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The silence in the hotel suite was deafening. “Stag”—this… this man… who looked like he’d been carved from rock—just stood there, his cold eyes surveying us. David, my husband, was practically vibrating with nervous energy. He was the one who broke the silence, his voice a pathetic, high-pitched squeak.
“I… I just want to say… we’re very grateful,” David stammered, wringing his hands. “We… we’ve been trying for so long. My… my doctor… Dr. Evans… he confirmed this was the best, safest way. The… natural… way. So, thank you.”
“Stag” just nodded, his expression unreadable. “The doctor is correct. My methods are 99.8% effective. This is a clinical procedure, Mr. Miller. Nothing more.” He looked at me, a flicker of… something… in his eyes. Amusement? “Let’s begin.”
He gestured to the massive bed. “Mrs. Miller, if you would please get comfortable. Let me know if you want me to stop, or if you feel something is not right. We want this to be… optimal.” He then looked at David, and his lip quirked in a tiny, cruel smirk. “And you, sir… enjoy the show.”
He turned to me. “Undress, please.”
My heart hammered. This was it. I looked at David, my eyes wide, playing the part of the terrified, hesitant wife. This is for you, my love. I’m so scared.
And then, I made my first move.
“David,” I whispered, my voice trembling perfectly. “I… I can’t. My hands… they’re shaking. Please… you… you do it. Please, undress me.”
My husband’s face crumpled with a fresh wave of guilt. He looked at me, then at the “Stag,” who was watching us with a detached, clinical interest. “Oh, Sarah… baby… of course…”
David’s poor, fumbling hands went to the zipper on the back of my dress. He was thinking this was all his fault. That I was so traumatized by his failure that I had to be… handled. He was thinking, This is for our family. This is just a step. Nothing is wrong.
His hands were trembling far more than mine. The zipper snagged.
“Breathe, Mr. Miller,” the Stag’s deep voice rumbled. “It’s just a dress.”
David finally got it down, and the simple cotton dress pooled at my feet. He unhooked my bra, his eyes squeezed shut, as if in prayer. I let it fall. Finally, he knelt, his whole body shaking, and peeled my panties down my legs. I stepped out of them.
“The couch,” I commanded, my voice a soft, sharp whisper. “Don’t… don’t let them touch the floor. They’ll get dirty.”
“Yes… yes, of course, baby…” he muttered, gathering my clothes like they were precious, holy relics. He held my bra, my panties, my dress… my scent… clutched to his chest, and he placed them gently on the sofa. He looked like a man at a funeral. His funeral.
“Good,” the Stag said, his voice laced with that dark amusement. He pointed to the leather armchair. “Now, sit. There. And watch.”
David, holding my discarded clothes, scurried to the chair and sat.
The Stag turned to me. I was completely naked. “My turn,” he said.
He unfasted his tailored trousers, his movements economical and precise. He pushed them, and his boxers, down his powerful, muscular thighs.
And… oh my God.
I had planned this. I had researched this. But the pictures… the pictures online… they were nothing.
David made a sound. A small, punched-out, dying sound.
The Stag was a… a monster. He was… huge. He was every bit of 8.5 inches, but it was the thickness. My God, the thickness. He was, as the forum I’d secretly read had promised, as thick as a Monster can. He was a brutal, veiny, dark, impossible piece of flesh.
David was broken. He stared, his face a mask of white, abject shame. He was nothing. He was a boy. He couldn’t even look the Stag in the face.
I, on the other hand… I was soaking. My plan… my perfect, brilliant plan… was better than I could have ever imagined.
“A-a-all of… that…?” David stammered from the chair.
The Stag looked down at his own massive, semi-hard cock. “It’s a requirement for viability.” He looked at me. “I find… I need a little… preparation… to ensure optimal… performance. Mrs. Miller. Sarah. Come here.”
I walked toward him, my legs trembling (this time, for real).
“Kneel,” he commanded. I did. He put his hand on my head. “Your husband… he’s in no condition to help. You are. I need to be fully ready for this ‘procedure’. Hold me.”
I… I hesitated. This was real. I looked at David. He was just… watching, his eyes wide, a mask of pure, humiliated horror.
“Now, Sarah,” the Stag growled.
My small, trembling hand reached out. I wrapped my fingers around him. I couldn’t. My God, I couldn’t… my fingers didn’t even touch. I was holding a weapon.
“Good,” he hissed, his cock leaping in my hand, hardening to its full, terrifying glory. “Now… suck.”
“I… I can’t…” I whimpered, looking at David.
“You will,” the Stag commanded. He tangled his other hand in my hair, a firm, possessive grip. “Or this ‘procedure’ is over. And you will have failed your husband again.”
Failed. That was the word.
I leaned in, my body shaking, and took the broad, slick head of his cock into my mouth. I gagged instantly. A violent, full-body spasm. He was too big.
“Breathe,” he commanded. “Breathe and take me. You can do this.”
He fucked my mouth. He held my head, and he made me. I was sobbing, tears of (what David thought was) humiliation streaming down my face. I was taking the monster. I was worshipping him, right in front of my husband. After a few, agonizing minutes, he pulled out, his cock now ramrod-straight, slick with my saliva.
“See?” he said to David. “A perfect, clinical warm-up.”
He turned to me. “Now. The bed.”
He looked at us both, all business. “Let me tell you both beforehand. For a case like this, my contract is for three fucking… sessions. We will see, after this one, what Dr. Evans says about your progress. Now… let’s make a baby.”
He laid me on the bed. He loomed over me. David was a statue of shame in his chair.
“Stag” started slowly. He… prepped me, his thick, lubricated fingers stretching me, opening me, his voice a low, clinical monologue. “We must ensure the cervix is… receptive…”.
And then… he entered me.
I screamed. A raw, tearing, animal sound. He was… inside. He was… splitting me. He was so thick. The pain was a white-hot, blinding flash… and then… it was fullness. An agonizing, stretching, impossible fullness.
“He’s… in…” David whispered from the chair.
“All the way,” the Stag confirmed, and he began to thrust.
He was a machine. He was a brutal hunk, a stag, and he was fucking me. He was pounding me. He wasn’t fast. He was… relentless. He was a longer fuck master, his rhythm a deep, powerful, punishing tide. He was destroying me, stretching me with every single, soul-shattering thrust.
“We… we need to change positions,” he panted, after what felt like an hour. He pulled out, and I screamed at the emptiness.
“On your hands and knees,” he commanded. “This position… it allows for deeper… cervical access. For… maximum possibilities.”
He took me from behind, hard. He slammed into me, his hands like vises on my hips. He was an animal. And my husband… my husband, David… he was watching it all. He was watching his wife get railed by a monster, get broken by a brutal hunk who was built for this.
And… oh God… I was enjoying it. I was a mess. I was screaming, my pussy aching, my legs trembling, my body a mindless, pleasure-filled wreck.
“She’s… she’s close…” David whispered, his voice awed.
The Stag… he heard him. He pulled me onto my back again, his own body slick with sweat. He was still rock-hard, his stamina inhuman.
“Now, Mr. Miller,” the Stag commanded, his voice a harsh growl. “Your… support… is required.”
He drove into me, deep and slow. I was… I was right there.
“David… hold her hands,” the Stag ordered. “Look her in the eyes. Support your wife.”
David, his face a mask of pure, agonized conflict, scrambled to the bed. He “hesitatingly” took my hands. He looked into my eyes, his own eyes wide with… shame… and… awe.
“That’s it,” the Stag roared, and he slammed into me, deep, deep, deep.
I shattered. I screamed, my back arching off the bed, an orgasm so violent it felt like I was dying. My eyes were locked with my husband’s as this monster… this Alpha… broke me.
And as I was convulsing, I felt him… I felt the Stag… groan, a deep, guttural, primal sound… and he flooded me. He creampied me, deep inside my pussy, again and again, his seed hot and thick.
He collapsed on top of me, a dead weight, his monster cock still buried deep inside. It was… done. After hours of rigorous, pounding, multi-positional fucking… it was done.
He finally pulled out, his cock slick with my fluids and his seed. I was a wreck. My body was a single, throbbing ache.
“She’s… dripping,” the Stag said, panting, as he stood up. He looked at David, who was still frozen, holding my hands. “You… you should… clean her up. She’s… exhausted. I’d imagine she’s… never… had an experience like this in her whole life. This was her first time… with… this.”
David’s head shook. He was… broken. The Stag was talking about my “first time” right in front of him. He was questioning… everything.
I… I had to save this. My plan.
“Oh, my love,” I whispered to David, my voice a perfect, exhausted, loving purr. “Don’t think so much. I love you. Come… come clean me.”
He looked at me… and his wife, his Sarah, was commanding him. He was no longer a husband. He was… a servant.
As he was thinking, the Stag… my Stag… added one last, perfect, brutal jab.
“Yeah,” he said, pulling on his pants. “This is a new experience for her. Other than you… she’s never fucked with anyone. Nor orgasmed… with a stranger like me.”
Checkmate.
David, his face a mask of guilt, shame, and utter dissatisfaction, just… nodded. He got a towel and… he obeyed. He cleaned me. He cleaned his Alpha’s cum from my thighs.
I stood up, my legs trembling, and got dressed. I was in control.
“You… you should give me your number,” I said to the Stag, my voice casual, as I pulled on my dress. “You know… just… in case we need… another… session. Or… if the doctor…”.
He smirkd. He knew. “Of course.”
He handed me his card. “I have to say,” I said, looking him right in the eye. “I had the… best experience of my life. My husband… he feels the same way.”
I turned to David, who was still holding my panties. “Don’t you… hubby?”
“…yeah…” he whispered, his voice a low, nothing tone.
I smiled. I grabbed my weak, broken husband’s hand. “Let’s go, love.”
We walked to the door. David… my beta… pulled it open for me. He was holding the door. As I passed, the Stag leaned in. “Bye, Sarah,” he said.
And I… I… kissed him. A real kiss. A deep, wet, “thank you” kiss. Right in front of my husband.
“Bye, ‘Stag’,” I whispered.
I walked out, pulling David behind me. Our first “procedure” was done. And my real plan… was just getting started.
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