The Lonely Wife of a Quiet Village
Henold, Rachel's husband, sat alone in a corner of the bustling tavern. He poured drink after drink down his throat, but he couldn't shake the nagging, uneasy feeling clawing at his chest.
Staying in that suffocating house only made his blood boil, so he had abandoned his wife to go out drinking. One glass, two glasses... Just as a pleasant buzz began to take hold, he shouted for another. But all Henold got in return was a harsh scolding from the tavern keeper, who demanded to know why he kept running up his tab when he didn't have a single coin to his name, declaring he wouldn't tolerate it any longer. Henold wanted to snap back, but swallowing his pride and his anger, he left the tavern empty-handed and limped toward home.
As he neared his wretched home, he spotted an outsider loitering nearby, talking to his wife. Rachel had been denying him his marital rights and constantly walking on eggshells around him, which had soured whatever affection he had left for her—but she was still his wife. He didn't know what the bastard wanted, but he decided to teach the flirting outsider a lesson. Rolling up his sleeves, Henold dragged his lame leg forward.
He approached, ready to hurl a barrage of curses, but the outsider possessed unnatural strength. The man grabbed Henold's hand in a vice grip, forced his fingers open, and dropped something heavy from his coat into his palm. Henold peered inside the pouch. It was silver. A sizable pouch, completely stuffed to the brim with silver coins. It was enough money to live comfortably for months without lifting a finger.
The outsider explained that he wanted to stay at Henold's house for a few days. With this kind of money, the fool could have stayed at a high-end inn for months; he was clearly an ignorant country bumpkin with more coin than sense. Seeing the man's easy, smiling face, Henold doubted he would cause any trouble. Excitement surged through him. With this money, he could buy all the liquor he wanted and win back everything he had lost at the gambling tables. To receive such an astronomical sum just for letting someone crash in a dilapidated house in the middle of nowhere—it felt like winning the lottery.
Once he won his money back, he could start a proper business. Then, his wife would look at him differently, and maybe they could salvage their fractured marriage. Though Henold blamed Rachel for all their misfortunes, a small, lingering ember of love for his wife still remained deep down.
The sudden windfall sent his imagination running wild. If things went well, they could leave this godforsaken village, move to the capital, and open a small general store. He was lost in these grand delusions when a sharp, piercing voice shattered his thoughts.
"Wait! Honey, we only have one bedroom!"
Instant irritation flared within Henold. She wasn't wrong, but here he was, trying to make something of their lives, and all that damn woman could do was whine and complain. Her utter lack of understanding for his struggles made his blood boil. If there was only one room, she could just sleep outside or figure something out. Why the hell was she making a fuss?
"Then give him the room and figure it out yourself! Where do you get off raising your voice at me, woman?! Do you want a beating?!"
To assert his dominance and ensure he wouldn't be looked down upon, Henold raised his hand and swung it wide. He figured that if he cowed his wife and showed the outsider who was boss, the guest would behave himself during his stay. But contrary to his expectations, the outsider stepped forward in a flash and caught his wrist.
Squeeze...
The grip was agonizingly tight. Henold almost flinched, but he quickly glared back, terrified of showing weakness. The outsider, shielding Rachel behind his broad back, tossed a few more coins onto the pile and spoke in a calm, low voice.
"I have no desire to cause a scene in the middle of the night. I will discuss the arrangements with your wife, so why don't you go out and enjoy yourself?"
Looking at the heavy pouch of silver, Henold realized he had enough to buy a woman even before he went to gamble. Though it was a rural village, it had been growing rapidly thanks to the Village Chief's shrewd leadership. If one looked closely in the back alleys or taverns, there was always a whore or two selling her body. Henold glanced at Rachel, but she only glared back at her husband with venomous eyes.
Yes, with this much money, I can get laid, win a fortune, and then that bitch will finally change her tune. This is my chance to strike it rich.
Henold's mind drifted back to his fantasies. Life had been absolute hell ever since he became a cripple. But now that fortune had practically fallen into his lap, his luck was bound to turn around.
"Whatever, do what you want! I'm going to go multiply this money, so make sure you treat our guest well until I get back!"
"Honey...! Honey!"
Ignoring his wife's desperate cries, Henold dragged his lame leg back toward the tavern. Just one drink. He would have just one drink to take the edge off, and then he would bleed those bastard neighbors of ours dry. Henold couldn't suppress the manic grin spreading across his face.
After staying up for two straight days, Henold finally stood up from the table. It was unbelievable. He wondered if the impossible reality unfolding before his eyes was nothing but a dream. As Henold stood there dazed, someone barked at him.
"Are you mocking us? You've cleaned us out, now take your damn money and get the hell out of here!"
The other men at the table glared at Henold with intense envy. Terrified that someone might snatch his winnings, Henold frantically swept the piles of silver coins into his pouch, tucked several gold coins deep into his shirt, and limped out of the tavern as fast as his bad leg could carry him.
I did it... I actually did it...!
Henold wondered if all the misfortune he had suffered in his life had merely been preparation for this very day. Ever since he became a cripple, he had been useless. He had squandered all his savings, reduced to begging and drinking away his days. His neighbors offered superficial pity to his face, but behind his back, they mocked him, laughing at how the arrogant man who once boasted of his wealth had been reduced to a pathetic cripple. Over time, Henold had lost all peace of mind, consumed by bitterness.
Then, his thoughts drifted to his wife, Rachel. At first, he had blamed her for everything. When he became a cripple and struggled through those dark days, he believed they should rely on each other more than ever. Yet, whenever he tried to hold her, Rachel had violently rejected him. Her coldness only fueled his deep-seated insecurity and rage, which he ultimately unleashed through violence. He justified it to himself—after all, everything was Rachel's fault...
But this massive stroke of fortune was enough to sweep away the dark fog of ignorance clouding his mind. The anger that had consumed him dissipated, leaving his head feeling wonderfully clear. Yes, I can make things right now. It couldn't be helped. I only lost my mind for a bit because of the despair of my sudden disability. From now on, I'll feed her good food, buy her beautiful clothes, and we can start anew. He consoled himself with these thoughts.
Dragging his lame leg toward home, Henold couldn't contain his excitement. With this much gold and silver, they didn't have to stay in this backwater village. They could move to the outskirts of the capital—no, straight into the capital itself—and open the general store he had always dreamed of. Or he could go to a grand cathedral and pay for a divine blessing to heal his leg. It would cost more than half of his winnings, but once his leg was cured, earning money would be a breeze.
How long had he been walking? He looked up to find the quiet, pre-dawn sky shrouded in thick, starless clouds. At this hour, Rachel was bound to be fast asleep. He debated whether he should wake her immediately with the glorious news or wait until morning to tell her calmly.
As he drew closer to the house, Henold noticed something strange. At an hour when everyone should be asleep, a soft, warm glow emanated from the bedroom window, as if a candle were lit. The surrounding houses were pitch black, making the light from his own home stand out ominously.
A cold sweat broke out along his spine. An inexplicable chill washed over him, whispering that something was terribly wrong.
Henold shook his head, desperately trying to suppress the rising dread. No, it's fine. The outsider is probably just sleeping in the bedroom like I told him to. The bastard must be a night owl to keep a candle burning this late. Or maybe Rachel couldn't sleep and was still awake. Yes, that had to be it. He forced himself to believe it.
Standing right before the front door, Henold caught a faint, muffled whimpering sound cutting through the freezing silence. I misheard. I must have misheard. There's no way!
He grabbed the cold doorknob and frantically fumbled through his pockets, but his fingers couldn't find the key. No matter which pocket he searched, he found nothing but silver coins. Silver here, silver there—under normal circumstances, it would have been a dream come true, but to the increasingly panicked Henold, it was infuriating. He practically turned his clothes inside out, but the key was nowhere to be found. Letting go of the doorknob, which had warmed slightly from his sweaty palm, Henold slowly crept toward the bedroom window.
Alarm bells screamed in his head, warning him to stop, to turn back. But Henold needed to kill this suffocating anxiety. The fastest way was to see for himself. Dragging his lame leg, he approached the bedroom window. The curtains hadn't been drawn, leaving the interior completely exposed.
Henold's mind went completely blank. The suffocating anxiety vanished, replaced by a hollow numbness. His clenched fists slowly unraveled.
His wife, Rachel, was nowhere to be seen on the bed. Only the outsider was there, sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring quietly down at the floor.
And there, on the floor, groveled a female dog. Her head was pinned beneath the outsider's foot, her face squashed flat against the wooden floorboards. On her knees, thick, white semen oozed and dripped from her cunt in heavy globs as she begged the outsider desperately.
"Please... give me more cock... I beg of you... ♡ Please bestow your cock upon a stupid bitch who knows nothing but your dick... ♡"
Sensing his gaze, the outsider raised his head and locked eyes with Henold. A wicked smirk spread across his face as he mouthed a silent message.
'Thanks for the treat.'
The outsider's rock-hard, throbbing cock was pressed flat against his stomach, glistening with moisture. Even from outside the window, the bedroom was a scene of absolute devastation. The bedsheets were drenched, ruined beyond recognition. The blankets lay crumpled on the floor, soaked in a sticky mixture of semen and vaginal juices. The curtains that should have hung from the window had been ripped down, torn to shreds where Rachel had desperately clawed at them.
He didn't feel angry. Even when he had giggled like an idiot upon receiving the pouch of silver, a sliver of anxiety had lingered. Even as he swept up the winnings at the gambling table, the dread had remained. Yet, deep down, he had trusted her. He remembered how Rachel had always rejected his advances, how she had shown almost no sexual desire throughout their marriage. He remembered how she despised the lustful glares of the villagers, and he had believed that even if the outsider tried something, she would refuse...
It was a complete delusion. It wasn't that she lacked desire; it had simply never been awakened. Looking at this woman who was licking every inch of the man's toes while frantically fingering her own cunt, who could possibly claim she had no sex drive? Watching Rachel squirt puddle after puddle of juices while desperately trying to claw out the semen pooled inside her, Henold felt his own penis swell to a rock-hard erection. His throbbing shaft pressed against the cold exterior wall of the house. As the anxiety in his mind shattered, raw, primal lust rushed in to fill the void. He was fully, uncontrollably erect just from watching his own wife. His cock swelled to a size he hadn't seen in years, yet even at its peak, it was laughably inferior to the outsider's in both length and girth.
"Make me cum with your mouth, and I'll fuck you," the man proposed.
Overhearing the man's offer, Henold thought that this, at least, would never happen. No matter how much he had begged and pleaded, Rachel had never once sucked his cock. Even if her body had been thoroughly defiled, he believed she would draw the line at oral sex.
Once again, he was dead wrong.
Like a dog offered a treat, the moment Rachel heard the man's proposal, she snapped her head up from his foot and eagerly took his massive cock into her mouth.
At first, she only took the glans into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip. She suckled on the thick head with her petite mouth, then pulled away to plant soft, rapid kisses on the crown.
Mwah. Slurp. Kiss, kiss.
After kissing the tip with pure adoration, Rachel knelt lower, using her fingers to stretch her mouth wide as she stuck her tongue out as far as it would go. The man chuckled, resting his heavy shaft onto her tongue. The sheer weight of it pressed her tongue down. Pressing her tongue flat against the underside of his shaft, Rachel slowly pushed her head forward, swallowing the thick rod.
Gulp, gulp...
Because the man was sitting on the edge of the bed facing the window, Henold had a perfect view of his wife's throat stretching to accommodate the massive cock. First, it filled her mouth to bursting, and then, inch by inch, it pushed deep into her throat, her neck visibly bulging as the thick shaft slid down.
She gagged slightly at first, but exhaling sharply through her nose, Rachel kept her eyes wide open and slowly forced it down. Finally, she took the cock all the way to the root, her face buried in the man's thick pubic hair. Pulling her fingers from her mouth, Rachel wrapped her arms tightly around the man's thighs, her cheeks hollowing as she began to suck.
Please... please...
Henold's silent pleas went unanswered. Rachel slowly pulled the cock out until only the tip remained between her lips, then plunged it deep back into her throat. Moving with practiced ease, she slowly established a rhythm, gradually picking up the pace.
Squelch, squelch, slurp, slurp—
The saliva pooling in her mouth frictioned against the thick shaft, producing a wet, filthy sound. Frothy spit bubbled at the corners of Rachel's mouth as the cock ruthlessly violated her throat at a frantic speed. No, the man wasn't even moving; Rachel was the one aggressively violating his cock, sucking it down as if it were the most delicious delicacy in the world.
"Mghff... slurp... ♡ Hngh! Gahk!"
The man, who had kept his hands off at first, eventually grabbed Rachel by her blonde hair, stroking her head as he enjoyed her desperate service. After several minutes of intense sucking, tears welled in Rachel's eyes, and a steady stream of drool ran down her chin and neck. Suddenly, the man's body shuddered. Holding her head firmly against his crotch, he growled.
"Now, swallow every single drop...!"
Rachel's eyes went wide, and her throat bulged. Her head, held in his tight grip, trembled violently. After a long, heavy ejaculation, the man's cock finally slid out of her mouth with a wet pop. Releasing her hold on his thighs, Rachel used her fingers to pry her lips open, revealing her mouth completely filled with thick, white semen.
She looked up at the man as if begging for permission, keeping her mouth stretched open. When the man gave a slight nod, Rachel closed her lips and swished the warm semen around her mouth, savoring the taste. After rolling it over her tongue a few times, she swallowed it with a heavy gulp, let out a soft burp, and blushed deeply before opening her mouth wide again.
Noticing a few stray pubic hairs clinging to her lips, the man reached into her mouth and pulled her tongue out. Rachel's mouth was completely clean, not a drop of semen wasted. The man puckered his lips and let a thick string of spit fall directly onto her outstretched tongue.
Drip.
Smiling radiantly as if receiving holy water, Rachel swallowed the man's saliva, gulped it down, and bowed her head to him once more.
Rachel...
Watching this scene unfold, Henold felt utterly devastated. Over the course of just two days, his wife had been completely transformed into a filthy, submissive bitch. A profound, crushing despair began to take root in his soul.
"You're getting really good at this. Good girl."
Stroking her head, the man climbed onto the bed and lay down. His fully erect cock pointed straight toward the ceiling, but his eyes were locked onto Henold, who was watching from outside the window.
It was a silent challenge: If you don't stop me now, I'm going to show you the grand finale. Henold's mind was in utter chaos. Should he burst in right now? What if he did? What could a pathetic cripple like him even do? He couldn't beat up this powerful outsider. If he called the guards, he would only make himself the laughingstock of the entire village. He couldn't fight, and he couldn't call for help. He had no one on his side.
And so, Henold could do nothing but swallow hard and watch through the glass. Rachel, her voluptuous body drenched in sweat, was entirely focused on the man before her. Watching her climb onto the bed without a shred of hesitation, aligning her dripping cunt with his massive shaft and grinding against it as if offering her entire soul, Henold gave up.
He had no choice but to stand there in the dark, forced to watch this depraved spectacle until the very end.