Trivia Night Slut

Kathy Quean

Copyright

Copyright © 2026 by Kathy Quean

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Locked In Place

The Rusty Anchor reeked of stale beer, fryer grease, and the sour stink of people desperate to prove they weren’t idiots. Tuesday trivia nights packed the place with losers pretending they cared about cheap beer, but really they just wanted to watch someone get humiliated for not knowing the capital of Mongolia. Tonight, though, the only thing anyone would remember was the way Taylor Cohen strutted in, hips swinging, eyes daring anyone to look away.

Taylor wore a pencil skirt so tight it looked painted on, showing off her ass and thighs like she wanted everyone to stare and know they’d never get a taste. Her blouse was black silk, tucked in so tight you could see the outline of her bra and the curve of her tits every time she moved. Her hair was yanked back in a ponytail that snapped behind her like she was ready to beat someone with it. Neil followed her, half a step behind, looking like a dog on a leash—owned, pathetic, pretending he had any say in what happened next.

Neil wore whatever Taylor told him to wear—a navy shirt, sleeves rolled up, khakis that made it obvious he was already hard. She’d spent the drive over with her hand in his lap, jerking him off just enough to make him leak, but never letting him cum. She whispered in his ear about how she’d punish him if he fucked up tonight. His cock throbbed, balls aching, already humiliated and desperate before they even got inside.

Taylor marched straight to their usual spot in the corner, the one where she could keep Neil hidden and on display at the same time. She slapped the barstool like she was calling a mutt to heel.

“Sit.”

Neil sat, obedient, the leather cold against his skin. Taylor dug into her purse and pulled out what looked like jewelry, but wasn’t—metal cuffs, chains, things meant to keep him in place and remind him who he belonged to.

She knelt in front of him, not caring who saw, and strapped the cuff around his ankle, the metal cold and heavy. She chained him to the bar, making sure he couldn’t move unless she let him. Not tight enough to leave marks, just tight enough to make sure he knew he was trapped.

Neil’s breath caught. The bar was loud, people yelling for drinks, the emcee screeching into the mic, but nobody was looking at them. Not yet.

Taylor rose, stepped between his spread thighs, and leaned in until her lips brushed his ear.

“Wrist.”

He lifted his arm, no hesitation. She cuffed his wrist and chained it to the bar, pulling it tight so he couldn’t move. To everyone else, it looked normal. To Taylor, it looked like what it was—him giving up control.

She sat next to him, thigh pressed against his, and shoved her hand between his legs. She grabbed his cock through his pants, squeezing it slow, making sure he knew she owned every inch.

“You’re already leaking, you pathetic little slut,” she whispered, rubbing the wet spot at his crotch with her thumb. “That’s how I want you—dripping and desperate—when the game starts.”

Neil swallowed. His mouth was dry. “Taylor—”

“Shut up.” She squeezed his cock harder, making his hips jerk. “You only talk when I tell you. Your job is to stay hard, stay silent, and let everyone watch when I decide to show them what a failure you are.”

She released him just as the emcee’s voice crackled over the speakers.

“Welcome to Trivia Tuesday at The Rusty Anchor! Teams, get your buzzers ready. We start in five minutes.”

Taylor’s green eyes flicked toward the door just as Diego Garcia pushed through it.

He looked exactly like the man who thought he owned every room he walked into: broad shoulders filling out a charcoal Henley, sleeves shoved up to show the ink curling around his forearms, dark hair slicked back, a smirk already curling his mouth. His team—three younger guys who laughed too loudly at his jokes—trailed behind him like loyal dogs. Diego scanned the room, spotted Taylor and Neil in the corner, and his grin widened into something predatory.

He sauntered over, stopping just outside the circle of their personal space.

“Well, well. The reigning queen and her loyal scribe.” His gaze dropped deliberately to the way Neil’s wrist was chained, then lower, lingering on the obvious ridge in Neil’s pants. “You bring your own restraints tonight, Taylor? That’s new.”

Taylor didn’t flinch. She leaned back against the bar, crossing her legs so the slit in her skirt revealed a long, smooth expanse of thigh. “I like my toys where I can keep an eye on them.”

Diego laughed—low, mocking. “And here I thought you kept him on a short leash because he can’t keep up with you anymore.”

Neil’s face went red. The chain dug into his ankle as he squirmed, cock getting even harder from the way Diego mocked him like he was nothing.

Taylor grinned, mean and sweet at the same time. She dragged her nail down Neil’s chest, stopping right above his belt, like she was about to undress him in front of everyone.

“Tell him, Neil. Tell Diego why you’re locked to the bar tonight.”

Neil’s throat worked. The words came out hoarse. “Because… because I belong to her.”

Diego snorted. “Cute. Real cute.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice so only the three of them could hear. “You know, Taylor, if you ever get tired of carrying dead weight, my team’s always looking for a new mascot. I bet he’d look real pretty on his knees.”

Taylor stared Diego down, her hand grabbing Neil’s cock through his pants and squeezing until Neil gasped, helpless and hard.

“Let’s make it interesting,” she said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “If your team beats mine in one round, you get Neil for five minutes in the back. No cameras, no rules. Do whatever you want to him.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the closest tables. Someone whistled low.

Diego’s eyebrows lifted. “And if you win?”

Taylor rubbed her thumb over the head of Neil’s cock, spreading the precum so everyone could see the stain. “If I win, you get up on stage when I say, and you answer every filthy question I ask. You smile, you take it, and you don’t leave until I say you can.”

Diego studied her for a long time. Then he laughed again, softer this time, almost impressed.

“You’re on, champ.”

He turned and walked back to his team, already barking orders at them to get their buzzers charged.

Taylor leaned in until her lips brushed Neil’s temple.

“First question’s coming,” she whispered. “Stay hard for me. If you go soft, I’ll tell everyone here why your cock isn’t enough for me.”

She gave him one last slow stroke, then withdrew her hand and picked up her buzzer.

Neil’s heart pounded. The chain rattled when he pulled at it—he wasn’t going anywhere.

The emcee’s voice boomed again.

“Round one, category: Geography. First question…”

Taylor’s finger hovered over the buzzer.

Neil’s cock throbbed, trapped and aching in his pants, desperate for relief he wasn’t going to get.

The night had begun.

First Blood – “Answer or Suffer”

The emcee’s voice cut through the bar noise like a dull knife: “Geography, question one. What is the only country that borders both the Caspian Sea and the Persian Gulf?”

Taylor’s finger slammed the buzzer before the question finished hanging in the air. The sharp electronic chirp silenced the tables closest to it. She leaned forward, voice calm and precise.

“Iran.”

“Correct. One point to Team Reign.”

There was some half-assed applause and a couple of groans from Diego’s side, but Taylor didn’t give a shit. She twisted on her stool, her knees bumping Neil’s chained leg, and shoved her hand under the bar. She grabbed his zipper and dragged it down, slow as hell, each tooth popping open while Neil’s heart hammered like he was about to get caught jerking off in church.

She shoved her hand into his boxers and grabbed his cock, which was already leaking like a broken faucet from the nonstop teasing she’d put him through—twenty minutes in the car, ten more with him chained up like a dog. Neil gasped, his pathetic dick twitching in her grip, desperate and embarrassingly wet at the tip.

“Stay still,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear. “You twitch, and I stop.”

He froze. Every muscle locked except the one she held.

Taylor started jerking him off, slow and methodical, dragging her thumb over the drooling slit to smear his precum down the shaft. She kept him right on the edge, not letting him get anywhere close to relief. Neil was panting like a bitch in heat, the chain at his ankle rattling every time his hips tried to hump her fist.

Across the room, Diego watched. His smirk had tightened into something darker. He leaned over to one of his teammates, muttered something; the guy laughed too loudly.

“Round one continues,” the emcee called. “History. What year did the Berlin Wall fall?”

Diego’s team buzzed first this time. One of his guys—tall, ginger, nervous—stammered out “1989.”

“Correct. One point to Team Eclipse.”

Diego raised his glass in mock salute toward Taylor. She met his eyes across the crowded bar and smiled—small, cold, promising.

She squeezed Neil’s cock once, hard, then resumed the slow pump. “That’s one they got,” she whispered. “You know what that means.”

Neil’s throat bobbed. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

His voice cracked on the first try. He cleared it, tried again, louder than he meant to. The couple at the next table glanced over.

“I… failed you on that one.”

Taylor’s thumb circled the head again, smearing fresh wetness. “Not you personally. But you’re the one paying for it.” She leaned closer, lips brushing his earlobe. “Stand up.”

Neil hesitated, the chain yanking him back like a bad dog. Ankles locked, wrist cuffed to the bar, he managed to stand, legs shaking, cock still trapped in Taylor’s fist. His khakis slid down, open fly framing his hard-on—red, swollen, and leaking for everyone to see.

Taylor didn’t let go. She tugged him forward until the chain at his wrist went taut, forcing his chest against the bar edge. His cock jutted out beneath the overhang, hidden from most of the room but fully exposed to anyone who looked directly at their corner. A few heads were already turning.

“Tell the bar why you’re being punished,” she said, conversational, like she was asking him to pass the salt.

Neil’s face went beet red, sweat dripping down his forehead as he felt every pair of eyes in the bar glued to his pathetic display—some laughing, some just staring. His cock only got harder in her grip, like the humiliation was making him even more desperate.

“Because…” His voice broke. He forced it steadily. “Because I can’t satisfy my wife anymore. My cock isn’t enough. I can’t make her come with it. Not the way she needs.”

The words hung in the air. Someone nearby choked on a drink. A woman at the next table covered her mouth, eyes wide.

Taylor jerked him off fast, three rough strokes that nearly made his knees give out, then slowed down again just to fuck with him.

“Good boy,” she purred. “Now thank me for reminding you.”

“Thank you,” he rasped, “for reminding me.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to the shell of his ear. “Louder.”

“Thank you for reminding me!” The shout cracked at the end. Laughter rippled through the nearby tables. Phones were already out, though no one dared film yet—not with Taylor’s reputation.

Diego stood up. He crossed the room in long, predatory strides and stopped just outside their circle of light.

“Impressive,” he said, eyes dropping to Neil’s exposed cock, still trapped in Taylor’s slow-working fist. “Didn’t think you’d put on a show this early.”

Taylor didn’t look away from Neil. She twisted her wrist on the upstroke, making him gasp. “We’re just getting warmed up.”

Diego’s gaze flicked to her face. “You really think you can keep winning every round?”

“I don’t think,” she said. “I know.”

He chuckled, low and rough. “We’ll see.”

He returned to his table. Taylor watched him go, then turned back to Neil.

“Next question,” she whispered. “If we lose this one, I’m going to edge you right here until you’re crying. And then I’m going to make you beg Diego to let you come on his shoes.”

Neil’s cock throbbed like it was about to explode, another fat bead of precum leaking out. Taylor smeared it down his shaft with her thumb, making sure he knew just how messy and desperate he looked.

The emcee’s voice returned. “Science. What gas makes up approximately seventy-eight percent of Earth’s atmosphere?”

Taylor buzzed instantly.

“Nitrogen.”

“Correct. Point to Reign.”

She leaned in and kissed Neil’s temple, fake sweet, then went right back to torturing him with those slow, teasing strokes. His hips bucked like he couldn’t help himself, the chain rattling loud enough for everyone to hear.

“See?” she said softly. “When I win, you get rewarded. When I lose…” She squeezed until he whimpered. “You suffer.”

Diego’s team buzzed on the next question—some sports trivia Neil couldn’t even focus on. They got it right. Another point to Eclipse.

Taylor’s smile sharpened into something feral.

She let go of Neil’s cock, leaving it sticking out, red and twitching, for anyone to gawk at. Then she dug into her purse and pulled out a little black remote, the kind that promised nothing good for him.

Neil’s eyes widened. He knew what it controlled.

Earlier, before they left the house, she’d made him bend over the kitchen island. She’d lubed the slim, curved prostate massager herself, worked it inside him with slow, twisting pushes until it seated deep, the flared base nestled tight against his perineum. Then she’d dressed him, kissed his cheek, and slipped the remote into her purse.

Now she thumbed the lowest setting.

The toy buzzed to life inside him—gentle, insidious vibrations that lit up every nerve from his tailbone to the head of his cock. Neil’s knees nearly gave out. He gripped the bar edge with his free hand, knuckles white.

Taylor stood, stepped behind him, and pressed her body to his back. Her breasts flattened against his shoulder blades; her hand returned to his cock, stroking in time with the vibrations.

“Feel that?” she whispered. “That’s what happens when you let them score.”

The toy buzzed inside him, relentless and evil. Neil’s cock was leaking nonstop now, a sticky string of precum drooling down toward the floor while he panted like a dog in heat.

Across the room, Diego watched with open hunger. His hand rested on his thigh, fingers flexing.

Taylor increased the intensity one notch.

Neil moaned—low, broken. The sound carried. More heads turned. Someone muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

Taylor slid her other hand up under his shirt and twisted his nipple hard, making him arch his back like a slut.

“Tell them,” she ordered.

Neil’s voice was shot. “I’m… I’m being punished. Because we lost. Because my cock isn’t enough for her.”

Taylor twisted the nipple again. “And?”

“And I fucking love it,” he gasped. “I love when she makes me her bitch.”

Diego stood again. This time, he didn’t cross the room. He simply raised his glass in another mock toast, eyes locked on Neil’s leaking cock.

Taylor turned the vibrator up another notch.

Neil’s hips jerked hard, the chain clattering like he was trying to break free. His cock twitched in her grip, right on the edge of blowing in front of everyone.

She stopped stroking.

The vibrations continued, relentless.

She leaned over his shoulder, voice velvet-soft against his ear.

“Beg me to let you hold it.”

Neil dropped his head, forehead pressed to the sticky bar, sweat pouring off him like he’d just run a marathon of shame.

“Please,” he whispered. Then louder, “Please, Taylor. Let me hold it. Don’t make me come in front of them. Not yet.”

She kissed the back of his neck—soft, almost loving.

“No,” she said.

And she turned the vibrator to its highest setting.

Neil’s whole body locked up, his cock turning an angry shade of purple, shiny with spit and precum. He let out a pathetic, broken sob that everyone in the bar could hear.

Taylor pressed herself tighter against his back, grinding her hips once against his ass so he could feel how wet she was through her skirt.

The emcee called the next question.

Taylor didn’t move. She kept the vibrator screaming inside him, kept her hand wrapped loosely around his pulsing cock, kept him right on the brink while the entire bar watched.

And somewhere in the haze of humiliation and need, Neil realized the round wasn’t over yet.

The Turning Point – “Rival’s Fall”

The buzzer shrieked, loud and obnoxious, like it was mocking her. Diego’s team had snatched the point right out from under Taylor’s nose on a question she could have answered in her sleep, but she’d hesitated just long enough for the ginger kid to slap the buzzer like he was jerking off. “Catch-22,” he spat. Right answer. The scoreboard flashed: Reign 4, Eclipse 3. Diego’s side of the bar erupted in a chorus of smug cheers and clinking glasses, already acting like they’d won.

Taylor didn’t even flinch. She just pressed the remote, dialing the toy inside Neil down to a low, mean buzz—enough to keep him whining against the bar, his cock still sticking out of his pants like a pathetic flag, but not close enough to let him blow. The vibrations settled into a steady throb, the kind that crawled up his spine and made his balls ache, impossible to forget.

Then she stood.

She moved slow, on purpose, smoothing her skirt over her hips and tugging the silver chain that vanished between her tits. She strode straight for the shitty little stage the bar called a trivia platform. The lights caught the sweat on Neil’s bare skin as he stared after her, chained up and spread out like a piece of meat, cock twitching in the open. He was breathing hard, chest fluttering. Every eye in the place followed her—some curious, most already knowing Taylor Cohen didn’t just teach lessons, she made examples.

She picked up the spare buzzer from the emcee’s table without asking. The emcee—a middle-aged guy named Rick who usually stayed neutral—opened his mouth, caught the look in her eyes, and closed it again. He knew better.

Taylor tapped the microphone once. Feedback whined, then cleared.

“Round two is over,” she announced, voice carrying effortlessly over the suddenly hushed bar. “But before we move to the next category, we have a forfeit to collect.”

She turned her gaze on Diego.

He sat there with his legs spread, arm thrown over the chair like he was king of the fucking bar. That shit-eating grin was still plastered on his face, but it was starting to crack. He hadn’t thought she’d call him out in front of everyone, not this fast.

“Come here,” Taylor said. Not a request.

Diego froze for a second—just long enough for everyone to see it. Then he stood up, rolling his shoulders like he was about to walk into a fight, swaggering across the floor with fake confidence. The crowd whistled and hooted, hungry for blood. He stopped at the edge of the stage, arms crossed, chin up, trying to look tough.

“You really want to do this in front of everyone?” he asked, voice pitched to carry.

Taylor stepped closer until only a foot separated them. She was tall enough in her heels that she could look him almost directly in the eye.

“I want you to remember exactly who lost the point,” she said softly. Then louder, for the room: “You agreed to the terms. One correct answer from your team during forfeit time counts as you answering my questions. No refusals. No bullshit. And you stay until I dismiss you.”

Diego’s jaw twitched. He shot a look at Neil—still chained up, cock shiny with pre-cum under the lights, face burning red. Something ugly twisted in Diego’s eyes. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe it was the first bitter taste of getting played.

He stepped onto the platform.

Taylor dug into her clutch and pulled out a steel cuff, same as the ones biting into Neil’s wrists. She didn’t bother asking. She grabbed Diego’s left wrist, flipped his palm up, and locked the cuff on tight. Then she clipped the chain to the podium’s metal leg, yanking his arm out so his hand was pinned flat to the wood—just like Neil, just as helpless.

The bar went quiet enough to hear the faint clink of the chain settling.

Taylor leaned in close enough that only Diego could hear her next words.

“You thought this was going to be about humiliating my husband,” she murmured. “You were wrong. This is about reminding you that arrogance has a price.”

She straightened and picked up the microphone again.

“First question for you, Diego Garcia. Personal category.” She paused, letting the anticipation build. “How many women have you fucked in the last year who actually came from your cock and not from their own fingers or a vibrator afterward?”

Diego’s throat worked. He looked out at the sea of faces—some shocked, some grinning, a few filming discreetly now—and then back at Taylor. His cheeks darkened.

“Answer,” she said, tone flat.

“Three,” he muttered.

“Louder.”

“Three.”

Taylor cocked her head. “Three. Huh.” She dragged her nail down the middle of his chest, stopping right at his belt. “And how many of those three told you after that they had to fake it, just so you wouldn’t cry about your useless dick?”

Diego’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped. “None.”

Taylor’s smile stretched, mean and sharp. “Liar.”

She pressed the remote again. The toy inside Neil ramped up, making him groan, hips bucking against the bar like he was trying to fuck the wood. The chain rattled. Heads snapped back and forth between him and the stage, like they were watching a cockfight and waiting for someone to break.

“Second question,” Taylor continued. “Have you ever come home after bragging to your friends about a woman you fucked, only to jerk off alone because she didn’t want seconds?”

Diego’s breathing turned harsh. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ve done that.”

Taylor moved in, close enough her tits nearly pressed against him. She dropped her voice, low and dirty. “Did it make you feel like a little boy? Knowing big, tough Diego Garcia couldn’t even get her wet for a second round?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His cock was swelling in his jeans, straining against the denim like it was desperate to get out and embarrass him in front of everyone.

Taylor grabbed his crotch through his jeans, squeezing hard, owning him. Diego sucked in a breath, eyes wide. The whole bar seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see if he’d cum in his pants like a teenager.

“Answer the question,” she said.

“Yes,” he choked out. “It made me feel… pathetic.”

She squeezed his cock, hard enough to hurt. “Good boy.”

Then she released him and turned back to the microphone.

“Neil,” she called across the bar. “Tell everyone what you’re feeling right now.”

Neil’s voice was wrecked, trembling. “I’m… I’m so fucking hard. The toy inside me won’t stop. I can’t come. I need to come. And watching her touch him… it hurts. It hurts so good.”

Taylor cranked the toy higher. Neil’s moan echoed through the bar, raw and needy. A few women at the tables squirmed in their seats, thighs pressed tight, pretending not to watch but unable to look away.

She turned back to Diego.

“Last question for now,” she said. “Kneel.”

Diego glared at her. The chain only let him drop to one knee, but that was all she needed. He sank down, the cuff digging into his wrist, arm stretched out like he was begging. When his knee hit the stage, Taylor planted her heel on his thigh, pressing down until his muscle twitched.

“Kiss it,” she ordered.

He hesitated.

She increased the pressure.

Diego bent forward and kissed her shoe—once, twice, then again, lips lingering like he was worshipping her. The bar exploded: cheers, catcalls, applause, everyone loving the show.

Taylor lifted her foot, stepped back, and looked down at him.

“You may stand,” she said.

He got up, slow and clumsy, his cock a thick, obvious bulge down his leg. The chain rattled as he stood, still tethered like a dog.

Taylor leaned in one last time.

“This isn’t over,” she whispered. “You still owe me the rest of the night.”

She strutted back to Neil, not sparing Diego a glance. Diego stayed kneeling on the stage, chest heaving, eyes glazed over, before shuffling back to his seat, the chain dragging behind him like a leash until it yanked him to a stop.

Taylor dropped onto her stool next to Neil. She reached under the bar, grabbed his throbbing cock, and started jerking him off—slow, cruel, matching the pulse of the toy still torturing his insides.

“Round three starts in two minutes,” the emcee announced, voice slightly hoarse.

Taylor kissed Neil’s temple, tasting the salt of his sweat.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured. “But we’re only getting started.”

Neil’s head slumped forward, cock drooling a steady line of precum onto the sticky bar floor. Across the room, Diego stared at them—eyes black with jealousy, hunger, and rage.

And Taylor smiled.

Deepening Control – “Confessions in the Dark”

The emcee finally called intermission, like he was putting a dying animal out of its misery. “Ten minutes, folks. Get your drinks, hit the bathroom, place your bets on who’s walking out of here with their dignity intact.” The crowd laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that sounded like half of them were about to cum in their pants and the other half were about to piss themselves. Chairs scraped, glasses clinked, and the lights dropped low, making the place feel less like a bar and more like a cheap brothel. The sticky floor looked even filthier in the shadows.

Taylor didn’t bother moving. She just sat there, her hand still wrapped around Neil’s pathetic cock under the bar. The vibrator she’d shoved up his ass was still buzzing, just enough to keep him hard and drooling precum, but nowhere near enough to let him cum. He was breathing like a scared animal, every breath stinking of his own desperation and the sour stink of his sweat. The chain on his wrist had left a red mark from where he’d tried to pull away, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

She finally let go, slow and deliberate, letting his cock flop against his stomach with a wet smack before she shoved it back into his boxers like she was handling a dirty rag. She didn’t bother zipping him up. She wanted everyone to see what he was packing—or not packing.

“Up,” she said.

Neil tried to stand, but his legs were shaking so bad he looked like he was about to piss himself. The ankle chains only let him shuffle along like a trained dog. Taylor unclipped his wrist from the bar but left the cuff on, the chain swinging like a leash. She hooked the ankle chain to a ring inside her skirt—she’d sewn it there herself, just for this. Now he was literally tied to her, forced to follow wherever she dragged him, stumbling after her like a pathetic pet.

She dragged him to the corner booth, the one that always smelled like old booze and cum, half-hidden behind a busted exit sign. The seats were cracked and sticky, probably from more than just spilled drinks. She slid in first, yanking Neil down next to her so his chained wrist was on display. Diego was watching from across the room, still cuffed to the podium like a bad dog, but Taylor had already tossed the key to the emcee. Rick let him loose without saying a word.

Diego crossed the floor now, shoulders tense, the earlier cockiness replaced by something rawer—anger mixed with unmistakable hunger. His jeans strained visibly at the front. He stopped at the edge of the booth.

Taylor gestured with her chin. “Sit.”

He slid in across from them, spreading his legs wide so his knee pressed right up against Neil’s chained ankle. Neil flinched like he’d been shocked, but Diego just pushed harder, making sure Neil knew exactly who was bigger.

Taylor leaned back, arms stretched out along the booth, her blouse open enough to show off the black lace of her bra and the sweat glistening between her tits. She looked at both men like she was deciding which one to use first.

“Intermission rules,” she said. “Nobody leaves. Nobody cums unless I say so. And you answer every question, no bullshit.” She shoved her hand under the table, clawed her nails up Neil’s thigh, and grabbed his balls through his pants. He hissed like a kicked dog. “You first, Neil.”

Neil’s throat worked. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Tell Diego what you told me in the car on the way here. The thing you were too ashamed to say out loud until I made you.”

Neil’s eyes dropped to the scarred tabletop. His voice came out small, cracked. “I told her… I told her that sometimes when she’s out with friends, I lock myself in the bathroom and jerk off thinking about her fucking someone else. Someone bigger. Someone who can actually make her come the way I never could.”

Diego’s eyebrows lifted. He shifted, cock visibly twitching behind denim.

Taylor squeezed Neil’s balls once—firm, warning. “Details.”

Neil swallowed. “I picture her bent over the kitchen counter, skirt up, no panties, some guy—someone like you—fucking her so hard she screams, way louder than she ever does for me. I jerk off so hard I shoot on the mirror, then I lick it up because she’d tell me to.”

The booth felt like it was closing in, the air thick with the stink of sweat and sex. Diego was breathing loud enough for everyone to hear.

Taylor turned her gaze to Diego. “Your turn. Tell us the truth about why you keep coming back to trivia night even though you lose every time.”

Diego’s jaw tightened. He looked away—toward the bar, the crowd—then back. “Because watching you win makes me hard. Because every time you humiliate him in front of the room, I picture what it would feel like to be the one on my knees for you instead.”

Taylor’s smile was slow, satisfied. She reached across the table, grabbed the front of Diego’s Henley, and yanked him forward until their faces were inches apart.

“And when you go home afterward?” she asked softly. “What do you do?”

Diego’s voice dropped to a rasp. “I jerk off thinking about your mouth. About how you’d look with my cock down your throat. About how you’d make me beg before you let me come.”

Taylor released him. He fell back against the booth, chest heaving.

She turned to Neil again. “Compare.”

Neil’s cock twitched against his open fly, leaking. “His is thicker. Longer. I’ve seen the bulge when he sits. Mine barely fills your hand now. I know it doesn’t even come close to stretching you like his would.”

Taylor hummed approval. She slid her hand back under the table, this time to Diego—palming the heavy ridge of him through his jeans, squeezing until he grunted.

“Show him,” she told Diego.

Diego hesitated only a heartbeat. Then he popped the button, dragged the zipper down, and pulled his cock free. It sprang out—thick, veined, darker than Neil’s, the head already slick. He didn’t stroke it. He just let it stand there, proud and obscene under the dim booth light.

Neil stared, his own cock twitching pathetically, drooling precum into his boxers like a loser.

Taylor grabbed Diego’s cock, her hand barely able to wrap around it, and started stroking him slow, making sure Neil saw every inch. “Tell Neil what he’s missing,” she said.

“It’s… heavy,” Neil muttered. “Way thicker than mine. The veins are huge. The head’s so big it would split you open. You’d feel every inch. You’d cum on it, hard. Not like with me.”

Taylor increased her pace slightly. Diego’s hips lifted once, involuntarily. She stopped immediately.

“No,” she said. “You don’t move unless I tell you.”

Diego groaned—low, frustrated.

She turned back to Neil. “Now you. Stroke yourself. Slowly. And tell us why you’re going to come second tonight—if I let you come at all.”

Neil’s chained hand fumbled into his open fly. He grabbed his tiny cock, flushed and desperate, and started jerking off slow, just like she told him.

“Because…” His voice cracked. “Because I don’t get to fuck her anymore. I just watch. I clean up after. I thank her for letting a real man use her cunt while I jerk off like a loser.”

Taylor shoved her free hand between her thighs, grinding her palm against her clit through her skirt. Both men saw her do it. She let out a sharp breath.

“Don’t stop,” she told Neil. “Edge yourself. Tell Diego how much you want to watch him fuck me right here.”

Neil started jerking faster, ignoring her order. “I want to see him bend you over the table, rip your skirt, shove his cock in raw. I want to hear you scream his name while he fills you up. I want to watch his cum drip out of your pussy so I can lick it up like a bitch. I want to thank him for fucking you the way I never could.”

Diego’s cock throbbed in Taylor’s grip. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Taylor released him abruptly. Both men whimpered at the loss.

She stood—smooth, commanding—pulling Neil up with her via the chain clipped to her waistband. Diego stayed seated, cock still out, glistening.

“Intermission’s almost over,” she said. “But before we go back to the game…”

She reached into her clutch, produced a thin black collar—simple leather, silver O-ring. She leaned down, fastened it around Diego’s neck with a soft click, then clipped the trivia podium chain to it.

“You stay here until I call you again,” she told him. “Cock out. Hard. Waiting.”

Diego’s eyes flashed—fury, lust, surrender. He nodded once.

Taylor tugged Neil’s chain. “Come.”

She dragged Neil back to their stool, his cock still hanging out, chain rattling, while Diego sat behind them with a collar around his neck and his cock on display for everyone to see.

The emcee’s voice crackled over the speakers.

“Round three begins in thirty seconds.”

Taylor glanced over her shoulder at Diego—collared, exposed, waiting—then back at Neil.

She smiled.

And the vibrator inside Neil kicked back to life on medium.

Breaking Point – “Public Proof”

The bar had mutated during intermission, swelling with bodies packed in tight, everyone jostling for a better view of the freak show. Word had spread like herpes at a frat party—texts, whispered calls, strangers stumbling in off the street, all desperate to see what kind of depravity was on tap tonight. The air was a soup of sweat, spilled beer, and the ripe, crotch-thick stink of arousal, clinging to skin and hair. Rick, the dumbass bartender, had dimmed the lights so low you could barely see your own shame, his eyes flicking to the corner booth like he was waiting for someone to tell him when he could piss. The trivia podium stood abandoned, mic still hot, every cough and moan echoing through the bar like a public execution.

Taylor strutted back to their corner, dragging Neil behind her like a dog that had pissed on the carpet. The chain from her waistband to his ankle jerked with every step, making his walk short, awkward, and humiliating. His cock, half out and angry red, bounced with each pathetic shuffle, smearing little streaks of precum all over his khakis for everyone to see. The vibrator buried in his ass buzzed away, just strong enough to make him want to scream, never enough to let him cum. He could feel the sticky trail of his own desperation sliding down his thigh, cooling in the bar’s recycled, cum-scented air.

She didn’t sit immediately. Instead, she turned, grabbed the front of Neil’s shirt, and yanked him forward until his chained wrist clanked against the bar top. She kissed him then—hard, possessive, teeth catching his lower lip until he whimpered into her mouth. When she pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected them for a heartbeat before snapping.

“Round three,” she said, loud enough for the nearest tables to hear. “Championship rules. No mercy.”

The emcee cleared his throat, voice cracking slightly. “Uh… right. Round three, folks. Sudden death format. First team to five points in this round wins the night. Category rotation for every question. Let’s go.”

Taylor plopped down on her stool, legs spread wide enough that Neil could practically taste the heat radiating off her cunt. She didn’t waste a second—her hand snaked under the bar, grabbed his twitching cock, and started jerking him off, slow and cruel, matching the relentless buzz in his ass. Her other hand clamped down on the buzzer, ready to ruin him with every question.

First question: Pop Culture. Diego’s team—missing their leader but still buzzing frantically—got there first. “Who played the lead in the 2024 reboot of Blade?”

“Mahershala Ali,” one of Diego’s guys shouted.

“Correct. Point to Eclipse.”

Taylor didn’t flinch. She simply increased the vibrator one notch. Neil’s hips jerked; the chain rattled loudly. She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“Punishment time.”

She yanked him up, chain snapping tight, and shoved him so he was facing the bar, back pressed to the rail, wrists chained up for everyone to gawk at. His cock stuck out, hard and leaking, the head shining in the dirty light like a warning. The tables closest to them went silent, every eye glued to his humiliation.

Taylor pressed herself up against his back, tits squashed against his shoulders, and wrapped her fist around his cock, jerking him off in front of the whole bar—long, slow strokes from base to tip, making sure everyone got a good look at his pathetic need.

“Every point they score,” she announced, voice carrying over the speakers, “he pays for it. Right here. Right now.”

She twisted her wrist on the upstroke, wringing a whimper out of him as his head lolled back against her. The whole bar had their phones out now, filming every second, not even pretending to hide their hard-ons or wet panties.

Diego, still collared and leashed to the trivia podium across the room, watched with dark, glassy eyes. His cock—thick, heavy, untouched since intermission—stood rigid against his stomach, precum beading at the slit.

Next question: Sports. Taylor buzzed first this time.

“Which NFL team has never won a Super Bowl?”

“Cleveland Browns,” she answered before the question finished.

“Correct. Reign takes the lead.”

She rewarded Neil by grinding her cunt against his ass, letting him feel just how drenched her panties were, the wet heat seeping through her skirt and into his skin. Her other hand snaked up under his shirt, nails raking down his chest and across his nipples, leaving angry red scratches. He shivered, helpless and desperate.

The round dragged on, each point a new excuse for Taylor to humiliate Neil even more. Every time she lost, he paid for it—louder, rougher, more degrading.

When Eclipse scored, Taylor shoved Neil face-down over the sticky bar, wrists chained and stretched out, ass in the air for the whole crowd. She yanked his pants down to his thighs, baring his ass and cock, then spanked him—five brutal slaps, each one echoing through the room, each one making his cock twitch and drool. By the last smack, his ass was cherry red, eyes wet with tears, but his cock was still rock hard, leaking for everyone to see.

When Reign nailed the literature question, Taylor spun Neil around, dropped to her knees in front of the whole bar, and sucked the head of his cock for three agonizingly slow seconds—just enough to make him sob and beg—before popping off and going right back to jerking him off, her lips glistening with spit.

Diego’s team scored twice more in quick succession.

First time, Taylor crooked her finger at Diego, calling him over like a dog. He shuffled across the bar, cock swinging, collar chain dragging on the floor. She made him strip down to his underwear, then yanked the waistband out and let his cock flop free—thick, dark, veiny, the kind of cock that made Neil look like a joke. She lined them up, Diego standing there with his monster cock, Neil squirming as she jerked him off, and started comparing them out loud, her voice cold and merciless.

“Look at the difference,” she said to the room. “Neil’s pretty, isn’t he? But Diego’s… Diego’s the kind of cock that ruins a woman for anything smaller.”

Neil’s sob was audible. His hips bucked into her fist despite himself.

Second time Eclipse scored: Taylor ordered Diego to crawl.

He dropped to all fours, collar chain rattling, and crawled across the filthy bar floor, past howling drunks and puddles of beer, until he reached their corner. Taylor planted her heel on the back of his neck, grinding his face into the sticky floorboards, right next to the puddle of Neil’s leaking cock.

“Lick the floor clean where he dripped,” she ordered.

Diego hesitated for a heartbeat, then stuck out his tongue and started licking up the sticky mess, cleaning the floor like a dog. The bar groaned, some people gagging, most of them getting off on the spectacle.

Taylor lifted her foot. “Good boy. Now crawl back.”

He crawled back, ass in the air, cock swinging between his legs, face burning with humiliation and desperate need.

The final question of the round hung in the air.

“Science. What is the primary source of energy for Earth’s climate system?”

Diego’s team buzzed first—but Taylor was faster by a fraction.

“The Sun.”

“Correct!” the emcee shouted, voice cracking with relief. “Team Reign wins the night!”

The bar erupted—cheers, whistles, people pounding on tables like animals. Phones flashed everywhere, everyone desperate to capture the filth for later. Someone started a slow clap that turned into a riot of noise.

Taylor didn’t celebrate. She simply reached down, unclipped Neil’s ankle chain from her waistband, but left his wrist chained to the bar. Then she walked to Diego—still on all fours—and fastened a second, shorter chain from his collar to the base of the podium.

She came back to Neil, straddled his lap on the barstool, skirt bunched up, panties soaked and grinding against his throbbing cock. She kissed him, deep and filthy, tongues tangling while the whole bar watched and filmed.

“You won,” she whispered against his mouth. “But the night isn’t over.”

She reached behind her, found Diego’s chain, and tugged—hard—until he crawled back to them again.

Neil’s cock throbbed helplessly under her, pinned between their bodies, leaking against her soaked panties while everyone stared.

Taylor looked down at both men—one chained to the bar, the other leashed at her feet—and smiled.

“Time for the real prize.”

The Prize – “Owned in Victory”

The cheers faded, leaving the bar heavy with the stink of sweat, booze, and sex. Nobody wanted to leave. They just sat there, pretending to drink, sneaking glances and filming with their phones. The lights were off except for the red exit signs and the dull glow from the bar, making everything look dirty and used.

Taylor sat on Neil’s lap, skirt bunched up so anyone could see her soaked black panties rubbing against the head of his cock. She wouldn’t let him inside. She just ground on him, slow and mean, making him shake under her. His chained wrist kept banging the bar every time his hips jerked. The sound was filthy, everyone could hear it.

She looked back at Diego, still crawling on all fours, chain tight, his cock swinging between his legs and dripping precum onto the floor. Every time he moved, another string of it hit the boards. Watching him made Taylor’s cunt squeeze down on Neil’s cock.

“Up,” she told Diego, voice low but carrying in the sudden hush.

He crawled over, knees squeaking on the sticky floor, chain dragging behind him. He knelt between Neil’s legs. Taylor grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, making his throat bulge.

“Look at him,” she ordered. “Look at my husband’s cock. See how hard he stays even when he knows he’s not the one who gets to fuck me tonight.”

Diego’s eyes—dark, glassy—locked on Neil’s flushed shaft where it pressed against Taylor’s soaked panties. Neil whimpered, hips lifting in a helpless little thrust. The chain rattled.

Taylor let go of Diego’s hair and ran her hand down his back, grabbing his balls. She squeezed, hard enough to make him grunt and his cock jerk.

“Tell Neil what you want,” she said.

Diego’s voice came out rough, cracked. “I want… I want to taste her on you. I want to lick her cunt clean after I fuck it. I want to feel how wet she gets when she’s using me.”

Neil’s cock throbbed against her clit. She soaked her panties again, smearing wet all over him.

Taylor made a noise in her throat, pulled her panties aside, showing off her wet cunt, and sat back down, trapping Neil’s cock between her lips but not letting him in. Both of them moaned—Neil’s was desperate and pathetic, hers was smug.

“Now you,” she told Diego, guiding his head forward with the hand still tangled in his hair. “Service him. Show him how grateful you are that I let you play tonight.”

Diego didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, tongue flat and broad, and dragged it from the base of Neil’s cock—where it disappeared between Taylor’s folds—up to the leaking head. He lapped at the mixture of her arousal and Neil’s precum like a man dying of thirst, sucking noisily, tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. Neil’s entire body seized; his free hand clawed at the bar edge, knuckles white.

“Fuck—Taylor—” Neil’s voice shattered on her name.

She ground down harder, trapping both Diego’s mouth and Neil’s cock beneath her. “Quiet. Let him work.”

Diego went at it, licking and sucking every drop from Neil’s cock. His own cock slapped his stomach, hard and ignored. Taylor watched, grinding Neil’s shaft through her cunt and shoving Diego’s tongue deeper into the mess.

“Tell me,” she whispered to Neil, lips brushing his temple. “Tell me how it feels to have another man’s mouth on your cock while I ride your face later.”

Neil’s head fell back against her shoulder. Tears tracked down his temples into his hair. “It’s… humiliating. It’s perfect. I can feel his tongue on me, but it’s you controlling it. You’re the one making him do it. You’re the one who owns us both.”

Taylor’s breath caught. She grabbed Diego’s hair again and shoved his face into Neil’s cock, smashing his nose into her clit so he had to lick both of them.

“Good boys,” she murmured. “Such good boys.”

She got off Neil without warning, leaving him gasping, cock wet and twitching. He sobbed. Taylor yanked Diego by the hair and dragged him until his face was right in front of her cunt, dripping for him.

“Clean me properly,” she ordered.

Diego shoved his face into her cunt, licking up everything she gave him, hands at his sides like a good dog. Taylor almost lost her balance, holding his hair and grinding on his mouth. She grabbed Neil’s cock and jerked him off in time with Diego’s tongue.

Neil stared, chained and useless, cock throbbing in her grip while his wife fucked another man’s mouth. He was about to blow, balls tight and aching.

Taylor noticed and slowed her hand, dragging it out just to torture him.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not until I say.”

Diego groaned into her cunt, making her legs shake. She ground on his tongue, chasing her orgasm, yanking his hair so hard he winced.

She came hard, slamming her hips into his face and moaning like an animal as she soaked his mouth. Diego swallowed everything, tongue still working until she shoved him away, his face wet with her cum.

She turned to Neil, eyes wild, and climbed back onto his lap. No teasing this time. She grabbed his cock, lined it up, and slammed down on him in one rough stroke.

Neil howled as her cunt took him. She was hot, soaked, still twitching from her orgasm. She fucked him hard, slapping their bodies together, and grabbed Diego’s hair again, shoving his face between them.

“Lick us,” she commanded. “Lick where we’re joined. Taste how wet I get when I fuck my husband in front of you.”

Diego licked where her cunt stretched around Neil’s cock, licked the mess dripping down Neil’s balls. Neil thrashed, chain rattling, making pathetic noises.

Taylor leaned forward, pressed her forehead to Neil’s, and whispered against his mouth.

“Come for me. Fill me. Let him taste what he’ll never have.”

Neil shattered.

Neil slammed up into her, cumming hard, shooting thick loads inside his wife. Taylor squeezed every drop out of him while Diego licked up the cum leaking around Neil’s cock. Neil sobbed, shaking, as he emptied himself into her.

When Neil was done, Taylor got off him, his limp cock sliding out with a wet noise. Cum dripped out of her and Diego licked it up, desperate for every drop.

She stood up, legs shaking, skirt still up, cunt shining with cum. She looked down at Neil, slumped and chained, and Diego, kneeling with his face a mess and his cock still hard and ignored.

She reached down, clipped the short chain from Diego’s collar to the D-ring on Neil’s wrist cuff—binding them together.

“You’re both mine tonight,” she said softly.

Then she walked away toward the back, chains clinking behind her.

Neither man moved. They couldn’t.

They watched her leave, breathing hard, knowing she’d break them even more.

And wanting it anyway.

New Rules – “The Next Game”

The parking lot behind The Rusty Anchor was a cracked, piss-stained wasteland, the only light a sickly yellow puddle from the one streetlamp that hadn’t been smashed by some drunk with a tire iron. Taylor’s heels ground into the gravel as she dragged her two pets out the back door, Neil stumbling along first, his wrist cuffed to a short chain clipped to her belt like a dog leash, Diego crawling after them on his hands and knees because she hadn’t bothered to let him stand. The night air slapped them in the face, cold and wet, stinking of diesel fumes and the stale, greasy smoke that clung to their skin and hair. Neil’s khakis hung open, his cock limp but still glistening with spit and cum, slapping against his thigh with every step, obscene and pathetic. Diego’s jeans were bunched around his ankles, his cock half-hard and bobbing between his legs, the collar chain scraping the asphalt as he crawled, ass in the air for anyone to see.

Taylor didn’t speak until they reached her black SUV. She unlocked it with the fob, opened the back door, and gestured.

“Get in.”

Neil hauled himself into the back seat, chain rattling against the door frame, then slid over, trying to make room but only managing to look more ridiculous with his cock hanging out and his pants around his thighs. Diego crawled in after him, knees scraping the filthy running board, and knelt on the floor between Neil’s legs, head bowed, lips still smeared with the mess of Taylor’s cunt and Neil’s cum. Taylor slammed the door, circled to the driver’s side, and slid in, not bothering to start the engine yet. She adjusted the rearview mirror so she could watch both of them: Neil’s face flushed and sweaty, hair plastered to his forehead, Diego’s eyes wide and hungry, mouth still glistening with the taste of their filth.

She turned in the seat, one arm draped over the headrest, blouse gaping open enough to show the black lace bra and the faint red marks where Neil had gripped her earlier.

“Rules,” she said simply.

Neil swallowed. His throat clicked audibly.

“From now on, trivia night belongs to me. Completely. You both show up. You both play. But the game isn’t about questions anymore. It’s about what I decide you deserve.”

She reached back, cupped Neil’s jaw, thumb dragging across his lower lip until it parted.

You,” she said, voice flat, “are going to wear the plug every Tuesday. The remote is mine. If I want your cock hard, you’ll be hard. If I want you leaking like a pathetic bitch before we even get through the door, you’ll be dripping down your leg. If I decide you don’t get to cum until the bar is empty and you’re begging on your knees, you’ll hold it and thank me for every second. You’ll thank me for every ruined orgasm, every time I make you whimper and beg in front of a crowd, every time you embarrass yourself for me.

Neil’s cock twitched against his thigh—already stirring again despite the raw ache from earlier. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Her gaze shifted to Diego.

“You—” she said, voice dropping lower, “—will crawl when I tell you to crawl. You’ll answer when I call you to the stage. You’ll strip when I say strip. And if another team scores a single point against mine, you’ll pay the forfeit exactly the way Neil does—exposed, used, humiliated. But unlike Neil, you don’t get the privilege of being my husband. You get to be the demonstration. The living proof that no one challenges me without consequences.”

Diego’s breathing turned harsh. His cock—still half-hard from the hallway where she’d edged him mercilessly before letting them leave—thickened visibly against his stomach. “Yes… Ma’am.”

Taylor’s smile was slow, satisfied. She started the engine. The low rumble vibrated through the seats, up through Neil’s ass where the toy still sat buried deep, through Diego’s knees pressed to the carpeted floor.

She pulled out of the lot, headlights slicing through the dark, and turned onto the empty road toward home. For the first few minutes, there was only the sound of tires on asphalt, the soft tick of the cooling engine, and the ragged breathing of the two men in the back.

Then Taylor spoke again—casual, almost conversational.

“Neil. Tell Diego what you’re going to do when we get home.”

Neil’s voice was wrecked—hoarse from moaning, thick with shame and need.

I’m going to chain myself to the foot of the bed, like you make me do every Tuesday. Wrists locked to the posts, ankles spread wide so everyone can see how hard and desperate I am. I’ll wait there, naked, cock leaking all over the sheets, while you decide if I get to watch you fuck or if you’re going to blindfold me and make me listen while you use someone else.

Taylor hummed approval. “And Diego?”

He’s going to kneel at the side of the bed, cock out, hands behind his back, just like you want. He’ll watch you ride my face, watch you grind your cunt on my tongue until you cum all over me. And if I make you scream, if I do it right, you’ll let him jerk his cock while he tells you how much better you deserve, how much bigger he is, how much deeper he could fuck you if you ever let him. He’ll have to beg for it, and I’ll have to listen to him tell you how useless I am.

Diego groaned—low, broken. His cock was fully hard again, head glistening in the passing streetlights.

Taylor glanced in the rearview. “Is that what you want, Diego? To watch me come on my husband’s tongue while you beg for scraps?”

“Yes,” he rasped. “Fuck—yes.”

She reached back without looking, wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft, and squeezed once—hard. “Then earn it.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence except for the wet sounds of her slow, deliberate strokes on Diego’s cock—never enough to let him come, just enough to keep him desperate—and the soft clink of Neil’s chain every time he shifted, trying to ease the pressure in his own balls.

When they pulled into the driveway, Taylor killed the engine and sat for a long moment, letting the quiet settle.

She turned in the seat again.

Out. Both of you. Strip everything off before you even set foot inside. I want you both naked the second that door shuts, cocks out, nothing to hide behind.

Neil fumbled with his shirt, the chain making him clumsy, but he managed to get it off, then shoved his khakis and boxers down in one go. He stood there, shivering on the cold concrete, cock hanging out, half-hard and pathetic, goosebumps all over his skin.

Diego stripped like he couldn’t wait to show off, jeans kicked away, shirt yanked over his head, boxers shoved down so his cock slapped up against his stomach, thick and hard, veins bulging like he was desperate to be used.

Taylor stepped out last. She walked to the front door, unlocked it, then turned back.

“Crawl inside,” she told Diego.

He dropped immediately—palms and knees on the cold threshold—then crawled across the foyer tiles, chain dragging, ass flexing with each movement.

Neil followed—walking because she hadn’t ordered otherwise—cock swaying, chain clinking softly.

Taylor shut the door behind them. The lock clicked like a gunshot in the quiet house.

She pointed toward the bedroom hallway.

“Bed. Now.”

They moved through the house, Neil stumbling along, Diego crawling with his ass in the air, until they reached the bed. Neil climbed up, lay back, and stretched his arms out, already resigned to being put on display. Taylor cuffed his wrists and ankles, spreading him wide open, cock twitching, hole stuffed and helpless. The vibrator inside him buzzed to life, just enough to make him whimper and leak all over himself.

Diego knelt at the side of the bed—hands clasped behind his back, cock straining upward—as instructed.

Taylor stripped for them, slow and cruel, blouse coming off one button at a time, skirt dropped to the floor, bra unclasped so her tits bounced free, panties peeled down her legs until she was naked except for the heels she kept on just to remind them who was in charge.

She climbed onto the bed, straddled Neil’s face, and lowered herself onto his waiting mouth.

He shoved his tongue in, desperate and greedy, licking at her swollen cunt, sucking her clit, tasting the mess of her earlier orgasms mixed with his own cum. Taylor moaned, low and filthy, grinding her pussy all over his mouth, smearing her juices across his lips, chin, and cheeks until he was soaked in her.

She looked down at Diego.

“Stroke yourself,” she ordered. “Slowly. And tell me exactly why I keep you around.”

Diego’s hand wrapped around his thick shaft. He began the slow pumps—base to tip, thumb dragging over the head—while his voice came out rough, reverent.

Because I’m bigger. Because I’m harder. Because I’d fuck you deeper than he ever could. Because I’d make you scream so loud the neighbors would hear. Because I’d fill you up until it ran down your legs and he had to lick it off the floor. Because I’d beg for it while he thanks me for doing what he never could.

Taylor’s breath hitched. She ground down harder on Neil’s tongue—faster now, chasing another peak.

Neil moaned into her cunt, the sound vibrating through her thighs, making them tremble. His cock was rock hard, pressed against his stomach, untouched and drooling precum all over the sheets like a pathetic dog.

Taylor’s eyes never left Diego’s.

“Faster,” she told him.

Diego’s hand sped up—wet sounds filling the room, fist slick with his own precum.

“Beg,” she said.

“Please,” Diego rasped. “Please let me come. Please let me watch you come on his face. Please use me next time. Please—”

Taylor’s head fell back. Her fingers dug into Neil’s hair, holding him in place while she rode his tongue through the cresting wave. When she came, it was sudden, violent—hips snapping, a raw cry tearing from her throat as she flooded his mouth again.

Diego’s fist pumped his cock, desperate and frantic, precum flying as he jerked himself like he was about to die if he didn’t cum.

Taylor looked down at him—eyes dark, commanding.

“Come,” she whispered.

Diego came hard, back arching, cock jerking as he shot thick ropes of cum all over his stomach, chest, even splattering the mattress. He groaned, long and broken, until the last pathetic dribble oozed down his fist.

Taylor lifted off Neil’s face—his lips and chin shining with her release—and leaned down to kiss him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue.

She sat up, looking down at Neil, chained and shaking, and Diego, kneeling in a puddle of his own cum, and grinned like a queen surveying her ruined subjects.

“Next Tuesday,” she said softly, “we do it all again. But this time… I’m inviting the winning team to watch.”

She reached for the light switch.

The room plunged into darkness.

Only the sound of ragged breathing—and the soft, endless hum of the toy still buried inside Neil—remained.