The Riley Boy IV: Remuneration free porn video

“My God, this is gorgeous, Patrick!” Marissa said, as they pulled up to the secluded lake house. Late afternoon sunlight trickled through the thick canopy above, lending the entire lot a sense of serenity and complete isolation. The house stood tall and grand, native stone covering its exterior from the ground to the slate topped roofs. Large timbers were used as lintel accents over windows and doors, as well as at the corbelled eaves. Shiny copper glinted at gutters and window wells. A curved driveway led to a narrow, yet somehow grand, porte cochere which preceded the main garage of the residence.

Marissa gaped. “Where did you find this place?”

Patrick gave her a quick look and said offhandedly, “It wasn't hard to find. There's lots of places like this all over the Blue Ridge. I bought this one last week.”

Marissa's jaw remained slack as she stared wide eyed at her husband.

“Did you just say you... bought this?”

“Yeah. It's great, isn't it?” He spoke as if buying a property was something he did every day.

Marissa stuttered, “But, but you didn't mention it. Isn't this the kind of thing we're supposed to talk about first?”

Patrick brought the car to a stop under the porte cochere, then turned to look at her fully before saying, “It's my money, isn't it? I can use it however I want.” Then he opened the car door and got out, slamming the door on her entirely shocked expression.

She recovered when she heard the trunk closing, then scrambled out of the car. Frowning as she watched him carry the bags to the door, she asked, “Patrick, what's going on?”

He stopped and gave her a bland look. “I just wanted to do something a little crazy. Something to get the blood flowing again. Add a little excitement. Don't you like your surprise?”

Marissa didn't think she'd imagined the stark tone of his voice, or the way his eyes cooled when he said the word “excitement”. Alarm bells were going off in her head, but she couldn't figure out what was wrong. An image of Benji came to mind, but she dismissed it. There was no way he could know. Could he? Suddenly, Marissa was really nervous.

The door stood open, and Marissa rushed in to find Patrick, only to be entirely distracted by the house. Inside, it was just as exquisite as the exterior. Rich woods paired with cool marbles and granite throughout the main floor. It boasted an open plan, with rooms flowing effortlessly into each other. The kitchen was gorgeous, with cabinets done in glossy white shaker style that, although simple, lent the room a quiet but modern grace. Large paned windows covered nearly the entire rear of the property, allowing the amazing lake view to fill the space.

There was one glaring issue. The house was entirely unfurnished. Marissa felt like a trespasser, walking through the large, empty rooms. When she came to the large family room, though, she paused. Here, there was the makings of a living space. A table with four chairs and a lumpy looking couch took up a portion of the floor area. What looked like a state of the art entertainment system took up center stage in front of the seating area, with an oversize flat screen TV and a few peripherals.

Marissa heard footsteps and turned to see Patrick coming in carrying a black leather bag. He walked by her and placed the bag by the couch, then came back to her. She watched him approach, a kind of fear curling in her stomach at the hard, determined look in his eyes. Then she was entirely unbalanced as he took her in his arms, cupped the nape of her neck and lowered his lips to hers in a hard, rough, searing kiss. She felt him dig his fingers into her back and mold her to him more firmly, his sinewy body fitting her curves perfectly, just like it always had. She felt his erection then, hard and insistent against her hip as he plundered her mouth.

Marissa gripped his shoulders and held on for the ride, feeling her body respond to more than just the fact that he was her husband. There was something about his forcefulness that spoke to her sexually submissive side, awakening her darker needs as surely as the strike of a match makes flame. She melted against him, whimpering into his mouth as his hand cupped her supple ass and squeezed.

Then he was gone, holding her away and staring at her with dark, unreadable eyes. Marissa was panting and trembling slightly as he looked her up and down, then purposefully took his hands off her. It felt like a slap of cold water to her and she struggled to find her composure.

“We'll have time for that later,” said Patrick. “I need to go make some calls. Could you make sure the kitchen is properly stocked for the week? I had a company come out and take care of it, but I'd like to double check. And maybe get started on some dinner. I'm starving.”

Marissa took a deep breath, then nodded, not trusting her voice at all. Patrick nodded back and walked off into one of the private wings of the house. Letting out the breath she didn't realize she was holding, she headed for the kitchen on unsteady legs. It didn't strike her until a bit later that that was the first time Patrick had so much as touched her, or actually smiled at her, in days.

*

“This is delicious, Marissa,” said Patrick, as he methodically made his way through the glazed pork chops and vegetables she'd prepared. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying the meal.

For her part, Marissa couldn't seem to eat very much at all. She toyed with her food, moving it from one side of the plate to the other, her stomach tied in odd, uncomfortable tension knots. She took a sip of her water, not wanting to partake in the robust red wine that Patrick had chosen.

Looking up from his food, Patrick asked, “Aren't you hungry?”

Marissa felt a little crazy for imagining the edge in his words. She had been analyzing every look, every single sound and gesture, he'd made all day. It had her on a tight, strained edge. Finally, she couldn't take any more.

“Patrick... what's going on?” she asked again, this time with a light tremble in her voice.

He seemed to not hear her, as he finished his last few bites in complete silence. Then, when he had set his utensils down and carefully wiped his mouth, he leaned back in his chair, reached for his wine glass and finally looked at her. Marissa physically leaned away from the barely restrained anger she saw. Patrick's eyes were dark, ominous, bottomless pools.

“Have you been enjoying your summer, Marissa?” he asked. Cold, ugly dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.

Marissa looked down at her suddenly nausea inspiring food and said, “I guess so.” She pushed it away and reached for her water glass, but her fingers trembled so much that she snatched them back and gripped them tightly in her lap.

“That's good. I hope it's been really... fun for you,” said Patrick. She felt the weight of his stare on her for a few more beats, then he wiped the top of the table with his hand and took a quick breath, seemingly brushing the topic away. Marissa looked up as he said, “Well, ready for some entertainment?”

She was unsure how to respond, so she just watched him get up and move to the TV area, where he began setting something up. When he'd finished fiddling with the electronics, he returned to the table, took one of the wooden chairs and carried it over, placing it square in front of the TV with a heavy thud. He caressed the arm rests then gave the seat a solid rap with his knuckles and looked back at her.

“Come sit. I've got something really special for you.”

With a sinking heart, Marissa stood from the table and slowly walked to him. He stood aside and gestured for her to sit, and she did, while he came to stand behind her, his hands sitting heavily on her shoulders.

Patrick gave her a squeeze, then released her and said, “I hope you appreciate this. It's been a bit challenging to put together, but I think the result will be entirely worth it.”

The TV suddenly lit up, and Marissa found herself staring at a still picture of their living room. She frowned, unsure what exactly was going on. “Patrick, what...” The next words died on her tongue as she saw herself on the screen. Naked, on her knees, being led by an equally naked Benji. The chain leash he held tugged at the thick, leather collar at her throat. Marissa ceased to breath as she watched the scene unfold, remembering with crystal clarity everything that had occurred. 

It had happened that past Tuesday. Benji had practically paraded her all around the house on that fucking leash, spanking her ass until her pussy throbbed in excitement to the ache of her reddened bottom. She watched slack jawed as he fucked her with his fingers, and she writhed with the pleasure of it. He'd pulled her by the hair then and shoved his dick in her mouth, all the way down. Marissa recalled how he'd fucked her willing throat, urging her to play with herself until she came in gurgling messy fits and he emptied in her mouth, entirely unaware that their illicit behavior was being filmed.

Marissa went to stand, galvanized by some kind of self preservation, but Patrick held her firmly in the chair. “Watch,” he said, his voice the coldest and starkest she'd ever heard it.

The scene changed abruptly, and Marissa recognized another guilty, hedonistic moment. This time, they were in the master bath, and the camera caught the giant flesh colored dildo sinking into her ass. Her grunts were animalistic as she worked the obscenely large plastic cock in and out, while Benji stroked his cock and tugged at the chain attached to the nipple clamps on her tits. He called her the filthiest names, urging her to come on that massive tool, and she did, loudly, messily, squirting her cum all over her fingers and the floor. Then it was Benji's turn, splashing her face and chest with his copious sperm. The rivulets dripped down her sweat slicked body for a few seconds before the scene changed again.

On and on it went, with scene after scene from this past week. It was a damning reel of her infidelity, no doubt cobbled together to drive her into guilt riddled depths of despair. It succeeded, too, the sickening feeling of discovery leaving her feeling cold and vaguely ill. She was glad she hadn't eaten much of anything for dinner, because she would have thrown it up at her feet.

The truly heinous part, though, was that watching herself perform all those acts also had an unintended and entirely unforeseen side effect. It turned her on tremendously. Even with the crushing dread, the 'oh shit' litany on repeat in her head, she was fighting the urge to squirm in the chair. She knew she was dripping wet, and that was even more shameful.

When the video finally finished, it froze on a scene from yesterday, as she'd stood on the deck, naked except for the nipple clamps and chains. It was after she'd kicked Benji out, and the look on her face was one of triumph. There were long, ominous minutes of silence in the room, during which Marissa was captivated by the image. She was nearly panting, her face flushed as she shifted in her seat, feeling her sodden panties rub wetly at her crotch under the thin yoga pants she wore. Then Patrick walked into her field of vision and she felt everything stop.

“Can you explain to me why?” His question was quiet, devoid of any emotion. He stood rigidly, hands tucked almost carelessly into his pockets. Marissa took in his entirely empty demeanor and realized there was nothing she could say that would matter.

She shook her head, looking straight in his eyes when she said, “No. I can't.” It was true. The entire affair felt like the most depraved of fever dreams to her now. There was a dreamlike quality to her memories of it, even the most recent ones. It felt like she hadn't really lived it, more like experienced it as a passenger in her own body.

Patrick took a few breaths, and Marissa caught the subtle balling of his hands into fists, hidden in his pockets. Then, her gaze strayed to his crotch, and her eyes went wide. She saw, clearly delineated under the soft cloth of his expensive chinos, that his dick was unmistakably hard. He was aroused, and the idea of it confused her, but it also turned her own desire up to painful intensity. Marissa wasn't aware of the noise she'd made until after she did, the quiet, whimpered sigh echoing between them.

He took one step to her and said, “Do you want it to continue?”

Marissa shook her head almost instantly. “No. It's over. I want nothing from him ever again.”

Patrick stared her down hard. Marissa withstood his glittering, piercing gaze, entirely sure that she had just told the absolute truth. She was wholly done with Benji, and she realized, to her utter surprise, that her arousal right at that moment had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the exhibitionist nature of the video she had just watched. She was turned on by the act of performing for the camera, watching herself be the basest, most uninhibited whore she could be, while someone else watched. Not just anyone, though. Patrick. She found it nearly unbearably exciting to have him watch.

Suddenly entirely animated, Patrick lunged to her, took a hold of her loose, thick hair and gripped it hard, pulled so that she had no choice but to look up at his angry gaze. It was painful and made her cry out, but it also fed her growing desire.

“Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?” Patrick's face was inches from hers, his eyes livid, cheeks slightly flushed. He was panting now, and Marissa matched him breath for breath. Something wicked took hold of her and she smirked. That floaty quality was suffusing her mind as she stared into his electrified irises.

She glanced down his body in the general direction of his crotch, then back up at him and said, “I can guess at least one way it makes you feel.” Patrick growled – actually growled – and his grip tightened painfully, making Marissa hiss.

“Don't be fucking clever now, Marissa, or I swear to God, you'll regret it,” he said through gritted teeth. Then it was his turn to hiss when he felt her hands sliding up his legs. Marissa didn't know what insanity had taken hold of her, but she couldn't stop. She caressed his tight, trembling thighs with firm palms, converging them at the sides of his tented crotch. He choked out a groan, pulling her head back another impossibly painful inch, but stood still as she firmly stroked from his base to the tip and back again and again.

Her smirk turned into a full, seductive smile and she focused on his twitching tip. “I think you liked watching me be a truly filthy slut for him.” She squeezed him and he groaned out loud this time, his other hand coming to rest a firm grip at her throat. Marissa felt a thrilling kind of fear, along with an unparalleled wave of intense desire. It had a million times more dimension than what she'd felt with Benji. This was eons beyond those suddenly shallow seeming sensations.

“I think,” she said, squeezing his cock head, “that you want me to be that same filthy slutty wife for you.”

Patrick's face expressed an odd combination of ire and shock. He was panting, gritting his teeth, and possibly making that incredibly sexy growling sound entirely unconsciously. The hand at her throat squeezed tight for a few long entirely terrifying seconds, then relaxed, and Marissa nearly came from the waves of dark, sharp pleasure coursing through her. She whimpered and panted, hips gyrating madly to get some form of stimulation onto her clit. The peak was so close. She ached for it. Patrick, though, seemed to realize what was happening, even through his fog of angry desire. He released her neck and gave her a not too gentle slap across the cheek.

Stunned, Marissa looked up at Patrick with open shock and defiant anger. He just returned his hand to her throat and held her still.

“No, Marissa. You don't get to come. Not tonight. Not until I say you do.” He forcefully turned her head, so that her ear was leaning up to him, then whispered, “It's going to be a long, hard--” he punctuated that word with a thrust of his hips, driving his cock head into her hand, “--vacation for you, whore wife.”

Every word had pierced Marissa's entire self, leaving her a trembling, needy, whimpering mess. She deserved it, every single thing he called her, every spank, slap, denied orgasm, forceful face fuck, debased ass rending, and any other hedonistic form of 'punishment' that Patrick came up with. She'd made her bed, and while she hadn't expect it to turn out this way, she'd take it, lie in it, and fucking love every moment of it.

Patrick squeezed her throat again and said, “I'm going to wipe that goddamn Riley boy from your memory. I'm taking back what's fucking mine, and I'm going to start with this slut mouth.” His hand came to cup her chin and cheeks, and he squeezed her lips into an open, pouting 'o'. “Take my pants off, whore, and show me what a fantastic cock sucker you've become.”

Marissa held his eyes as her fingers fumbled to undo his belt, the button and zipper on his pants. She panted and licked her lips as she pushed the garment down, taking his boxers with them. Her eyes were drawn to his crotch, and went instantly wide. Patrick had always been meticulous about grooming, maintaining a neatly trimmed bush, but today, he was entirely hairless. His cock throbbed angrily, proud and straight, seeming to Marissa larger than it ever had before. Just as she was about to grip it in her palms, Patrick pulled at her hair, making her wince.

“No hands, slut. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue, hands crossed at your back.”

Marissa didn't waste a moment doing exactly as he said, her eyes once again trained on him. Patrick used his grip on her hair and throat to guide her exposed tongue to the underside of his weeping cock. He drew a line across the length of her tongue with his crown, smearing his precome across her saliva slicked muscle.

Grunting, he ordered, “Open wider.”

She did, and he leveraged himself into her wide, warm, willing mouth. Marissa buzzed with desire, feeling her husband's thick meat thrust into her mouth to the top of her throat. He held himself there, as if willing her to gag on him, but Marissa had learned quite a bit about throat fucking over the summer. She relaxed her throat and allowed Patrick's cock to slide in further. He gritted his teeth and ground out a gravelly 'fuck' before shifting his hips and burying himself forcefully in her throat. Marissa did gag then, but it didn't matter. Patrick was indeed taking what was his.

He tugged and pulled her head as he thrust into her mouth, the rough and insistent movement making Marissa's eyes tear and overflow. Saliva pooled and dripped out the sides of her mouth. She had become nothing but his whore fuck hole, and while it was something she'd done with Benji numerous times, this was entirely different.

Marissa's tears intensified as he fucked her faster, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Patrick's face was a mask of contorted pleasure and dark, sharp anger as he defiled her mouth again and again. It should have humiliated Marissa, but what it actually did was set her heart free. This was her husband, the man she had always loved, taking her. Owning her in a way she craved, and while it had taken her infidelity to achieve this result, right at that moment she couldn't be sorry. This Patrick, the dominant god currently throttling her throat, was her wet dream come true.

“Fuck, that's a good whore throat! Oh yeah, slut wife, take it.” He growled, and Marissa felt his cock grow impossibly hard in her throat. “Fuck yeah, I'm gonna come in this slutty whore mouth. You better swallow it all, Marissa. Yeah, oh yeah, here it comes!”

Patrick held her hair and neck in iron grips, burying his throbbing, kicking dick as deep as it would go. Marissa's eyes rolled back and closed in ecstasy as she felt him begin to shoot down her throat, and she worked her muscles to milk him further. He cried out in surprise and pleasure, and fucked her with feverish intensity, spurts of his cum still filling her. Marissa felt so close to coming that she was afraid she would; Patrick had told her she couldn't, though. More than anything, she wanted to please him, and that strengthened her resolve.

When he finally pulled out of her throat, she took explosive, gasping breaths, strings of saliva stretching from her parted lips to his slowly deflating cock. Her pussy quivered and ached to come, and she whined and squirmed, wanting the release but aware she wouldn't get it. It was maddening, the denial, but it brought Marissa more pride and pleasure to follow his demands.

Patrick's fingers gentled, and he combed her hair back away from her face lovingly. The delicate caress was unexpected, but so appreciated that Marissa whimpered, her tears flowing thicker as a hoarse sob caught in her battered throat. That simple gesture embodied everything she'd been craving from her interactions with Benji. She realized then that she'd never actually wanted that from him. It had always only been Patrick who could give her that.

His strong hands cupped her cheeks and turned her face up to look at him. Marissa cried openly as she took in her glorious husband, the man who held her heart and soul, and now had begun claiming her body in the way she so needed. Patrick stroked her cheek with his thumb, the small touch so very familiar that it made her break into loud, open sobbing. Patrick went down on his knees in front of her, then scooted up between her legs and wrapped his strong arms around her, hugging her close. Marissa leaned into him, her own arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders.

They held each other like that for a long time, until Marissa's sobs quieted. Patrick's hands had been rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back, but now he leaned away from her and looked into her tear swollen eyes. Marissa saw in them the love he still had for her, but there was a new depth and dimension to it, and also a darkness that sent a thrilling shiver down her spine.

Patrick said, “I'm not going to apologize for that. You deserved it, and so much more, but at the same time, I don't want to hurt you, Marissa. I didn't, did I? Was that too much?”

Marissa gave him a small, trembling smile and said, “No, that was so good. It was beyond anything I've ever felt.” Patrick gave her a look, like he was about to call bullshit on her, but she continued, “No, listen to me, please. I'm not going to deny that Benji was... good.” She blushed hotly, feeling the deep humiliation of telling her husband about her lover's prowess in the sack. “But what he did for me, it was so shallow, compared to this one thing we just did. I didn't love him, Patrick. He made my body feel things I'd never known, but he never touched my heart, my soul. Those are only for you.”

Patrick's eyes went hot and dark, his hand returning to lie possessively at her throat.

“From now on, your body is only for me, too,” he said roughly, and Marissa moaned quietly.

“Yes,” she said quietly, unable to look away from his gaze.

Patrick stepped away from her, tucking himself back into his slacks. Then he said, “Get up. Take everything off.”

Marissa blanched, but did as he said. Her hands trembled as she tugged at her soft cotton shirt, feeling entirely vulnerable as each piece of clothing hit the ground. When she was naked, she had the ridiculous urge to cover herself from Patrick's fulminating gaze. She stood there with her hands gripped together at her tummy and her eyes downcast, waiting for him to speak.

“You're still so fucking gorgeous,” he growled quietly. The sound made Marissa shiver. “I can see why he'd want you. Go face the fireplace and put your hands on the stone.”

She complied, shaking like a leaf. Patrick moved around behind her, and she heard a dull thud near her before she felt his warm, strong hands on her hips, then his booted foot between her legs. He nudged her feet apart and said, “Spread your legs. Wider.”

She was entirely exposed, and Patrick ran his sure fingers over her ample ass cheeks, teasing at the cleft between with his thumbs. Marissa couldn't help arching back into his hands, her pulsing, achy pussy looking for any stimulation it could get. His hands left her, and Marissa sighed with disappointment. She heard him moving, then the sound of rummaging.

“I've been reading. Studying, this last week. After watching everything that asshole did to you, I became curious about why you'd let him do it.” There was a loud slap of something hard against flesh, and Marissa jumped, eyes wide. “I read all about what it means to be dominant and submissive. I think that's what you crave, isn't it?”

He'd walked back behind her, and Marissa bit her lip to quiet the nervous little moan that wanted to escape. She felt something blunt and cold trail up her thigh, nestling between her cheeks at her sensitive anus.

Patrick said, “You're submissive, aren't you?” He tapped whatever it was against her little star and Marissa moaned, then nodded. He continued, “You crave that dominance, don't you? Answer me.”

Marissa gasped as the blunt tip pressed against her firmly, the lack of any lubricant entirely apparent in the way it stuck and stretched her tender flesh. She said, “Yes, yes I do. Please, Patrick.”

He chuckled, holding the thing in place a moment longer before withdrawing it. “Pleading already? It won't help you, Marissa.” The cold, slippery lube that he worked around her ass hole had Marissa squirming and panting. Patrick's finger swirled around her brown star, then dipped in repeatedly, making sure the lube was well entrenched.

He brought the blunt, cold tip back, then began inserting it. Marissa moaned at the stretching. The fucking thing was big, so big. She squealed as he slowly fucked her ass with the ever widening phallus, her loosened ass still having trouble taking the giant thing.

“This is, after all, punishment,” he murmured, as he held her steady with a hand at her hip, the other twirling and thrusting what she realized was the largest glass plug she'd ever experienced. Her pussy dripped copious fluid down her thighs as the plug stretched and stretched her.

“Almost there,” he whispered, giving the humongous plug one last shove. Marissa's eyes rolled and she gripped the stone wall hard, gritting her teeth and crying out with the filling sensation. Her ass closed around the neck and the plug was seated. It felt beyond large, heavy and bulbous. The testing tug Patrick gave it sent shock waves radiating through her ass and into her vacant cunt.

“Oh God,” whimpered Marissa. She felt as if she'd ceased to be anything but a toy. A bad, disobedient toy that needed to be disciplined. Remembering that she would not be allowed to come, she whined again, then cried out as a hard, solid slap landed on her ass. Another followed in quick succession, and she cursed weakly.

Patrick grunted. “That was intensely satisfying. You've been such a very bad wife, Marissa.” She heard something jingle, then Patrick appeared to her left. “Open your mouth.”

Marissa obeyed, then whined as he placed a metal ring gag in her mouth. He secured it behind her head, then hooked his fingers in her forcefully opened mouth and tugged her to look at him. His expression was so very dark that Marissa felt momentary fear.

Patrick said, “I know you need a safe word, Marissa, and I just took your ability to speak. So until the gag is off, your safe word will be three taps on the stone. Got it?” She looked at him, seeing beyond the darkness to the man she loved beneath it all, and nodded slowly.

“Show me you understand,” he requested. Without hesitation, she tapped the stone fireplace three times with her right hand. Patrick patted her cheek and smiled. “Good whore. Now. Let's begin.”

*

One week later.

Benji walked the dark alley in Buckhead, seemingly unconcerned about his seedy surroundings at three thirty in the morning. He wasn't drunk, but certainly happily buzzed from the evening of drinking and dancing at the now closed nightclub. He'd left his truck in a parking lot not too far away, a pattern he'd executed repeatedly without a hitch all summer long. Now, as he sauntered carelessly down the darkest part of the alley, he had not a single care.

His dirty mind was busy imagining new, particularly humiliating scenarios for Marissa. It had been two weeks since he'd seen her last, and he imagined she was getting pretty horny for his very special brand of fucking. Benji hadn't really taken her seriously when she'd kicked him out. He figured she just needed some time to realize that he was the only one who could give her what she craved. His cock stirred just thinking about making her his little fuck toy again.

He'd lucked out in running into her, and having her be such a fantastic little slut. When he'd come home for the summer break from school, he'd resigned himself to a boring summer of work and more work. Over in Athens, he'd created a life outside the university that revolved around “the lifestyle”, as it was commonly known. Benji was an intense and popular dom within his play group. The subby fuck bunnies that were shared among the doms had been great practice for taming a seasoned cougar like Marissa.

Benji had no intention of letting up on her now. She was such a good fuck! So eager and starving for what he had to give. It didn't seem to matter how depraved he got, she was game. Marissa was his dream come true, and he was looking forward to stretching out their little arrangement into the next school year. Benji pawed at himself through his jeans as he imagined her spitroasted between himself and one of the other doms. He planned to make her the group's prime fuck. It would be perfect. All he had to do was give her a little incentive. His ace was to blackmail her with telling her clueless husband about their recreational activities. She would fucking fold instantly.

Suddenly, rough hands grabbed Benji and he was unceremoniously rammed up against an unyielding brick wall. He had enough wits to try and grapple his way free, but a solid punch to his gut doubled him over. Still, the assaulting party straightened him back up and he received a strike to his left jaw that had him seeing stars. He wobbled in place, winded and aching, when a knee to his groin sent him sprawling onto the wet, trash strewn alley floor. He couldn't breathe from the sharp shooting pain. Curling up, he whimpered in agony and fear when someone grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.

A dark figure loomed over him. It must have been a trick of the light, because his eyes seemed to glow with a ruddy, red unholy light. Benji blubbered and pleaded through short, gasping breaths, begging for his life. The next slap silenced his please, and then the unmistakable cold edge of a knife pressed to his exposed throat made his bladder release.

“I owe you so much more than this, you sniveling little fucker,” said a strangely familiar voice. Benji tried to place it, but the knife nicked his skin, and he focused entirely on remaining very still. A drip of coppery blood slid slowly down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“But see, as much as I'd like to gut you like the nasty little pig you are and leave you rotting in this alley, I'm also just a little bit grateful.” The grip on his hair tightened and Benji cried out in pain.

“So I'm going to leave you with a warning, boy.” The figure moved in close, and Benji shied away from the hot breath at his ear. “Stay the fuck away from Marissa. You don't look for her. You don't talk to her. You don't even wave at her if you accidentally see her at the fucking grocery store, got it? So help me God, if I find out you've even given her a thought, I'm going to find you and finish this. Do you understand, asshole?”

Benji's battered mind was slow to respond, but another slap and shake of his aching hair had him gasping and nodding, as tears sprung to his eyes. “Yes! God, yes, I understand!”

The man reared back and landed a shot with his elbow, then released him. Benji curled up into a ball, shivering with pain and terror, whimpering and gingerly cradling his almost positively broken jaw. All he heard was the sound of slow footsteps fading away into the night. It took him nearly half an hour to work his way out of the fear and hurt, and then he was running in a painful crouch to his truck. Once inside, with the doors locked and the engine running, Benji thought back to the encounter and shuddered. One thing was for sure. He wasn't going near the Weiss house, or Marissa, ever again.

*

Two months later.

Marissa coasted down the mountain road, the turning leaves and brisk temperatures giving the landscape a lovely, fairy tale quality. The asphalt was smooth and rolling as she moved into the uphill section, her feet pounding strongly up the steep incline. Halfway up, she turned into the long driveway that eventually led her to the gorgeous mountain house that Patrick had introduced her to at the end of the summer.

The memory sent twin shivers of delight and guilt coursing up her spine. They had resolved many things over that first week here, and the memory of just how they'd achieved that brought Marissa a warming sensation to her core. She jogged down the wooded driveway until the wide clearing of the house signaled the end of her run. Pacing her cool down, she could feel the growing arousal and excitement keeping her heart rate up. She forced herself to go through her stretching routine as usual, then made her way to the mud room entrance.

The house was just as enchanting as the first time she'd seen it. They'd since furnished it and had been back several times with the kids. It was a great place for family weekends away from the bustle of the city. This was the first time they'd been back on their own, though. It was Fall Break for the kids, and so Patrick had invited his mother to come stay at the house in Atlanta while he and Marissa got a long weekend away.

Marissa toed off her shoes, then continued with her socks. The tile floors here and throughout the connecting kitchen space were heated, so it was delightful to walk barefoot after the chilliness of the outdoors. Before she left the mudroom, though, she had a few more things to do.

Since that fateful week a couple of months ago, Marissa and Patrick's relationship had been shifting, evolving. This long weekend was a sort of test of those changes. Marissa took her long sleeve running shirt off, then stretched her sports bra up and over her head. She followed up with her tights and thong, then piled the clothes in the washer and started the machine.

Marissa ducked into the small half bath just outside the mudroom and made herself presentable. She let her long hair out of its low tail, then brushed through it and put it back into a tail, this time higher on her head. Taking advantage of the sink, she splashed some water on her face, cooling the running afterglow that clung to her cheeks. She dried off, then with a last look at herself in the mirror, she padded out.

Walking into the kitchen entirely bare was exhilarating. Goose flesh broke out on her arms and her nipples puckered as she went in search of Patrick. She found him in the study, one of the rooms that faced the lake. He was sitting in a plush leather chair, coffee cup in one hand as he lazily scrolled through a news story on his tablet. Marissa walked in quietly and knelt just inside the door, her head bowed in submission. It was several minutes before he placed the tablet down and spoke to her.

“Good morning, Marissa. Nice run?” his tone was perfectly light, entirely at odds with the buzzing sizzling sparks flashing through her body.

She nodded, trying to keep her breathing even. “Yes, Sir. It's beautiful outside. I enjoyed it very much.”

Patrick was quiet, and Marissa felt herself tremble in anticipation.

He chuckled and murmured, “Are you eager for something, Marissa?”

She nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

He stood from the chair, then walked to a shelf and pulled out a wooden box. Marissa listened to his movements, her eyes trained to the floor. Her breath came in quick pants as he walked to her, his feet coming into view and stopping a few inches from her knees.

“What do you want, Marissa?” The question was asked in a deep, serious tone. She shivered and swallowed.

Closing her eyes, she said, “To be yours, Sir.”

Patrick clucked. His fingers stroked the top of her hair and she nearly whimpered. “To be my what, Marissa?”

“To be your submissive, Sir,” she whispered. She felt the deep blush overtaking her face and chest, her fingers curling into her hands in tight, nervous fists on her knees.

Patrick hummed in appreciation, then she heard the sound of a hand stroking over cloth. Her eyes shot up for a brief moment, and she caught sight of Patrick slowly cupping and stroking himself through his flannel pajama bottoms. She could tell he was hard as he palmed himself, and she ached to have him, to please him.

“Try one more time, Marissa.” Patrick's hand cupped her chin and tilted her head back so her eyes met his. Their dark depths took her breath, made her pussy drool and her nipples ache for his stinging tenderness. “What do you want.”

She was lost in his eyes when she answered, “To be your fuck toy, Sir.”

Patrick smiled wickedly and said, “Good girl. Eyes on me now.”

He released her, then opened the box and took something out. Setting the box down, he hinged open a diamond studded platinum collar, the words “Patrick's Fuck Toy” spelled out in tiny diamonds along it's length. Marissa whimpered openly now, as he leaned down and fixed the cold metal around her throat. A special key secured it closed. There was no taking it off unless he allowed it. Marissa felt the unyielding collar ground her. Her heart rate evened out and she felt a kind of floating peaceful satisfaction.

A tear escaped her eye, and Patrick wiped it away. “You look so perfect with that on. My eager little fuck toy,” he said, as he slowly dropped his pajama bottoms and took his incredibly hard cock in his hand for a stroke. “Now. Show me how much you want to be my whore.”

Marissa didn't waste a second. She leaned it, nuzzled up under his stroking hand and licked and sucked his sack while he continued to stroke. Patrick's quiet groan sizzled through her. She opened her mouth and sucked first one, then the other, and finally both of his balls at once. He was definitely enjoying her work, his gasps and grunts evidence of his growing desire.

A hand on her ponytail pulled her away, then her mouth was stuffed full of hard, thrusting cock. Patrick held her hair and her chin as he angled her to his satisfaction, so that he could simply fuck himself into her willing throat. Marissa held onto his thighs as he used her, feeling her pussy pulse and ache to be filled. Her ass hole tightened involuntarily around the glass plug she'd put in before her run, as Patrick had instructed.

With a loud grunt, Patrick shoved himself out of her mouth, then ordered her to lick him clean of her spit. He rubbed his throbbing dick all over her face and neck, and Marissa loved every second of his claiming. When he tugged her up and positioned her kneeling on the chaise by the chair he'd vacated, she was more than ready to be fucked, but Patrick had other ideas.

She felt the spank sting and warm her ass, making her cry out in both pleasure and pain. One after another rang out in the room, accompanied by the occasional finger fuck. Marissa was delirious with need, aching with desire when he finally knelt behind her and thrust himself into her waiting pussy. She cried out in pleasure as he filled her to the hilt, the plug making everything so much tighter. Patrick gripped her hips and fucked her hard and fast, his ramming pelvis shoving at the plug and making her feel doubly fucked.

Marissa moaned long and loud as her orgasm approached, and she eagerly fucked herself onto his frenzied rod. Patrick spanked her ass again and again as he filled her, then he dragged her up by the hair and held her against his chest. His hand cupped and squeezed her breast, fingers tweaking and pinching at her sensitive nipple.

Marissa cried out, “Fuck, Patrick, I'm gonna come!”

“Yeah, whore, come for my cock. Come fucking hard!” he replied through gritted teeth as he redoubled his efforts.

Marissa catapulted right off the cliff of her climax, screaming obscenities at the beautiful scenery outside as she convulsed and milked Patrick's thrusting cock. His hand came to stroke and swirl at her clit, and Marissa screamed again, feeling the wave rise up again wicked and quick. She cried out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck...” for long minutes as she continued to come and come. Then she fell forward onto the chaise, Patrick's cock leaving her pulsing pussy.

She tried to get up on her hands and knees, but Patrick held her down, then he tugged the plug out of her ass. Marissa moaned at the emptiness, missing the thick, full feeling, until she felt Patrick's pussy juice lubed cock press against her loosened ass. She whimpered and gasped as he pulled her hips up and slowly filled her ass in one long thrust.

“Fuck, Patrick. Fuck...” she said, eyes squeezed shut as she took in his entire dick. She felt him withdraw, then engage once more, and she moaned at the radiating pleasure.

Patrick moaned and said, “Yes, it was about time I claimed this ass. Fuck, that's good, Marissa. Such a good little ass slut, aren't you?” He pressed deeply and she shuddered. Patrick began a slow, deep thrusting rhythm, and Marissa felt herself floating higher and higher on the drugging desire he was stoking.

“Say it, Marissa,” he urged, as his strokes quickened, became harder, rougher. One hand was in her hair again, while the other teased and twirled around her incredibly sensitive clit. Entirely under his control, exactly where she wanted to be, she gave in to the dark need and shoved her eager ass against his thrusting body.

“ Fuck, yes, I'm your little ass slut! Take that tight ass, please, Sir! Oh fuck, I'm gonna come again. Please, let me come again!” she babbled as she rode the growing, engulfing need. Patrick cursed and fucked her hard and fast, his fingers flying on her clit.

“Yes, fuck, yes. Marissa, fucking come for me right now! Come on my fucking cock! I'm going to fill you up with all of my cum. Here it comes, slut!” He grunted loudly and thrust hard into her, holding himself deep inside as his cock kicked and throbbed, delivering his seed into her depths.

Marissa came as he did, her ass milking his coming cock and sending wave after wave of unprecedented pleasure through her entire body. She lost track of time, simply enjoying the incredible sensations suffusing her entire being. Minutes, or maybe eons, later, Marissa felt Patrick stirring behind her. He pulled himself from her ass, and she felt momentarily empty, until something was slowly pressed back into her ass. It was bigger than the plug she'd had earlier. She breathed in deeply as it seated itself, filling her thoroughly and trapping all of Patrick's cum deep inside her.

Patrick tapped the plug and Marissa shivered. “We have to keep that ass full, don't we, slut?”

Marissa giggled breathlessly and said, “Yes, Sir.”

She felt his hands stroke up her back, smoothing and massaging over her sensitive skin, turning her so that when he came down next to her she was nestled against his chest. Patrick kissed her passionately, his arms holding her. Marissa felt safe and replete, thoroughly pleasured and happy beyond anything she'd ever imagined before. They cuddled and kissed, touched and teased like that for a while, simply enjoying each other and their love.

Some time later, Patrick leaned away and said thoughtfully, “You know, even though it's not how I would have preferred it, that Riley boy really did do us a favor. I hope he rots in hell, but I'm kind of grateful.”

Marissa turned her face up to him, gave him a frown and said, very seriously, “Who are you talking about?”

Patrick glanced down, his face confused, then broke out in a wide grin, remembering his oath to her on their first eventful week at the house. He kissed her nose and said, “Good girl.”

Marissa glowed at his praise. She cuddled into his side and Patrick continued stroking and petting her lovingly. After a while, Patrick stirred again, tipping her chin up to look at him.

“There's something I've been thinking about, pet,” he said, and Marissa thrilled at the his use of the word 'pet'. She blushed and waited for him to continue. “I have a confession to make. Do you remember the video reel I made for you the first time we were here?”

Marissa's smile faltered and she looked away, echoes of her shame twinging at her blissful mood and making her whimper quietly. Patrick directed her gaze back up at him and shushed her gently.

“I don't mean to bring up bad memories, love. I just wanted to tell you how very fucking sexy it was to watch those.” Marissa gaped at him. “Even though I wanted to throttle that little fucker, it was a complete turn on to watch you behave like such a good fuck slut.”

Marissa went to move away from him, but he held her firm. She stuttered, “Patrick, I... I don't understand. Why are you bringing this up?”

Patrick smiled at her wickedly. “Well. I was thinking we could try making some of our own movies. I'd like to watch you be that same eager slut for me, and I thought you would enjoy it, too. Or, did I mistake your excitement at watching them?” His hand cupped her pussy, fingers swirling in the fresh juices that the idea of being filmed had created. Marissa moaned quietly and moved herself against his hand automatically.

He slapped her snatch lightly and she jumped. “What do you think, pet?”

Marissa loved the idea. The anticipation of it was like a bevvy of butterflies in her chest. She trailed her hand to Patrick's hardening cock and gave him a few lazy strokes, her thumb swirling around his head.

“I would enjoy it very much, Sir.” She squeezed his cock for a few seconds, feeling it throb in her grip, then said, “Does Sir want to go take a shower? I'm sure we could both use a good, thorough wash.”

Patrick growled softly and agreed, then stood up and ordered her to her knees. Marissa complied, a sultry, sassy grin on her face. She slowly crawled her way out of the study, swaying her ass with the glass plug that she didn't know showed off a glittering, winking glass flower, and eagerly led Patrick away to their future.