BBC App Addiction

The Familiar Craving

Morning sunlight cut through the busted blinds in their boring Indiana bedroom, striping the sheets Katrina had sweated through all night. She woke up horny, as usual, her cunt already aching for something thick to fill it. Thirty-two, still tight and fit from pretending to like yoga, auburn hair a mess, lips swollen and parted like she was begging for cock even in her sleep. Her hazel eyes landed on Will, her husband—thirty-four, average in every way, short brown hair, nice enough face, snoring away, totally clueless that his wife was already desperate to get her mouth stuffed.

She didn’t bother saying good morning. She just slid under the covers, pressed her tits against his thigh, and buried her face in his lap. Will’s cock was soft, drooping across his stomach, but just seeing it made her mouth water. She opened wide and sucked him in, tongue swirling around the head, tasting sweat and sleep and that familiar hint of dick. She sucked slow, feeling him twitch and fatten in her mouth. Will groaned, half-awake, his hand already tangled in her hair, like he knew exactly what his cumslut wife needed.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and growing arousal.

Katrina didn’t bother talking. She just shoved him deeper, lips stretched wide around his growing cock, cheeks hollowed out like she was born for this. Her eyes met his, already glassy with that desperate, cock-hungry look. God, I need this, she thought. My mouth feels empty unless it’s stuffed full of dick. She bobbed her head, slow and sloppy, loving the way he got hard in her throat, veins bulging under her tongue. One hand cupped his balls, rolling them while she made loud, wet, slutty noises that echoed in the room.

Will grabbed her hair tighter, shoving her head down, using her mouth like the cocksleeve she was. He pushed in deep, hitting the back of her throat, and Katrina moaned around his cock, making him jerk. This was her favorite part—when he stopped pretending and just used her face. Her jaw ached, her pussy soaked, all from having her mouth stuffed. Fucking never did it for her. Will could fuck her pussy all night and she’d barely feel it. She needed her lips stretched, her throat plugged, his hand in her hair. He felt guilty sometimes, but she always made up for it—sucking him hard again and fingering herself while she nursed his limp dick.

“Fuck, Katrina… your mouth is perfect,” Will groaned, thrusting gently into her wet heat. He watched her cheeks hollow, saliva glistening on her chin as she took him to the root, nose pressing into his pubic hair. Her throat constricted around him in rhythmic swallows, milking him with expert muscle control honed from years of this exact ritual.

Her nipples were hard, clit throbbing, pussy dripping and untouched. This is what I am, she thought. A cocksucker. A cumdump who needs her throat stuffed just to feel alive. The shame made her suck harder, tongue pressed flat under his cock, desperate for him to blow his load down her throat.

Will’s breathing quickened. He held her head steady and fucked her mouth with short, firm strokes, the wet gluck-gluck sounds growing louder. Katrina’s eyes watered, but she never pulled back. When he finally tensed and erupted, hot spurts of semen flooding her tongue and throat, she swallowed greedily, moaning as the taste triggered her own smaller orgasm. Her pussy fluttered, juices slicking her thighs, even without direct touch. She kept sucking softly through his aftershocks, cleaning every drop, her full lips sealed tight around the sensitive head until he softened.

Will let go of her hair, sighing, stroking her cheek while she rested her head on his thigh, his cock still drooling spit on her lips. “You’re incredible,” he said, but she heard the guilt in his voice. He knew this wasn’t enough for her. Not even close.

They lay there a minute before real life crashed in. Will had to leave for some boring work thing in Chicago, gone a whole week. In the shower, Katrina tried to act normal, soaping him up. “I’ll be fine,” she lied, kissing his chest. “I’ve got toys. I’ll manage.” But they both knew she was full of shit. Her cock addiction was hopeless. The hypnotherapist just ended up nutting in her mouth. The self-help videos? Just made her suck more cock. Even the shrink had her on her knees, tongue deep in pussy, trading therapy for orgasms she didn’t even want from women.

Will kissed her forehead. “Call me if it gets bad. We’ll figure it out when I’m back.”

The second Will’s car was gone, the ache came back, worse than ever. Katrina made it to noon before she broke. In the shower, she slapped a fat, veiny dildo to the wall—the kind that shoots fake cum. She dropped to her knees, water pouring over her, and shoved it down her throat, gagging herself like a pro. When the thing finally squirted warm goo in her mouth, she swallowed, but it was pathetic. No hand in her hair. No one calling her a cumslut. Just plastic and shame.

She used it four times that day, riding her vibrator while she throat-fucked the fake cock. She came, but it was empty, left her pissed off and twitchy by dinner.

Work was hell. She bitched out a coworker for no reason, then hid in the bathroom at lunch, phone out, watching nasty blowjob porn—girls choking on fat cocks, mascara running, throats bulging. That’s what she needed. She fingered herself under her skirt, but couldn’t cum. Just got angrier. Why can’t I be normal? Why does my mouth need to be fucked just to feel human?

That night, she called Will and bitched about the lawn and some busted drawer, voice cracking. After, she whispered, tears burning her eyes, “I’m sorry. I just… I need to suck cock so bad it hurts.”

Will’s voice was gentle but tired. “Three more days, babe. Hang in there. I miss your mouth too.”

By day three, she bailed on work, faked being sick. Driving home, she passed the Passion Palace—cheap porn shop, blacked-out windows, tacky sign. She told herself she was just looking, but her panties were soaked just thinking about what was inside. She parked and sat there for an hour, watching guys go in and out, hand shoved under her skirt, rubbing her needy cunt.

The therapist’s words from her last emergency visit echoed. Dr. Lena Voss had locked the door, hiked up her skirt, and guided Katrina’s face between her thighs without preamble. “This is ruining your life,” the older woman had said, gripping Katrina’s hair and grinding her slick pussy against the younger woman’s tongue. Katrina had licked obediently, nose buried in soft folds, tasting the woman’s arousal while fighting her own confusion—no real lesbian desire, yet the degradation made her clit throb. “You need more than one cock, Katrina. Talk to Will about opening things up. Otherwise, you’ll end up in a gloryhole… or worse. Some back alley with a group of men using your throat until you’re drowning in cum.”

Katrina had cum just from the humiliation, face sticky with the shrink’s pussy juice.

That warning pounded in her head. Shaking, she got out and went inside. The back hallway was a magnet. A line of guys waited outside a booth, grunting and moaning coming from inside. The door opened and some older woman stumbled out, face red, lips puffy, chin dripping with cum. She looked Katrina up and down and grinned. “All yours, honey.”

The men turned to look at her expectantly. One at the end, bold, asked bluntly, “You here to suck cock?”

Katrina’s heart pounded. Her mouth watered, lips parting as she stared at the line of cocks waiting for her. She took a shaky step, then stopped, wedding ring suddenly feeling like a shackle.

What the fuck am I doing? The need clawed at her. Will’s coming home soon… but her mouth needed cock now.

The man who had spoken chuckled. “Need a little more than hubby can give you?”

He grabbed his cock through his jeans, thick bulge making Katrina’s knees go weak. She bit her lip, face burning, pussy clenching so hard it hurt.

Another voice joined in, low and teasing. “Go on in, baby. It’s just a little slutty head, right?”

Katrina stood there, shaking, face hot, the open booth calling to her like a dare. The men stared, hungry, waiting for her to break and crawl in, her willpower crumbling under the weight of her filthy need.

Gloryhole Surrender and Permission

Katrina stood in the hallway of the Passion Palace, frozen. The air stank of cheap air freshener, sweat, and the raw stink of cum and pussy. The booth door hung open, the seat still warm from the last woman, who had stumbled out with that cockdrunk, empty stare Katrina recognized from her own face after Will had finished with her. Four men waited in line, all staring at her like she was meat. The one at the end, the bold one, was already grabbing his cock through his jeans, the thick, veiny outline obvious. Katrina’s mouth fell open, her heart pounding, heat pooling between her legs.

Her mouth filled with spit. She stared at the bulge, her brain short-circuiting. Thick. Real. Not a plastic toy, not some limp husband cock. Her nipples stabbed through her blouse, her pussy clenched and leaked, panties already ruined. She bit her lip, face burning, the wedding ring on her finger feeling like a joke.

“You here to suck cock?” the bold man repeated, his voice low and rough, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced down at the ring. “Need a little more than hubby can give you?”

The words stung, but her clit throbbed harder. The other men laughed, eyes crawling over her body, taking in her hips, her tits, her messy hair. “Go on in, baby,” one called. “Just a little slutty head. No one cares. That mouth was made for cock.”

Katrina’s knees shook. Her brain screamed to run, to go home and pretend to be a good wife. But her body was a traitor. Her throat ached for cock, the kind of hunger no therapist could fix. She stepped toward the booth. The bold man grinned and unzipped, his cock out in the hallway, thick, dark, already leaking. Katrina whimpered, pussy leaking, mouth tingling.

She couldn’t do it. Not unless Will knew. Not unless he watched.

Shame hit her like a punch. She ran, heels slapping the filthy tile, the men’s laughter chasing her out. “Run along, cocktease!” She slammed herself into the car, hands shaking, face in her hands. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her panties were soaked, nipples throbbing, mouth aching for cock. Pathetic. Four days without real dick and she was ready to suck off strangers. The therapist’s warnings echoed—gloryhole, back alley, drowning in cum. Her cunt clenched so hard she almost came from the humiliation..

With trembling fingers, she dialed Will. The phone rang twice before he picked up, his voice warm but concerned. “Hey, babe? What’s up?”

“Will… oh God, Will,” she choked out, voice breaking into fresh sobs. “I’m… I’m sitting outside a porn shop. There’s a booth. Men… they stick their cocks through holes and get sucked. I almost… I wanted to… I can’t take it anymore!”

Silence stretched on the line. She could hear him breathing, processing. Then, softly, “Katrina, why are you at a gloryhole?”

“It’s so bad,” she whispered, pressing her thighs together against the relentless ache. “I left work early. I tried the toys, the audio, everything. My mouth feels so empty it hurts. I need it, Will. I need a real cock fucking my face and feeding me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey. Slow down.” His tone shifted, gentle but firm, the way it did when he took control during their morning rituals. “I love you. You know I do. And I know how hard you’ve fought this. The hypnotherapists who ended up using your mouth instead of curing it. All those courses and seminars that just led to more cock down your throat. The psychologist whose pussy you licked for free sessions. I’ve seen it all, babe. From our first date, when you dropped to your knees in the car and sucked me dry before we even ordered appetizers. You’ve always been like this—my perfect, cock-worshipping wife who can’t cum properly without a thick log stretching your pretty lips.”

Katrina sniffled, hand pressed between her legs, feeling how wet she was. Will wasn’t judging her. He was telling her what she was: a cock addict. Relief and shame hit her at the same time, her clit throbbing.

“I’ve been thinking about desperate measures too,” Will continued, voice dropping lower. “The therapist was right. You need more than one cock sometimes. I want to fuck your pussy and have you actually enjoy it, not just endure it, so you can suck me hard again afterward. But I also love how you look with your mouth full—eyes watering, cheeks hollowed, throat bulging. You’re so fucking sexy like that. So if you really need this right now, if you’re going to lose it… Go suck some cock, Katrina. Get your fix. But record it for me. Send me the video so I can watch what a good little cocksucker my wife is while I’m stuck here jerking off alone.”

She froze, stunned. “You… you’re serious? Are you not mad? I love you so much, Will. I’d never do anything to hurt us, but it’s so hard without you—”

“I’m serious,” he cut in, a hint of that dominant edge creeping in. “This is temporary. We’ll talk real solutions when I’m home—boundaries, maybe more than just one extra cock. But for now? Go be my slut. Fill that greedy mouth. And remember to look at the camera while they use you. Show me how much you need it.”

Tears of relief spilled down her face this time. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice thick with gratitude and lust. “Thank you, baby. I’ll send it right after. I love you.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise sending a fresh gush of wetness into her panties. “Now go drain some balls for me, cumslut.”

Katrina almost dropped her phone. She wiped her face, tried to fix her hair, and walked back in. The men were still there, cocks hard, watching her. She ignored the wall, went straight for the open booth. She left the door open. The booth stank of spit, cum, and pussy. She dropped to her knees on the filthy cushion, set up her phone to record her face, and hit record. The red light glared at her.

The first man stepped in, the bold one, eyes wide with surprise when she beckoned him to her side of the booth instead of the wall. “Seriously?” he asked, already unzipping.

“Please,” Katrina breathed, voice husky with need. “Feed me. Use my mouth. I need it so bad.”

He didn’t hesitate. His thick cock—longer and girthier than Will’s, the head flushed dark—sprang free inches from her face. Katrina leaned in, inhaling the musky scent of him, and wrapped her full lips around the head. The taste exploded on her tongue—salty skin, precum, pure man—and she moaned loudly, the sound vibrating around him as she sucked greedily. Her hazel eyes flicked to the camera, then up at him, silently begging. He got the message, threading his fingers into her auburn hair and pushing deeper.

“That’s it, slut,” he growled, voice thick. “Take it. Fuck, your mouth is hot.”

Katrina sucked him, cheeks hollow, tongue working, throat open. She grabbed his hand and shoved it to the back of her head. He got the hint and started fucking her face, hard, like she was just a hole. Sloppy, wet noises filled the booth. Spit ran down her chin, soaking her blouse. Her nipples hurt, pussy throbbing. She came, hard, untouched, panties soaked. He groaned and dumped his load down her throat. She swallowed, eyes rolling back, thick cum filling her mouth and belly.

He pulled out with a wet pop, zipping up and slapping her cheek lightly. “Good girl.”

The second man was already waiting. Wordless, rougher, he grabbed her hair in both fists and slammed into her mouth, battering the back of her throat without mercy. Katrina gagged, tears streaming, but her pussy clenched in delight. Yes. This. Rough. Real. Use me. She stared into the camera lens as instructed, mascara running, lips swollen and shiny with spit. He fucked her face as he hated her, hips snapping, balls slapping her chin. “Take the dick, you married little whore,” he snarled. She came again, harder, thighs shaking as he held her nose to his pubes and unloaded deep, forcing her to massage his cockhead with rippling throat muscles until every drop was drained.

The third man spun her, slammed her head against the wall, and fucked her face hard. Her skull thudded with every thrust. Spit and cum leaked from her nose and mouth, soaking her top, running down her neck. Katrina grabbed his ass, pulling him deeper, begging for more. She came again, harder, loving the abuse. She was nothing but a cum dump, and Will would see it all.

The last man was rough. He grabbed her tits, pinched her nipples until she squealed, then shoved her head to the wall and used her throat like a fucktoy. “Creaming your panties again, aren’t you, cumdump?” he said. Katrina nodded, eyes on the camera, body shaking as she came the hardest yet. He dumped thick loads down her throat. She swallowed everything, gulping, body shaking.

When he pulled out, Katrina was a mess. Face streaked with tears, spit, and cum. Blouse and bra soaked, lips swollen. The men slapped her back as she stumbled out. “Hell of a show, slut,” one said. She didn’t care. In the car, she locked the doors, hiked up her skirt, and watched the video while rubbing her clit. She came twice more, just watching herself get used, then sent the video to Will.

His reply pinged back almost instantly: “Good girl.”

Katrina’s pussy gushed at the praise. She laughed, feeling empty and full at the same time, and drove home. The itch was already coming back. Three more days until Will was home. No idea how she’d last. She didn’t know that when he got back, even a tech repairman would end up making things worse.

The Repairman Arrives

Will’s car rolled up to their boring little house in Lawrence, Indiana, just after dark. Katrina had been pacing like a caged animal, her skinny, athletic body buzzing with leftover need. She’d showered twice, trying to scrub off the stink of the gloryhole, but she could still taste the cum, feel the hands yanking her hair, remember how her pussy gushed untouched while she gagged on cock after cock. She’d watched the video she sent him over and over, fingers jammed in her cunt, cumming every time she saw her own ruined face stuffed with dick. When the door finally opened, she practically jumped him.

Will dropped his bag and grabbed her, hugging her against his average, nothing-special body. His hair was a mess, his face tired, but his eyes had that look—half horny, half ashamed—when he kissed her. "Missed you," he muttered. "Missed this filthy mouth most of all."

Katrina dropped to her knees before he could say another word, eyes already glassy. She ripped his belt open, yanked out his cock, and swallowed him to the root like she’d been starving for it. Will groaned, grabbing her hair, shoving her face down the way she liked. She slobbered all over his dick, spit dripping onto the floor, sucking like her life depended on it. Finally, real cock. Her husband’s cock. But even as she gagged herself on him, she couldn’t stop thinking about the gloryhole—bigger cocks, rougher hands, darker skin. Her pussy clenched, and she sucked harder, chasing the memory.

Will managed to last a little longer than his usual pathetic time, humping her face in short, desperate thrusts until he dumped his load down her throat. Katrina gulped it all, sucking every drop, then kept his limp dick in her mouth until it was clean. She finally let it fall out with a sloppy pop, licking her lips. "Welcome home, loser," she said, voice thick.

Later, after dinner and another blowjob—this one slow, sloppy, her throat bulging while he watched her gloryhole video on his phone—Will finally said something. They were sprawled on the couch, her head in his lap, his useless cock drooling on her cheek. "The video... fuck, Katrina. You looked like a total cumdump. I jerked off three times to it." His voice was that same mess of shame and hard-on. "But your phone and laptop are fucked from all the porn. The smart home shit, too. We need someone to fix it before I lose my mind."

Katrina nuzzled his limp dick, lips brushing the tip. "Whatever. As long as I can suck you off while they fix it."

He laughed, but it sounded nervous. "I booked a guy. Supposed to be the best. Darius. Tech support. He’s coming tomorrow morning."

She nodded, half-asleep with his dick in her mouth, finally feeling a little less desperate after a week of nothing.

Darius showed up at nine. Katrina was still in her silk robe, barely tied, tits almost falling out, when the bell rang. Will answered, but she lurked in the hall, staring. The guy who walked in wasn’t some fat, balding IT nerd. He was huge—six-four, built like a linebacker, muscles bulging under a tight black polo and jeans. His skin was dark and smooth, and his voice was deep, rough, the kind that made her pussy twitch. "Mr. and Mrs. Russel? Darius. Here to fix your shit."

His giant hand swallowed Will’s, then he turned to her. Katrina felt it like he’d already grabbed her hair and shoved her to her knees. Her mouth watered. She squeezed her thighs together, pussy already leaking. Jesus. That voice. Those hands. She shook his hand, biting her lip, eyes glued to the bulge in his jeans.

Will saw it. Of course he did. He hovered, pretending to help, but kept glancing between her red cheeks and Darius’s massive body. "Laptops and phones first," Will said, voice tight. "Then the smart hub. Everything’s been fucked since last week."

Darius took over the living room, his huge body making the couch look like a toy. Katrina brought him coffee, bending so her robe gaped open, tits and hard nipples on display. She couldn’t help it. The way he moved—confident, those big hands flying over the keyboard—made her want to drop to her knees. She kept flashing back to the gloryhole: hands on her head, cocks down her throat, cum in her stomach. She wondered how big his cock was. Thick. Heavy. Black. Her cheeks burned and her pussy clenched as she set the mug down.

"Thanks," Darius said, voice low, eyes meeting hers with a smirk. "You been having any heavy load problems? Systems getting overloaded?"

The joke hit her like a fist in her hair. Katrina’s breath hitched. "Yeah," she said, voice shaky. "Totally overwhelmed."

Will cleared his throat from the doorway, useless, while Darius started poking at her phone. Those big hands could have wrapped around her throat or yanked her hair. He plugged in cables, muttering about "deep penetration" and "handling heavy streams." Every word made Katrina’s nipples ache and her mouth water. She shifted on the couch, robe falling open, thighs rubbing together to try to calm the throbbing between her legs.

Darius worked fast, but she saw the smirk when he checked her search history—rough blowjob, interracial, gloryhole. He didn’t say anything, but his voice got lower. "Gonna add some custom hooks. Backdoor access for remote monitoring. Makes it easier when things get intense." He stared at her a second too long. Katrina’s pussy twitched; she was sure he could smell how wet she was.

Will stood there, pretending to check his tablet, face red. He saw Katrina licking her lips, hips grinding against the couch. He remembered the gloryhole video—her begging for cock, cumming just from being called a cumslut. Now some stranger was in their house, and Will’s cock twitched even as jealousy burned. She’s mine. But fuck, look at her. He couldn’t stop staring.

Neither of them noticed as Darius slipped in his own commands. A custom app installed itself—"BBC Service," voice injectors, content reroutes. Just enough to see if they’d notice. He finished in under an hour, shutting his laptop. "Systems are good. Let me show you the new notifications. Real-time alerts for any performance issues."

He handed Katrina her phone. A pop-up flashed: BBC Service—Your system is ready for a thick upgrade. Deep, satisfying connection available.

Katrina’s breath caught. Her nipples stabbed through the robe, pussy gushing down her thighs. She stared at the message, mouth open, tongue licking her lips, hearing that deep voice in her head. Thick. Deep. Her eyes went to Darius, then to Will, who was staring at the same alert, face pale, cock twitching in his pants.

Darius stood, smirking as he packed up. "Looks like it’s working. I’ll monitor from home. Call if you need me to come back and go deeper." He shook Will’s hand—hard, dominant—then grabbed Katrina’s, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "Stay wet, Mrs. Russel. Systems like yours need a lot of attention."

He left, shutting the door, leaving the house thick with tension and need.

That night, Katrina couldn’t get enough. She dropped to her knees the second Will shut the bedroom door, robe gone, naked and flushed. "Thanks for the repair guy," she said, voice raw. "Now let me thank you." She shoved his cock in her mouth, moaning, throat opening as she bobbed up and down, drooling all over him. Will groaned, hand in her hair, using her mouth while she stared up at him, eyes glazed.

But midway through, as her tongue swirled around his shaft and her pussy dripped onto the carpet, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A new notification pinged—audio clip auto-playing at low volume. A deep, velvety baritone voice whispered through the speaker: “Good girl. Crave the real thing. That pretty mouth was made for thicker upgrades.”

Katrina moaned around Will’s cock, the sound making him shudder as her eyes rolled back. Her pussy clenched, another orgasm ripping through her just from the words. Will froze, staring at his own tablet: BBC upgrade loading... get your mouth ready.

His hand tightened in her hair, not sure if he should pull her off or shove her down, helpless as the hack started to work and his wife’s slutty addiction found a new way to get off.

Digital Seduction Begins

The days after Darius’s visit were a blur of fake normal. Katrina went through her marketing job in Lawrence, pretending to be the same professional bitch as always. Her tight blouses and pencil skirts showed off her athletic ass and tits, auburn hair yanked into a ponytail, lips painted just enough to look like she wanted a cock shoved between them. Underneath, her phone and laptop wouldn’t leave her alone. Every buzz made her pussy wetter, her throat emptier. At first, the "optimizations" seemed harmless, but by the second day, they were shoving her oral addiction in her face, making her ache for cock like she always had.

Her phone buzzed in the middle of a meeting. She expected some boring work shit, but instead, "BBC Service" popped up: Long, thick Black cocks throbbing for eager lips. Ready to stretch that pretty throat and flood it with the upgrade you crave? The words hit her pussy like a punch. She tried to hide it, but her lips parted, tongue licking them, drool pooling in her mouth. Her nipples stabbed through her bra, panties soaked. She squeezed her thighs together, picturing fat Black cocks, heavy balls slapping her chin, some deep voice telling her to open up while fists yanked her hair. She squirmed in her seat, cunt clenching, humiliated and horny.

She tried to pay attention, but her phone wouldn’t shut up. Videos started popping up everywhere—news, social, didn’t matter. One showed some pale slut on her knees, lips stretched wide around a huge Black cock, mascara running while the guy fucked her face like she was nothing. Katrina saw the throat bulge, the eyes rolling back, and her own cunt throbbed. She remembered the gloryhole, strangers using her mouth, cocks unloading down her throat while she came without even touching herself. She muttered some excuse and ran to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall.

She leaned against the stall wall, yanked her skirt up, and shoved two fingers in her mouth. She sucked them like they were cocks, cheeks hollowed, picturing thick, Black dick. Her other hand was already rubbing her clit, wet and swollen. Thicker. Rougher. Black. She moaned around her fingers, fucking her own mouth while she fingered herself. She came fast, biting her hand to keep quiet, pussy juice running down her thighs. It wasn’t enough. It never was. The notifications were just more cock-teasing, making her addiction worse than any therapy or toy ever could.

Will watched everything from his office, hard and pissed off. His tablet flashed every time Katrina got a new cock notification, every time her calendar filled with shit like "Oral Maintenance – BBC Recommended" or "Deepthroat Prep Session." Her search history was nothing but interracial blowjobs, gloryhole BBC, Black cock throat training. His cock twitched, but jealousy burned hotter. She was his. He’d given her the gloryhole, but this was different. Darius had fucked with her head and her phone, and Will couldn’t fix it. All he could do was watch and jerk off under his desk, thinking about his wife’s lips wrapped around some huge Black cock, his own dick feeling smaller every second.

That night, the usual morning blowjob felt off. Katrina woke Will up by crawling under the sheets and stuffing his cock in her mouth, moaning like a whore. She sucked him deep, lips stretched, throat open, tongue working like she was starving for it. Will groaned, grabbed her hair, and fucked her face the way she liked. "Fuck, baby… your mouth is heaven," he muttered, pushing his cock down her throat.

Halfway through, while she slobbered all over his cock, her phone buzzed again. Another BBC Service notification: Your throat needs a real upgrade. Imagine a thick Black cock owning every inch while your husband watches. Katrina’s pussy gushed, thighs sticky. She moaned around Will’s cock, sucking harder, but her brain was already gone—thinking about what it would feel like to have something bigger, rougher, Black, stretching her throat while Will watched. She deepthroated him, nose in his pubes, but her eyes kept flicking to the phone, hungry for more.

Will saw it. He yanked her hair harder, pissed off and turned on. "Stay with me, Katrina," he tried, but his voice broke. He saw the same alert on his tablet, the words burning in his head. He shot his load down her throat, groaning, but it felt wrong—she was already thinking about someone else’s cock.

That afternoon, Darius started texting. Pretending it was tech support, but every word was filthy. Her phone buzzed while she folded laundry: Darius here. Are systems still running smoothly? Need me to push deeper into your setup? Any heavy loads building up? Katrina’s face went red, nipples hard under her tank top. He knew. He fucking knew what this was doing to her. Her pussy leaked as she typed back, trying to sound normal: Everything feels… optimized. Thanks for checking. But her body was shaking, thighs rubbing, lips parted, picturing his hands on her head, not a keyboard.

The therapist’s words echoed relentlessly in her mind, the ones Dr. Lena Voss had panted while grinding her wet cunt on Katrina’s face during that emergency session: “You need more than one cock. Will wants you to enjoy it… You just don’t without a dick fucking your mouth. It’s not perfect, but if you don't, you’ll cheat. Gloryhole. Back alley. Half the bar is using your throat.” Katrina had cum from the shame then, and the memory made her do it again now—slipping a hand under her skirt in the laundry room, rubbing her clit furiously while rereading Darius’s text. She came with a muffled whimper, biting her lip to stay quiet, but the guilt only heightened the pleasure.

Will watched from his office, every ping, every bathroom break where Katrina sucked her own fingers and came to the notifications. He jerked off, cock hard, but it was all jealousy and shame. She was getting off on this. On Darius. On Black cock. Will loved her mouth, loved how she drained him every day, but now he knew he wasn’t enough. Not big enough. Not Black enough. Now the help was just more cock, and he couldn’t compete.

That night after dinner, Will tried to pretend things were normal. He kissed her, slid his cock into her pussy, slow and careful. Katrina wrapped her legs around him, moaning, but it was never enough. She was wet, sure, but she only really came when her mouth was full of cock. She rocked her hips, tits bouncing, nipples hard, chasing something she couldn’t get from his dick.

Then her phone vibrated loudly on the nightstand, the screen lighting up. A new notification. This one was different—vibrating in a pulsing rhythm that matched the deep baritone audio clip that auto-played at full volume: “Open wide for BBC, slut—your throat was made for Black cock. Take it deep while your husband watches you choke.”

Katrina’s eyes snapped open. The words were an order. Her pussy clamped down on Will’s cock, and she came harder than she ever had from fucking. She arched off the bed, crying out, lost in the thought of a huge Black cock stretching her lips, Darius’s voice telling her to take it. Her cunt gushed, milking Will, but all she could see was someone else’s cock in her mouth.

Will stopped, staring at the phone, cock throbbing inside her while the audio played again. He felt helpless, jealous, turned on and ashamed. He kept fucking her, but it was ruined. Katrina let him finish, then pushed him onto his back and sucked his cock, deepthroating him like she was starving, swallowing every drop while the notification glowed.

After Will passed out, Katrina crept to the bathroom, phone in hand. She locked the door, sat on the tub, legs spread, fingers rubbing her clit. She was soaked again, the audio still playing in her head. Lips parted, she typed back to Darius’s new "support" account: What kind of upgrade do you mean?

She hit send, breathing hard, nipples aching. A video started right away—a close-up of a huge Black cock, thick, heavy, veins bulging, the head shiny with precum. The deep voice said: This is what your pretty mouth has been waiting for, Katrina. Open up and take the real upgrade.

Her pussy clenched at the sight, another orgasm building as she stared, fingers working deeper while the video played. She didn’t hear Will moving in the bedroom, or the ping on his own phone. The digital cocktease was just getting started, and she was already falling for it—exactly like Darius wanted.

Helpless Monitoring

The hack hit Katrina’s phone like a cock in the mouth—fast, deep, and right where it hurt. By Wednesday, her devices weren’t just gadgets. They were her addiction, feeding the same filthy oral craving she’d never managed to kill, no matter how many therapists she lied to. She sat at her desk in the bland marketing office, legs squeezed together under her skirt, pretending to care about some campaign. Her phone buzzed again, needy as ever. She checked to make sure nobody was watching, then flipped it over.

Her screen flashed with a new app: “BBC Flirt Mode.” Swipe after swipe, nothing but anonymous Black cocks, each profile filthier than the last. One was just a close-up of a thick, veiny shaft—nine inches, heavy as a dumbbell. Likes yanking on red hair and turning married mouths into cum dumpsters. Wants to see you gag and drool. Katrina’s lips parted, drool pooling on her tongue as she swiped right, not even pretending to hesitate. The app spat out a voice message, deep and mean: “Good slut. Keep swiping. Your husband’s watching, but your throat’s for BBC now.”

Her face burned. Nipples stabbed through her bra, and her panties were soaked—slick running down her thighs as she squirmed in her chair. She shouldn’t. Will was watching everything. That just made her hornier. Her mouth tingled, jaw already aching to open wide, throat twitching like it was begging for cock. She slid her hand under the desk, grinding her fingers against her clit through the wet fabric, swiping with the other hand. Every profile was filthier: a fat cockhead made for splitting her lips, balls big enough to slap her chin while she choked. Her breath came faster, eyes glassy, picturing the weight, the heat, the stink—so much more than Will’s boring cock ever gave her.

She barely made it ten minutes before running to the bathroom. In the stall, skirt up, panties yanked aside, Katrina shoved three fingers in her mouth and sucked like she was working for tips, cheeks hollowed, head bobbing. Her other hand jammed two fingers into her soaked cunt. She fucked her own face and pussy, eyes rolling back while the app whispered filth in her ear: “Choke on it, married whore. Let your husband see how much you need Black cock stretching your slutty lips.” She came hard, biting her fingers to muffle the moan, pussy squirting all over the toilet seat. Even after, her throat still ached for cock.

Will sat in his office across town, tablet propped up, watching every filthy second. Darius’s backdoors let him see it all—her app, her secret jerking sessions, even her search history, now nothing but BBC throatfucking videos. He watched her swipe, listened to the voice messages, and saw the bathroom cam (she had no clue the 'smart home' was spying) as she sucked her own fingers and fingered herself to another messy orgasm. His cock throbbed in his pants, leaking precum as he jerked off under the desk, shame burning in his gut.

She’s mine, Will told himself, squeezing his cock. He’d always been enough—she sucked him off every morning, drained him dry anywhere, anytime, never complained. Now she was soaking her panties for strangers with bigger, blacker cocks. He felt helpless. He couldn’t delete the upgrades without nuking his work. Every time he tried, Katrina’s phone blew up with taunts: Trying to block your wife’s upgrades? She needs them. Her mouth is starving. He came quietly into a tissue, biting his lip, eyes glued to the feed of his wife licking her own pussy juice off her fingers, grinning like a cock-hungry slut.

That night at dinner with friends, Will could barely keep it together. Katrina looked fuckable in a tight black dress, tits pushed up just enough to remind him how they looked when she was drooling on his cock. They made small talk—work, vacations, bullshit—but her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing in her purse. She tried to play it cool, but the buzzing got worse. She finally bailed for the bathroom, cheeks flushed and eyes wild.

Will’s watch pinged the moment she locked the stall door. The synced alert showed a live “support session” audio from Darius’s linked account playing through her earbuds: “On your knees in public again, Katrina? Spread those legs and finger that married cunt while you imagine my thick Black cock fucking your face. Grip your hair like this—” The deep voice dropped into a growl that made Will’s cock twitch even as jealousy twisted his gut.

He watched her on the feed, obeying like a trained slut. Skirt up, panties at her ankles, Katrina leaned back and shoved three fingers in her mouth, sucking loud and sloppy while she rubbed her clit like she was trying to start a fire. Her eyes were glazed, lips stretched wide as she gagged on her own fingers. “Mmmph… yes… bigger…” she whimpered, hips jerking as the audio told her how Darius would use her head and dump load after load down her throat. She came with a muffled cry, thighs shaking, pussy juice dripping on the floor. Will stared at his watch, hand pressed to his cock under the table, half wanting to stop her, half desperate to watch her do it again.

When she returned to the table, lips slightly swollen, a faint sheen of sweat on her chest, she gave Will a small, guilty smile and squeezed his thigh under the table. “Missed you,” she whispered, but her voice carried that husky edge he knew meant she was still aching.

At home, Katrina dropped to her knees the second they got inside, yanked Will’s pants down, and swallowed his cock with a desperate moan. She sucked him like she was starving—sloppy, wet, eyes streaming as she forced him deep, nose smashed in his pubes. “I love your cock,” she gasped, spit dripping from her lips. “Love draining you every day… but fuck, baby, the notifications… they’re making me so wet. I keep thinking about thicker… darker…”

Will groaned, hand fisting her auburn hair, thrusting into her mouth harder than usual. “Tell me,” he demanded, voice rough. “Tell me what they’re making you want.”

She pulled off just long enough to spit it out, tongue swirling the head. “Bigger cocks. Black cocks stretching my lips until I can’t breathe. Hands forcing me down while you watch. Me cumming just from being called a BBC cumdump.” Her words made his cock twitch with jealous rage. He rammed her face with short, rough thrusts, shame making him even harder.

Halfway through, with Katrina’s throat squeezing his cock and her hand on his balls, a new notification hijacked their screens. The living room TV, off or not, lit up with a video: Darius’s deep voice over a close-up of a huge Black cock getting stroked. “Your wife’s mouth is ready for the real upgrade, Will. Watch her choke on what she really needs.”

Katrina moaned around Will’s cock, the vibration making him lose it. He shot down her throat, filling her up while she stared at the TV, eyes blank with new hunger. She gulped every drop, then pulled off, panting, cum smeared on her swollen lips.

Later, in bed, Katrina turned to him, voice shaky with need. “The notifications help, but I need real cock again. Not just any cock. Black cock. I keep thinking about Darius coming back.” She stroked Will’s limp dick, lips brushing his ear. “I love you. I don’t want to fuck us up… but I’m so fucking wet just saying it.”

Will’s heart hammered. His cock twitched in her hand, even though he’d just emptied it. He was helpless—couldn’t stop the hack, couldn’t stop her body, couldn’t stop his own sick excitement at the idea of watching her get what she really needed. He kissed her, tasting his own cum on her tongue, and muttered, “We’ll figure it out.”

But the next morning, a new message arrived from Darius on both their devices: In-person upgrade scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Your devices (and mouth) are ready for hands-on service. Be prepared to open wide, Katrina.

Katrina’s eyes went wide with hungry, desperate need as she read the message, thighs clamped tight. Will just stared at the screen, frozen and humiliated. The repairman was coming back, and this time, she’d be getting serviced for real.

The In-Person Upgrade

The sun blasted through the blinds, striping the floor like prison bars. Katrina had been jittery all morning, her body practically vibrating with the kind of horny energy that made her nipples ache. She’d picked out her sluttiest outfit: a clingy cream blouse that barely covered her tits and a black skirt that showed off her thighs. No bra. No panties. Her hair was down, lips shiny and swollen, and she kept licking them, picturing the thick cock that would soon be prying her mouth open.

Will had called off work, pretending it was about the 'service call,' but everyone knew he was just there to watch his wife get ruined. He sat in his chair, laptop open, eyes glued to Katrina. He looked like a nervous wreck—average build, hair a mess from yanking at it, face twisted up with that pathetic mix of jealousy and hard-on shame. His phone kept buzzing with notifications: every time Katrina edged herself to some monster cock online, he saw it. He knew exactly what was coming. He hated it. He couldn't stop himself from wanting it.

The doorbell rang at exactly two o’clock.

Darius walked in like he was already fucking the place. Tall, built like a linebacker, skin dark and smooth, voice deep enough to make Katrina's knees wobble. 'Mr. and Mrs. Russel. Ready for that hands-on upgrade?' he said, but his eyes were glued to Katrina’s tits, nipples poking through her blouse, lips parted like she was begging for it.

Katrina’s mouth went dry and wet at the same time. Her eyes dropped straight to the bulge in Darius’s jeans—huge, obvious, like he wanted everyone to stare. Fuck. He was massive. Her pussy clenched, slick dripping down her thigh. Squeezing her legs together just made her clit throb harder. 'Hi, Darius,' she managed, voice thick with need. 'We’ve been… having some issues again.'

Will stood, shaking the repairman’s hand with forced politeness, but his grip was weaker than usual. “Yeah. Systems are still acting up. Thought you’d better take a closer look.”

Darius smirked, eyes full of that cocky 'I know you want it' look as he set up in the living room. He made Katrina bring over her laptop and phone, then patted the couch right next to him, so close his thick thigh pressed against hers. Will hovered like a loser, clutching his tablet, watching every second on the mirrored feed.

The 'diagnostic' was a joke. Darius’s big hands flew over the keyboard, but his voice was pure filth. 'Your wife’s system’s running hot,' he told Will, eyes glued to Katrina. 'Heavy traffic. Throat—throughput—needs a deeper upgrade.' He grabbed a cable, stroking it slow and dirty, showing exactly how he’d fuck a mouth. 'See? Gotta shove it all the way in. Make it stretch. Take every inch.'

Katrina’s breath hitched audibly. Her nipples tightened into aching peaks, visible through the thin fabric. She bit her full lower lip, hazel eyes locked on his hand as saliva pooled under her tongue. God, those hands. They could hold my head so easily, force me down until my nose is buried in his pubes. Her pussy dripped steadily now, the scent of her arousal faint but unmistakable in the quiet room. She shifted on the couch, thighs rubbing together, the movement making her skirt ride higher.

Will sat in his chair, cock twitching in his pants, stomach twisted up in knots. He watched Katrina flush and pant, watched the way she stared at Darius like a bitch in heat. His tablet buzzed: BBC Service: Wife’s mouth is priming. Prepare for deep insertion. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Darius continued, voice lowering further. “Tell me about the symptoms, Katrina. Any… cravings? Any time when your pretty little system just needs to be filled and used hard?” His large hand rested on the back of the couch, fingers brushing her shoulder. The touch was light, but it sent electricity straight to her clit.

Katrina swallowed, then started spilling everything—how every therapist just ended up using her mouth, how self-help just meant more cock, how she’d licked her shrink’s pussy for free sessions, how Will had listened in while she sucked strangers at a gloryhole. She admitted she couldn’t cum from her pussy alone, needed her throat stuffed and her head held down to feel anything. She told them how the notifications made her finger herself in work bathrooms, always thinking about bigger, blacker cocks.

Darius just smirked, nodding like he’d heard it all before. 'Sounds like you need a real override. Something bigger. Something that’ll stretch you out and own you.' His hand slid up her thigh, fingers disappearing under her skirt. 'You want that upgrade, slut?'

She nodded before she could stop herself, hazel eyes glassy with lust. “Yes… please.”

Will froze, cock throbbing in his pants, watching like a loser as his wife begged for another man’s cock.

Darius stood up, towering over her, and undid his belt. His cock flopped out—huge, thick, black, veins bulging, head already leaking. Katrina whimpered, mouth watering so much a string of drool dripped onto her blouse. She stared at it like she was starving.

“On your knees,” Darius commanded, voice deep and authoritative.

Katrina dropped to her knees so fast she barely felt the carpet burn. Her lips hovered right in front of that monster cock, panting like a bitch in heat. She looked up at Darius, hungry and desperate, then shot Will a pleading look, begging for permission even though her body was already begging for cock.

Will just stared, hand pressed to his hard-on, and gave a pathetic little nod.

Katrina leaned in and wrapped her lips around the fat head, tasting sweat and cock and pure man. She moaned, loud and needy, eyes rolling back as she forced more in, jaw stretched wide and aching. Darius grabbed her head, not shoving yet, just holding her there. 'That’s it. Open up that married throat. Show your husband what a real upgrade looks like.'

She groaned and shoved herself down, swallowing inch after thick inch until her nose was smashed against his skin and her throat bulged around his cock. She gagged, eyes watering, but didn’t stop—just swallowed and milked him, spit pouring out of her mouth and soaking her blouse, nipples poking through the wet fabric.

Darius groaned, yanking her hair tighter. 'Good girl. Just like that.' He started fucking her face, slow at first, then deeper, using her mouth like a toy. The room filled with wet, filthy sounds—gluck-gluck-gluck, balls smacking her chin, spit running down her neck and between her tits.

Katrina came almost instantly—no hands, just from the stretch and the taste and being used. Her pussy gushed all over the carpet, thighs shaking as she moaned around the cock pounding her throat. She looked up at Darius, eyes cockdrunk, then over at Will, who was jerking himself off like a loser.

Darius grabbed her head with both hands, fucking her face harder. 'Take it all, slut. This is what you needed. Your husband can’t stretch you like this, can he?' Katrina just gurgled and nodded, tears streaming down her face as she came again.

Will stroked himself faster, shame and sick excitement mixing as he watched his wife’s throat get wrecked right in front of him. Her lips were stretched wide, body jerking with every thrust. It was humiliating and he couldn’t get enough.

Darius tensed, growling, and shoved Katrina’s head down to the base, nose smashed against his skin. He exploded, pumping thick, hot cum straight down her throat. Katrina gulped it down, body shaking as she came again, drowning in his load.

He pulled out with a wet pop, spit and cum stringing from her swollen lips to his cock. Katrina gasped for air, face ruined, mascara smeared, blouse see-through and clinging to her tits. She looked like a used-up slut and couldn’t have been happier.

Darius tucked his cock away, smirking. He zipped up, looked at Will, then down at Katrina, still kneeling, drooling and cum-drunk. 'System’s upgraded,' he said. 'Next time, I’ll finish the job.'

He left with a quiet click of the door.

Katrina stayed on her knees, lips open, a fat drop of cum sliding down her chin as she stared at Will, eyes glazed and hungry. Her voice was wrecked: 'Baby… I need more.'

Will just sat there, cock in hand, tasting nothing but humiliation and sick pleasure.

Full System Corruption

Three days after Darius had painted the living room with his cum, the place still reeked of sex and humiliation. Katrina drifted through the house, her tight little athlete’s body humming with a constant, low-level ache between her legs, never quite able to relax. The so-called 'full network access' upgrade had been installed the night after Darius’s visit, and now every screen, every speaker, every notification in the house was just another cock in her mouth. Her phone, her laptop, the TV, even the kitchen tablet—every device was a relentless BBC propaganda machine, pumping her full of filth tailored to her insatiable need to choke on cock. Pop-ups flashed while she tried to cook: Your throat is scheduled for maintenance. Imagine a fat Black cock stretching your jaw, drooling down your throat. The Bluetooth speakers spat out deep, mocking voices: Open wide, you married cumdump. Let BBC own that pretty little suckhole while your husband jerks off in the corner.

She had stopped fighting it.

Will had stopped pretending he could stop it.

That evening, the last 'service call' came right on schedule. Darius strolled in with the digital key the hack had handed him, like he owned the place. Katrina was already on her knees in the middle of the living room rug, naked as the day she was born, auburn hair a mess, lips parted and glistening with spit. Her hazel eyes were glazed over with need, nipples hard enough to cut glass, thighs slick with the steady leak of her cunt. Will was parked in the same armchair as before, pants around his ankles, jerking his sad little cock while the hacked feeds made sure he didn’t miss a single degrading angle.

Darius didn’t waste time on pretense. He walked straight to Katrina, towering over her, and unzipped. His massive Black cock sprang free, already half-hard and thickening rapidly under her hungry gaze. “You’ve been a good girl since last time,” he rumbled, voice low and commanding. “System’s been reporting how many times you’ve edged to my voice. How many loads have you imagined swallowing while sucking your husband’s cock. Time to give your throat the permanent upgrade it needs.”

Katrina whimpered, crawling forward like a bitch in heat. She kissed the fat head of his cock, lips trembling, then opened wide and shoved him down her throat. The stretch was instant and brutal—her jaw screamed, her throat bulged, her nose mashed into his musky crotch. She moaned around his shaft, the sound buzzing up his length. This. This is what I’ve needed. Not Will’s pathetic dick, not some plastic toy, not a therapist. Just a thick, heavy Black cock using my mouth like a cumrag. Her pussy clenched and drooled onto the carpet as she started bobbing, messy and desperate, spit pouring down her chin.

Darius grabbed a fistful of her hair and clamped his other hand under her chin, locking her in place. He let her slobber and worship for a minute, then started ramming his cock down her throat, each thrust harder than the last. The room filled with wet, disgusting noises—gluck-gluck-gluck, his heavy balls smacking her chin, her gagging and choking and moaning like a broken toy. Spit poured down her neck, over her tits, dripping off her stiff nipples and pooling on the floor.

Will pumped his cock faster, eyes glued to the trainwreck in front of him. His wife looked like a used-up porn star—mascara running, lips swollen and drooling, throat bulging with every brutal thrust. The helplessness he’d been choking on for days twisted into something nastier, something he couldn’t name. He loved her. He hated this. He couldn’t look away.

“Tell your husband what you are,” Darius ordered, pulling her off just long enough for her to speak.

Katrina gasped for air, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock. Her voice was hoarse, raw, dripping with lust. “I’m a BBC cocksucker, Will. I’ve always been a cum-hungry slut who needs her mouth fucked to feel alive. Your cock is perfect… but I need this. I need thick Black cock stretching my throat and flooding my belly. I’m sorry, baby… but I can’t stop.”

She lunged back onto Darius’s cock, shoving him even deeper, throat convulsing as she swallowed around the thick shaft. Darius grunted and started really using her, both hands tangled in her hair, hips snapping as he fucked her face like it was just another hole. Katrina’s body jerked with every slam, tits bouncing, pussy squirting in messy, humiliating waves. She came hard—once, twice, three times—her cunt untouched, just from having her mouth destroyed. The whole time, her eyes never left Will, glazed over with shame, need, and that sick, addicted happiness.

Darius yanked her off at last, thick ropes of spit and precum hanging from her chin like drool from a dog. He stroked his slick, monstrous cock right in her face. 'Beg for it, Katrina. Beg your husband to watch while I finish turning your throat into my personal cumdump.'

“Please, Will,” she panted, voice wrecked, lips trembling. “Please let him cum down my throat. I need his load. I need to swallow every drop while you watch. I’m your wife… but my mouth belongs to BBC now.”

Will’s hand flew over his own cock, breathing ragged. He gave a broken nod.

Darius grabbed her head with both hands and rammed his cock back down her throat. He fucked her face with brutal, jackhammer strokes, using her like a cheap fleshlight. Katrina’s gagging turned into a nonstop, sloppy soundtrack—wet glurks, choking, spit everywhere. Tears poured down her cheeks. Her pussy convulsed over and over, orgasms blurring together until she was just a twitching, drooling mess.

When Darius finally blew, he shoved himself balls-deep and held her there, choking. Thick, boiling ropes of cum blasted straight down her throat, pulse after pulse. Katrina gulped frantically, throat milking him for every drop, her body convulsing in the hardest orgasm of her life. Her vision went white. Her pussy squirted all over the carpet in filthy, humiliating spurts. She drowned in his load, sucking and swallowing like her life depended on it.

Darius kept her pinned for long, humiliating seconds after he finished, making sure she knew exactly who owned her throat. When he finally yanked free, Katrina collapsed onto her hands, coughing and drooling, cum and spit bubbling from her ruined lips. She looked up at Will with eyes so cock-drunk and broken he almost felt sorry for her, a fat strand of Darius’s cum sliding down her chin and splattering onto her tits.

Darius zipped up slowly, calm and satisfied. He glanced at the smart TV, which had been mirroring the entire scene. A new notification flashed across every screen in the house at once:

Permanent BBC subscription activated. Daily upgrades scheduled. Your wife’s mouth is now fully optimized for Black cock only. Ready for the next session?

Katrina crawled over to Will on wobbly, cum-slick knees, Darius’s load still smeared across her lips. She buried her face in his lap, kissing his cock with sloppy, desperate affection. Her voice was shredded, but she sounded almost proud of what she’d become.

“I love you, baby,” she whispered, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. “But this… this is what I am now. Your addicted little BBC throat slut. And you’re going to watch every single day.”

Will stared down at his wrecked, glowing wife, hand shaking as he tangled his fingers in her cum-matted hair. His cock jerked against her tongue. The helplessness had curdled into something permanent, something filthy and addictive they’d both keep feeding until there was nothing left but shame and need.

The notifications pinged again in perfect unison across every device:

Next upgrade in 24 hours. Prepare your pretty mouth.

Katrina grinned up at Will, eyes glassy and cock-drunk, lips already open and drooling for another round.

The system was fully corrupted.

And neither of them wanted to fix it.