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Guest’s knees ached.
The carpet was soft, but after twenty minutes of kneeling naked, spine curved and thighs spread wide, even softness became punishment. His arms trembled beneath him, not from fatigue but shame—hot, coiling, inescapable shame.
Behind him, Matt moved like he owned the room.
And in a way, he did.
He’d made that very clear the moment he arrived: walking in, dragging his palm slowly across Guest’s lower back, muttering a mocking, “Already hard? Fucking pathetic.” Guest hadn’t been allowed to speak since.
In the corner, Daisy sat in the designated chair, positioned in a way so she would always be in Guest’s peripheral vision. With her legs crossed and eyes hooded with pleasure, she watched her husband’s body on display: bent over, flushed, and quietly panting like a dog.
Matt had stripped him with brutal slowness, commenting on every inch exposed. And Daisy… Daisy had nodded in approval.
It was the worst part.
Not Matt’s teasing. Not the exposure. Not even the ache in his jaw from the earlier blowjob that Matt had half-forced, half-guided with that same leash still clipped to the collar at his throat.
No. The worst part was seeing the look in Daisy’s eyes as she watched Matt take him. The delight. The arousal. The mischievous smirk. The way she held her phone steady while filming. All for her eyes only—maybe Matt’s too.
She liked it. She loved seeing her husband degraded.
And Guest? Guest wanted to disappear.
Matt knelt behind him, broad and smug, slicking himself up with lazy strokes. “Bet you’re clenching already,” he said, almost conversational, tapping his cock between Guest’s cheeks. “You thinking about how your wife’s watching? Or are you just that desperate to get fucked again?”
Guest closed his eyes. His face burned. Daisy’s voice cut through the silence,
“Both. Definitely both.”
Laughter. Matt’s.
“Such a good little wife,” Matt said, and then without warning—pushed in.
Guest gasped, his body jerking forward as Matt seated himself with one steady thrust. The stretch was sharp, immediate. His hands scrambled for traction, fingernails digging into the carpet, but Matt just grabbed the leash and yanked him back into place.
“Don’t run now,” Matt sneered. “You begged for this.”
“I—I didn’t—” Guest started, voice shaking.
“Didn’t what?” Matt cut him off with a thrust. “Didn’t moan when I made you suck me off in front of her? Didn’t leak all over yourself when she told you to open your mouth? Didn’t hump my leg like a needy bitch last time I spit in your face?”
Guest sobbed into his forearm, the shame bubbling and humiliation slicing deep.
Daisy’s voice floated from across the room. “Aw, honey… you’re crying?”
He couldn’t respond.
“Poor baby,” she cooed. “You look so pretty like this. Ruined.”
Matt’s hands gripped his hips tighter. His pace was brutal now, rhythm building, fucking him rough like he was nothing more than a hole to be used.
“You ever fuck her like this?” Matt grunted, thrusting so deep Guest choked on his own breath. “No. Of course not. You’re too soft. She needed someone to break you in.”
Guest whined, broken and breathless, as the sound of slapping skin filled the room. His cock throbbed against the carpet untouched, desperate and leaking. He wasn’t allowed to touch himself. He wasn’t allowed to ask.
Daisy leaned forward slightly in her chair, legs spreading. “Touch yourself,” she said—to Matt. Not to him.
Matt’s grin widened. He reached down, spit into his palm, and slicked his cock again while still fucking into Guest. “Bet he wishes I’d let him touch it. Look at it—leaking like a damn faucet.”
Guest whimpered, his thighs shaking.
“You hear that, baby?” Daisy purred. “You’re leaking all over the carpet. It’s pathetic. You’re so desperate, and he’s not even giving you his hand.”
Matt leaned forward, pressing his chest to Guest’s back, voice low against his ear. “You’re gonna cum untouched, aren’t you?”
“I— I can’t—” Guest stammered, voice choked.
“Oh, you will,” Matt promised, voice cruel. “You’ll cum while I use your ass like it belongs to me. While your wife watches. And then you’ll thank us both.”
And somehow, with the collar digging into his throat, Matt’s cock pounding inside him, Daisy’s voice stroking his shame like a flame—
He did.
His body spasmed, thighs twitching, cum spilling onto the carpet as a broken sob tore from his lips. He came so hard it left him breathless, collapsing forward onto his elbows, gasping.
Matt fucked him through it, not slowing down until he was done. He slammed in one last time, groaning deep, strong, calloused hands digging bruises into Guest’s hips as he finished inside him.
Guest stayed there, trembling, used. His forehead pressed to the carpet, his body shuddering with the aftershocks. The warmth of Matt’s release seeped out of him slowly, slick and undeniable. A mess.
Silence.
Then, behind him, Matt moved with slow indifference, zipping his pants like he’d just finished a workout and couldn’t care less about the wreck he left on the floor.
Guest blinked hard. His vision was blurry. His mouth was dry. The collar still clung to his throat.
Daisy crouched beside him, brushing sweaty hair away from his flushed face. Her fingers were gentle, but her eyes… her eyes sparkled with something cruel and warm.
“Good boy,” she murmured, the same way someone might speak to a dog. “I didn’t think you’d last that long.”
He flinched. Not because she touched him, but because she was still filming.
Her phone tilted slightly, catching his ruined expression, the redness in his cheeks, the drool pooling on the corner of his lips, the way his thighs twitched involuntarily.
“Look at you,” she whispered. “So used. You couldn’t even stop yourself from cumming, could you?”
He tried to shake his head, tried to deny it, but his body said otherwise. His stomach was sticky. The floor beneath him was soaked.
Matt chuckled from behind them, lighting a cigarette. “He’s gonna stain that carpet,” he said, exhaling smoke. “Better have him lick it up before it sets in.”
Guest’s heart dropped.
Daisy leaned in closer, her voice barely a breath against his ear. “You heard him.”
His lips trembled. “Please…”
She smiled. “Clean up the mess, baby.”
Guest’s hands moved slowly, unwillingly. His body obeyed even as his pride screamed against it. He bent lower, shoulders hunched, the leash dragging across the floor as he brought his mouth down to the mess he’d made.
He tasted himself.
His eyes burned.
Behind him, Matt spoke again, lazily, like a king addressing a jester. “Maybe next time, I’ll bring someone else to watch. Let them see what a good little cumdump you are.”
Guest moaned into the rug. Not from pleasure. From surrender.
He knew Daisy wouldn’t stop him.
She wouldn’t save him.
She wanted this. She loved this.
“Would you like that?” Daisy asked sweetly, resting her hand on the back of his head. “Would you like being put on display? Bent over for someone else? Being filmed while your best friend ruins you?”
Guest sobbed, nose pressed into the soaked fibers of the rug. His mouth opened, closed, but no words came out.
“Maybe we’ll make it a monthly thing,” she added. “Matt can keep your schedule. I’ll make sure you’re cleaned and prepped.”
Matt’s voice was low, amused. “Think he’ll start wagging when I come through the door?”
Daisy laughed.
Guest didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
Every humiliating second was a choice—one he’d already made the moment he handed Daisy the leash and let Matt take the lead.
He stayed on all fours, tongue pressed obediently to the carpet, his skin flushed with arousal and shame.
Every tug of the collar, every cruel word, every mocking laugh… he wanted it.
And they both knew it.
He was theirs—happily, helplessly, completely.
Matt leaned down, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
“You did good,” he murmured, voice still rough, still laced with amusement.
“Didn’t he, Daisy?”
“Perfect,” she said, stroking her husband’s back with manicured nails.
“Just the way we like him.“