Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

Julia, my wife, is sprawled across the bed, her body tangled with those of two young and healthy studs and their absurdly large rods. They move with a practiced rhythm, their muscles straining as they pleasure her from both ends. Her screams of ecstasy fill the room, a symphony of betrayal and humiliation.

The air is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sheets soaked in the evidence of her infidelity.

I stand frozen in the doorway, my eyes locked on the scene before me. Julia glances over, her gaze meeting mine, and a mocking leer spreads across her face. It's a look that says everything: disdain, superiority, and a twisted sense of satisfaction at my impotence. She doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down.

Her eyes bore into mine as she lets out another cry of pleasure, her body arching beneath that of her boytoys.

For a moment, I consider shouting, raging, throwing the studs off her and reclaiming what's rightfully mine. But I know better. We've been through this dance one too many times. She's made her choice, and it doesn't include me. I am nothing more than an inconvenience, a relic of a marriage that spiritually ended long ago.

"Are you going to stay and watch, Jonathan? Take a seat on the couch; there's a wine bottle somewhere nearby too. Though, I'm a bit occupied right now so we might not be able to clink our glasses, unfortunately." Julia calls out amidst the rhythmic pangs of the bed frame against the wall. Her voice is light and teasing, each word a barb digging into my pride.

I grumble under my breath, a string of curses and resigned sighs, but I oblige, sinking into the worn leather of the couch. I pour myself a glass, the crimson liquid swirling like blood in the dim light, and take a long sip, trying to drown my bitterness in its depths.

The scene before me unfolds like a twisted theater production, my wife sprawled out beneath the relentless thrusts of her sturdy slave boys. Each moan, each gasp, echoes through the room, bouncing off the walls and slicing through the silence and my heart like a blade. I watch with a pained expression, the muscles in my jaw clenching and unclenching as if to hold back some unspoken cry.

A knock on the door interrupts the spectacle, a reprieve, however brief, from the sounds of betrayal. "Come in," I bark, not bothering to rise from my seat.

The butler enters, leading Marla by a leash. She stands naked, her skin pale and lifeless under the harsh lights. Her eyes are hollow, expressionless, the spark of defiance I once sighted now snuffed out. She remains there, motionless, a broken doll on display.

With a heavy sigh, I push myself up from the couch and take hold of her leash, pulling her forward. She stumbles slightly but follows, her feet dragging across the carpet. I guide her to where I sit, forcing her to her knees before me. She kneels obediently, her head bowed, waiting for my command.

"Start licking," I order, my voice cold and detached. I know she won't refuse; she's way beyond resistance now.

As she begins, her tongue tracing a path along my shaft with mechanical precision, I lean back into the couch, my gaze drifting back to Julia. The two studs continue their work, oblivious or perhaps indifferent to my presence. They are not my property, after all. I would've long since made them into eunuchs otherwise.

Marla works silently, her movements slow and lifeless. 'So fucking horrible...' I think inwardly. At least Julia's toys are having the time of their lives by the look of things, while this woman just wants to cease existing.

Her touch is passable at best, but there's no passion, no fire. Just a clumsy rote execution of a task she's been trained to perform. I stare into the glass of wine with heavy eyes.

"Really, Jonathan? You have to bring her in here?" Julia snaps, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. Her eyes flash with annoyance, though she tries to maintain her veneer of superiority.

I shrug, feigning indifference. "Why not? You're clearly enjoying yourself. Besides, I thought you'd appreciate the company."

Julia sneers, arching her back to emphasize her words as she replies, "Company? I prefer capable partners who know what they're doing." She lets out an exaggerated moan, clearly to aggravate me.

"Ah, I see," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "And how's that working out for you? A single cock can no longer satisfy your gaping holes, huh? Maybe you should just move on to doing it with orcs." I nod towards the stud currently thrusting behind her, and she glares at me, her eyes narrowing.

"I don't need lessons from someone who couldn't satisfy a corpse," she retorts, her lips curling in disdain. Her words are like poison, sharp and cutting, intended to wound.

I let out a low chuckle, pretending her insults don't sting. "Oh, Julia. You've always had such a way with words. The poor boy in front of you is about to go limp since you keep running your foul mouth, why don't you stuff it finally?"

She glares at me, her face flushed from both the exertion and her mounting irritation. "Maybe I will. I bet I'm much better at it than the toy between your legs." she spits, arching her back again to emphasize her point.

Sadly, she is exactly right. A fish would give better head than Marla at this point. Naturally, I won't admit that though.

The tension in the room thickens, a palpable weight pressing down on us. The studs exchange confused glances, momentarily distracted by our verbal sparring. They should really start getting used to this by now. Or are they new ones? I don't keep count nor memorize their faces.

Julia lets out a frustrated growl, her facade slipping for just a moment. "I hope she's worth it, Jonathan. If you think I care about what you do with your broken toys, you're sorely mistaken."

I smirk, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards. "Oh, I'm sure you don't care at all, Julia, that's why you are bitching right now."

Our eyes lock in a silent battle, each trying to outdo the other in this mock contest of wills. Despite our mutual loathing, there's an odd satisfaction in this back-and-forth, a twisted dance we both know too well.

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