Allen Cross, a charismatic young man born with a diamond spoon in his mouth. He was just like any other spoiled rich brat, causing trouble wherever he went and slipping out of it every time thanks to his parents' money. Clubs, girls, fights—he dipped his fingers in everything, never once facing the consequences.
People hated him, but they couldn't ignore him. He had that cocky grin, that smooth voice, and enough cash to make anyone swallow their pride. For Allen, life was a game he never lost. He wanted something? He got it. He screwed up? Daddy's lawyer fixed it.
That night, he was at his favorite hunting ground—a nightclub lit up in neon, the bass thumping so hard the walls vibrated. He had two girls hanging off him, both already drunk, both hungry for his money. One sat on his lap grinding against him, her short skirt hiked up so high her thong was showing every time she bounced. The other leaned against his shoulder, moaning whenever his hand slipped under her top to squeeze her tits.
Allen didn't give a shit who was watching. His right hand was full of one girl's tits, his left slipping up the other's thigh. The bouncers pretended not to notice. Everyone knew Allen Cross. Everyone knew better than to piss him off.
The girls weren't shy either. One of them licked his neck, moaning like she was about to fuck him right there. The other grabbed his wrist and pressed his hand against her pussy, her panties soaked through.
"Fuck, you're both so easy," Allen laughed, loud enough for the next table to hear. He didn't care. That was the point.
The bartender slid another bottle toward him, smirking. "You coming for the foam party tomorrow, Mr. Cross? Girls are already asking if you'll be here."
Allen grinned and slapped a few bills on the counter without looking. "Wouldn't miss it. You know how much fun these sluts get when they're wet."
Allen leaned back in his seat, dick already half-hard from the show the two girls were putting on. He didn't even look at them most of the time, just tossed a few bills into them like he was feeding pigeons. They'd fight, kiss, moan—anything for his money. It was all routine to him. Same shit, different night.
That's when he saw her.
Not some sloppy drunk girl begging for cash, but a woman who looked like she didn't belong here. Curves wrapped up in a tight dress that hugged her body like a second skin, legs crossed, hair done like she actually cared about herself. Her makeup wasn't messy like the others—sharp eyeliner, red lips, classy but dirty in all the right ways. She was older too, definitely not some broke college girl.
And then he saw it. The ring on her finger. Big diamond, catching the neon light every time she moved.
Allen's cock twitched.
He loved that. Married women. Nothing made him harder than the thought of fucking another man's wife. Taking what wasn't his. Corrupting someone who pretended to be pure.
She noticed him staring. He smirked, raised his glass, and didn't look away.
Most women either looked down or blushed. She didn't. She held his gaze, sipped her drink, and giggled. That little sound hit him harder than the bass.
Allen pushed one of the girls off his lap, making her whine. "Go dance or something. Daddy's busy."
The woman didn't come to him. She didn't have to. Allen got up, walked straight over, confidence dripping off him. He leaned on her table, eyes sliding down her cleavage, then back up.
"You married?" he asked, no shame, no filter.
Her lips curled, playful, almost daring. "Why do you care?"
Allen smirked wider. He pulled out his phone, flipping through it until he found what he wanted. Pictures of milfs, all of them were smiling, sweaty, writhing in his bed, their faces covered in cum.
"Look at this," he said, showing her the screen. "You see all these? I've fucked every type of woman you can think of. Hot, old, married. I don't care, any of them. And don't try to act like you're here to enjoy the vibe. We both know you're not. So don't put up a fake front."
She giggled again, covering her mouth, but her eyes stayed locked on his. No slap, no outrage, no walking away. Just that laugh. Like she already knew she had him wrapped around her finger.
He was sold.
She leaned in close, whispered something in his ear, and just like that he was following her out of the club. The two girls he came with screamed his name, jealous, but Allen didn't care. He had his prize for the night.
On the way out, he caught a glimpse of the TV above the bar. A news bulletin, red letters flashing. "Police Release Lookout Notice: Organ Trafficking Gang Still at Large." Grainy photos of a man and woman. He didn't bother looking close enough to notice her face on the screen.
Her apartment smelled faintly of perfume and cigarettes. Expensive candles flickered, throwing shadows over the soft bed. She didn't waste any time.
He kissed her, one of his hand was already measuring the size of her large breast, and her right hand unzipped his pants and holded on to his cock.
She pushed him onto the bed and slowly peeled her dress off, piece by piece. The faint purple hue of the night lamp spilled over her curves, her skin glowing, every dip and line screaming for him to touch.
Allen grinned wide. "Fuck… your husband's lucky."
She just smirked, slipping her panties down, climbing over him like a cat ready to eat. "Tonight, you're luckier."
He didn't need a second invitation. The moment she straddled him, his hands grabbed her ass, pulling her down hard onto his cock. She gasped, nails digging into his chest, but she didn't resist. If anything, she rolled her hips, moaning like she'd been waiting for this.
Allen groaned. "Shit… tight as hell."
She leaned down, lips brushing his ear. "Don't stop… fill me. I need it all."
He slammed up into her, faster, harder, chasing that raw heat. She was clenching around him, moaning his name like he was her husband, like this wasn't wrong. That made Allen's blood pump even harder. He thrived on it. The married ones always broke the sweetest.
He didn't notice the way she kept whispering, "More… deeper… don't pull out." He thought it was just her being desperate for him. He loved that too.
Allen flipped her on her back, legs spread wide, and hammered into her like he was staking a claim. She clawed at his arms, her tits bouncing with every thrust. He was losing himself in it, too far gone to question anything.
The door slammed open.
Allen froze mid-thrust, his cock still buried inside her, slick and twitching. A man stood there, tall, broad-shouldered, eyes blazing.
"You fucking whore," he snarled at her. "I knew it."
She gasped and scrambled off Allen like she was terrified, covering herself with the sheet, crawling back into the corner. "No, no, please—he forced me, I swear! I didn't want this!"
Allen sat up, shocked but pissed. "The fuck? Forced? Bitch, you were begging for it!"
The husband's eyes cut to him, murderous. He stepped inside, fists clenched.
Allen snorted, cocky even with his dick still out. "Relax, man. I can throw you some money, alright? You can walk away rich, and I'll walk away satisfied. Everybody wins."
The husband lunged, but Allen jumped off the bed, ready to fight back. He wasn't scared of anyone.
Then pain exploded in the side of his head.
Allen staggered, confused, as the wife stood behind him, clutching a heavy vase. Blood trickled down his temple. He turned, eyes wide.
"What the fu—"
The vase slammed down again. He collapsed onto the carpet, vision blurring.
His ears rang, but through the haze he heard it. Laughter.
Not scared, not broken laughter—but cruel, mocking, together. Husband and wife, standing side by side, looking down on him.
The husband crouched, spreading his wife's pussy open with his fingers. "That bastard came in you so much," he said, grinning darkly.
Allen tried to move, tried to curse, but his body wouldn't listen. His cock twitched pathetically, still leaking on the carpet.
The wife lit a cigarette, dragged on it slow, then blew the smoke into Allen's face. Her hand lazily stroked his cock one more time while she kissed her husband's lips. "Mmm… that was a damn big one. I want to keep it as a souvenir."
She giggled and looked at her husband. "So, what about him? Isn't that offer from our previous client still available?"
The husband smirked, never letting go of her. "Yeah. His organs will sell easy. Rich boy like this—perfect stock."
The wife bent down, gave Allen's cock a playful slap, and stood up like she was finished with her toy. Cum dripped down her thighs as she walked across the room, leaving a trail. She didn't even try to cover it.
The husband's eyes followed her and he chuckled. "Why don't you clean that up before it stains the carpet?"
She turned, smirking, cigarette dangling from her lips. "And why should I? Let it drip. Let it remind us how much this idiot pumped into me."
Allen's head spun, blood pooling under him. His ears rang, but their voices cut through, cruel and sharp.
The husband stepped closer, voice low. "Are you sure you'll get pregnant? If you do, then we can blackmail his family. Tell them their golden boy ruined our lives, broke our marriage, knocked you up. They'll pay anything to cover it up."
She blew a stream of smoke in his face and laughed softly. "With the way he came? I'd be shocked if I didn't. If it sticks, we bleed his family dry. If it doesn't…" she shrugged, tapping ash onto the carpet. "There's always another bastard like him."
Allen's vision swam, his body too weak to move. The laughter echoed, the cigarette glow blurred, the sting in his skull burning hotter.
And then… darkness.
His consciousness slipped, their voices fading, the smell of smoke the last thing he carried with him.