
I sat there.
Still.
Watching.
Breaking.
And she never once looked away.
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