Mark wakes up next to his wives, Giovanna and Hilda, and forces them to dress in wedding dresses designed for humiliation. In the main hall, the men from the previous night are waiting to use them again. How far is he willing to take his game of power and submission?
The sun had barely begun to filter through the black velvet curtains when Mark woke up, his body still heavy from the exhaustion of the previous night. The air in the room smelled of sweat, semen, and the sweet but pungent perfume of Giovanna and Hilda, who lay on either side of the bed, their bodies entwined in a tangle of silky sheets. Their breaths were slow, deep, as if sleep had claimed them only after their bodies had been pushed to the limit. Mark sat up slowly, running a hand over his face as he watched his wives. Their skin still glistened with a faint sheen of dried sweat, their lips parted as if their last moans still echoed in the silence of the room.
There was no need to wake them with words. Mark knew well the effect his presence had, the way his gaze could wrench them from the deepest sleep. With a deliberate movement, he got out of bed and walked to the closet, where two wedding dresses that had been specially designed for them hung. They weren't traditional gowns: the white lace corset, tightened to the point of compressing their waists, left their breasts completely exposed, their nipples hard and darkened from hours of sucking and biting the night before. The skirts, or what remained of them, were little more than strips of sheer fabric that barely covered their hips, leaving their genitals completely exposed, swollen and shiny from constant use. Black lace garters contrasted with the whiteness of the dress, holding up stockings that extended to their thighs, still marked by the bruises from fingers that had gripped them tightly.
Mark took the dresses and placed them on the bed, right next to each of them. Then, in a tone of voice that brooked no reply, he murmured, "Wake up, my whores. You have a purpose today." The sound of his voice, rough with sleep but laden with authority, made Giovanna move first. Her eyelids opened slowly, as if the weight of the previous night still kept them anchored to the mattress. When she saw the dresses, a lascivious smile played on her lips. Hilda, always slow to wake, rubbed her eyes before following her companion's gaze. Understanding what was expected of them, a low moan escaped her throat, and without needing further instructions, they both sat up, their naked bodies glistening in the dim light of dawn that filtered through the windows.
Giovanna was the first to put on the dress. She slipped the corset over her breasts, adjusting it until the fabric almost took her breath away, highlighting the fullness of her breasts. The lace brushed against her nipples, making them harden even more, as if they knew what was coming next. Hilda imitated her, but with more clumsy movements, her fingers trembling as she fastened the back hooks. Mark watched them intently, his member already beginning to harden beneath the silk trousers he'd taken to dress. He didn't intervene, didn't help. He knew that part of the humiliation lay in them being the ones preparing themselves, the ones exposing themselves shamelessly.
When they were ready, Mark picked up the camera he'd left ready on a nearby table. It was a professional camera, with a lens that would capture every detail, every expression on their faces as they gave themselves over. "Now, go to the main hall. The guests are already waiting," he ordered, his voice firm but with a hint of excitement he couldn't hide. Giovanna and Hilda nodded silently, their gazes shining with a mixture of submission and anticipation. They knew who those "guests" would be: the same men who had used them the night before, whose members still smelled of their fluids, whose hands had marked them. The thought made them shudder, not from fear, but from a sick desire they could no longer—nor would they—control.
The castle's main hall was dimly lit by the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. In the center, on a black leather sofa, sat Joel and two of his friends, the same ones who had participated in the orgy the day before. Their shirts were unbuttoned, their pants open enough to reveal their already erection, their thick, veiny members protruding like weapons ready to be used. As Giovanna and Hilda entered, a satisfied smile spread across Joel's face. "Look what we have here," he said, running a hand over his member as he slowly stroked it. "Whores dressed as brides, ready to be used like the day they got married... although I doubt they were as honest about what they really wanted that day."
Giovanna and Hilda moved forward without hesitation, their hips swaying with an exaggerated motion, as if they knew each step brought them closer to their destination. They stopped in front of the men, their faces mere inches from the erect members waiting for them. Without needing to be commanded, they both reached out, their fingers trembling but determined as they wrapped around the thick shafts. The men's skin smelled of sweat and sex, the memory of the previous night still fresh. "Please..." Hilda whispered, her voice cracking with arousal, "treat us like what we are. Your fetishes. Your toys." Giovanna nodded, her tongue peeking out to moisten her lips before adding, "We want to be used. Filled. Marked as your property."
Mark, who had entered behind them, already had the camera in position. The flash flashed once, twice, capturing the moment the men grabbed the women by the hips and lifted them easily, sitting them on their laps. Their wedding dresses bunched around their waists, leaving their sexes completely exposed, swollen and glistening, still dripping with the remnants of the previous night's ejaculations. Joel was the first to act. With one sharp movement, he pushed Giovanna down, causing his member to sink into her without preamble. She cried out, a sound that was half pain, half ecstasy, as her body adjusted to the invasion. "That's the way I like it, slut. Tight and ready to be used," Joel growled, his hands digging into Giovanna's thighs as he began to move her up and down, his balls slapping against her ass with each thrust.
Hilda wasn't far behind. Joel's friend, a man with broad shoulders and rough hands, took her by the waist and penetrated her with the same crudeness. Her moans mingled with Giovanna's, creating a symphony of animal sounds that filled the room. Mark approached, the camera still in his hand, but now with his other arm working under his pants. He couldn't resist. Seeing his wives being used like this, as mere holes for other men's pleasure, excited him beyond measure. "Harder," he ordered, his voice trembling with arousal. "Let them know they're your bitches."
The men obeyed. Joel grabbed Giovanna by the shoulders and pushed her down so hard that her butt slapped against his thighs, the wet sound of their bodies colliding filling the air. "Yes! Like that! Use me!" she screamed, her nails digging into the arms of the sofa as her body was shaken like a rag doll. Hilda, meanwhile, had been placed on her back, her butt lifted as the man entered her from below, his thrusts so deep that each time he sank into her, her belly visibly distorted. "God, what rich whores," one of the men gasped, his fingers digging into Hilda's flesh as he used her mercilessly.
Mark couldn't hold it in anymore. He left the camera on a nearby table and approached, his member already fully erect and throbbing. He positioned himself behind Giovanna, who was being penetrated by Joel, and without asking, he spat into her hand before beginning to masturbate himself with quick, jerky movements. "That's it, my love. Let yourself be used. You're mine, but they're also theirs. You belong to whoever wants to fuck you," he whispered, his voice heavy with a mix of pride and something else, something that sounded almost like sadness. Giovanna turned her head just enough to look at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure, but with a spark of devotion in them. "Always yours, master," she gasped, before another thrust from Joel made her cry out again.
The pace in the room became frantic. The men changed positions, passing Hilda and Giovanna between them as if they were simple interchangeable objects. At one point, Hilda was on all fours on the couch, with one man behind her and another in front of her face, his swollen member being licked desperately. Giovanna, meanwhile, had been placed over Joel's legs, her body used as a mere cushion as he pounded into her relentlessly, his hands squeezing her breasts as if he wanted to leave permanent marks. "Come on, bitches. Show me what you're worth," Joel spat, his voice raspy with exertion. "You must moan like the pigs you are."
And they obeyed. Their moans grew louder, more desperate, as if every sound they made brought them closer to a climax that never seemed to come. Sweat glistened on their skin, mixing with the semen already beginning to drip from their well-used genitals. Mark, unable to hold back any longer, approached Hilda and, without warning, spat on her ass before plunging two fingers into her anus, stretching her out as the man continued to fuck her mercilessly. "Ah! Yes! More!" she cried out, her body jerking as if possessed. "I'm his little slut! I'm your whore!"
It was at that moment, when the air was heavy with the scent of sex and the dampness of their bodies, that Mark noticed something in his wives' eyes. Between the moans and commands, between the pleasure and humiliation, there was something else: a spark of gratitude, as if in that act of total submission they had found a kind of release. But also, deep within his own arousal, he felt the weight of his loneliness. He was the one who had brought them to this. He was the one who watched them being used, who photographed them, who shared them. And yet, in that instant, as his semen spurted onto Giovanna's ass, marking her as his once more, he wondered if he truly owned them... or if, instead, it was he who had been consumed by the game he himself had created.
The camera kept rolling. The men kept fucking. And Mark, his heart racing and his body shaking from orgasm, could only stand there, watching, as the weight of his desire and power mingled with a question he would never dare answer out loud: How far are you willing to go?