Cuckold nights are my favorite sin. I make you sit in the corner while I play my hotwife games, whispering your name between moans just to watch you squirm. The humiliation is my art, the tease my weapon—and your denial is the sweetest part.

As I move my body against him, I keep my gaze locked on your tortured face. His hands explore every curve, tracing the ink that marks my skin. He thinks he’s claiming me, but we both know the truth. You’re the one undone, the one who craves what you can’t touch.

I take his face in my hands, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “Don’t you dare finish,” I warn, voice low and dangerous. He shudders, knowing the command isn’t just for him—it’s for you too. My obedience is an illusion; my dominance is absolute.

I hover above him, the head of his cock brushing my slick folds, teasing what you ache to see. You tremble in the corner, hands shaking, breath caught between want and despair. I give you nothing but the sound of my pleasure and the sight of your own denial.

When I finally take him, it’s deliberate—every thrust a punishment meant for you. My moans echo off the walls, sharp and cruel, my dark eyes never leaving yours. He’s just a prop. You’re the canvas. And by the end, we both know who really belongs to me.