The Extorted

She cheated. Now a private eye's got the proof, and her husband's lawyer's breathing down her neck. Kristina Rose stares at the photos on the table. One choice left: she drops to her knees and lets the bastard own her. He buckles the ball gag tight. She tastes rubber and panic. Her wrists lock behind her back while he drags her over the arm of the couch. The hook slides cold between her cheeks and he sinks it deep, then clips the chain to her collar so every twitch pulls the steel. She gags around the rubber ball, spit dripping, eyes wide. He lines up and drives in hard, stretching her ass without warning. No lube, no mercy, just the thick length pounding her open while the hook tugs each time she jolts. His palm cracks across her skin, leaving red prints that bloom and burn. She tries to twist away but the chain holds, the gag muffles her curses, and every thrust rocks her forward into the couch cushions. Sweat slides down her spine. He grabs a fistful of hair and pulls her upright, forcing her to ride back on his cock. The hook bites deeper. Her thighs shake. He slams faster, balls slapping wet against her, until the couch creaks and her muffled screams break into choked moans. When he finally pulls out, the hook stays buried, a reminder she doesn't leave this room clean.