Ross smiled lazily, like a king addressing a conquered queen.
"Simple," he said, spreading his arms as he lay back casually on the bed, not moving an inch. He looked perfectly at ease, completely confident in his control over everything and everyone in the room.
"I want you to make me feel good."
Brenda flinched, her face contorting in pain and humiliation.
Ross tilted his head, studying her, and then added with a mocking lilt, "You remember how to make a man feel good, right?" His voice was dripping with amusement, as if this situation was nothing more than a lighthearted game to him.
The seconds dragged on, stretching unbearably thick between them.
Brenda stayed frozen, paralyzed by shame and despair, until a low moan of pain escaped from Thomas's bloodied lips. That sound—the sound of her son suffering—shattered the last remnants of her pride.
Slowly, mechanically, like a puppet whose strings had been cruelly seized, Brenda rose to her feet. She wiped her face with the back of her trembling hand, as if trying to wipe away her humanity, her dignity.
But no matter how hard she wiped, the shame clung to her like a second skin.
Step by step, she approached the bed.
Each step felt heavier than the last, as though invisible chains were wrapped around her ankles, dragging her down into the abyss.
When she reached the bedside, Brenda hesitated one final time, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her soul screamed in protest. But her body, broken by fear and love for her son, betrayed her.
With a shaky breath, she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. Her hands moved automatically, as if remembering lessons from long ago—lessons she never thought she would be forced to recall under such cruel circumstances.
She gave up.
She did what was demanded of her.
Ross watched her with a predatory gleam in his eyes, victorious and unchallenged.
He didn't have to lift a finger. Brenda, proud, beautiful Brenda, was now offering herself to him, humiliated, broken, and defeated.
Brenda moved stiffly at first, her fingers trembling as they reached for Ross's belt. Her hands, once delicate and proud, now fumbled over the simple task, but Ross showed no impatience.
He merely watched her with a lazy, amused smirk, as if enjoying her every awkward, shameful movement.
The metallic clink of the belt coming undone echoed loudly in the room, followed by the soft sliding sound as Brenda pulled it free. She hesitated briefly, but gritting her teeth, she continued, tugging down Ross's pants and then his boxers.
"Hahhh..."
A soft gasp escaped her lips before she could even think to stop it.
Before her eyes was Ross's "sleeping dragon"—even flaccid, it was massive, already larger than Mick's ever was at full hardness.
And Mick…
Her husband.
The realization hit her like a hammer to the chest.
"Where's Mick?" Brenda whispered, her voice tight with panic and confusion. "What did you do to him?"
Yet even as she asked, her hands continued moving automatically, stroking and touching, as if her body already knew the price of hesitation.
She could not stop. She dared not.
Her palms were cold with fear, but they grew warmer quickly from the heat radiating off Ross's cock. His flesh was thick, heavy, and strangely enticing—so warm and alive it sent an unwanted shiver down her spine.
Against her will, she felt her hands adjusting, caressing, learning the shape of him with instinctive, shameful eagerness.
Within mere breaths, the dormant dragon began to stir.
Pulsing with life, it swelled rapidly in her grasp, blood filling its monstrous veins until what rose before her was nothing short of terrifying—a fifteen-inch, thick, veined beast that looked almost unreal.
Brenda's mouth dried up.
"Your husband?" Ross said with a laugh, leaning back like a king enjoying a private show.
"Aren't you the naughty one, Brenda? You want your husband to see you like this, don't you? Kneeling before another man, touching, worshiping someone else's cock."
He chuckled darkly and added, "Maybe I should summon him here. Let him watch you later… while you're riding me, begging for more. Would you like that, Brenda?"
"..."
Brenda had no words—only fear and horror flashing in her wide, tear-brimmed eyes.
The mere thought of Mick seeing her like this was unbearable, a nightmare more vivid than anything she had ever imagined.
Her mind raced, trying to recall how she ended up here, but everything was foggy and distant.
She remembered planning a family outing to the beach… laughing with Mick… preparing sandwiches and sunscreen…
And then—nothing. A dark blank.
Now she was here. In this room. In this nightmare.
Ross's cock throbbed in her trembling hands, a constant, humiliating reminder that this was real, that she was truly debasing herself like this.
"I can't believe... a man could grow to this size," Brenda thought helplessly as she wrapped both hands around the massive shaft, needing both just to even begin to stroke him properly.
She moved slowly, stroking up and down, feeling every thick vein and pulse under her fingertips.
Each motion was mechanical at first, but as the heat from Ross's body soaked into her palms, as the scent of masculine musk filled her nostrils, Brenda found herself falling deeper into a haze she couldn't escape.
Ross grinned wickedly above her, knowing that this was only the prelude of fun.
Brenda might have still been resisting in her heart, but her body—her traitorous, weak body—was already starting to surrender.
And he would savor every second of breaking her completely.
"hah….." Brenda's breath came in heavy gasps, her chest heaving as she tried to maintain some semblance of composure.
The scent of Ross's cock filled the air, a musky and intoxicating aroma that was affecting her in ways she couldn't admit, even to herself.
She felt a flush creeping up her cheeks, her body betraying her arousal despite her attempts to suppress it. The evidence was clear: she was drenched and wet, her body ready and eager to be taken.