"Action!"
The studio falls silent except for the deliberate click of Morgan's heels as she approaches. Even blind, I can sense her circling me like a predator, the air shifting with her movements. Her perfume wafts around me, expensive and intoxicating.
"Look at you," Morgan purrs, her voice taking on a theatrical quality that still manages to send shivers down my spine. "All tied up and helpless for me."
Her fingernails trace lightly across my bare shoulders, the touch so delicate it raises goosebumps in their wake. I flinch slightly, surprised by the contact.
"Nervous?" she asks, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone.
"Yes," I admit, the word barely audible through the opening in the mask.
Morgan's hand suddenly grips my head through the leather, yanking it back with unexpected force. "I didn't say you could speak," she hisses, her mouth so close to my ear that I can feel her warm breath against my neck.
The sudden shift startles me, my body tensing against the restraints. This wasn't what I expected. The dominance feels too real, too intense.
"Remember your safe word if you need it," she whispers so quietly that I'm certain the microphones won't pick it up.
Her hand releases head, moving to trail down my chest, nails scraping lightly against my skin. I shiver involuntarily, my body responding despite my anxiety. The pill is definitely working now, my cock hardening as her fingers drift lower.
Morgan's hand suddenly encircles my cock from behind, her grip firm and possessive. I gasp at the unexpected contact, my hips instinctively bucking forward.
I jolt against my restraints as Morgan's hand starts working me with expert precision, her fingers squeezing and stroking at a pace that makes my breath catch. Each movement is methodical and deliberate, designed to maximize my response while maintaining perfect control.
"Look at you," she taunts, her mouth close to my ear as she continues her ministrations. "So eager, so responsive. Nothing like what your wife described."
My mind reels. Wife? What is she talking about?
"Isn't that right, Lana?" Morgan calls out, her voice carrying across the studio. "You said he could barely get it up for you anymore."
I turn my head instinctively toward Lana's direction despite the blindfold rendering the gesture pointless. This wasn't part of any discussion we'd had. No one mentioned dialogue or a storyline.
"I... yes, Mistress," Lana's voice comes hesitantly from somewhere to my left. She sounds uncomfortable, caught off-guard.
Morgan laughs a cold, cruel sound that doesn't match the woman I've come to know. Her hand never stops its rhythmic stroking, keeping me hard and distracted even as confusion floods my mind.
"Pathetic little housewife," Morgan spits, suddenly pivoting away from me and stalking toward where Lana must be sitting. "Look at you, all dressed up like you're going to church while your husband gets what he needs elsewhere."
I stiffen in the chair, completely blindsided by this turn of events. What the hell is happening? This wasn't what we discussed.
"I didn't…" Lana starts, her voice small and confused.
"Shut up," Morgan snaps, her heels clicking sharply as she moves. "You had your chance to please him, and you failed. Now you just sit there and watch how a real woman takes care of a man."
I pull against my restraints instinctively, uncomfortable with how Morgan is speaking to Lana. This feels wrong.
"Morgan," I start to protest.
"Silence," Morgan hisses, cutting me off with a sharp gesture. "Did I give you permission to speak, slave?"
The darkness of the mask is disorienting, leaving me adrift in a void where sound and touch are my only anchors.
"Your pathetic little wife sits over there, all prim and proper," Morgan continues, her voice projecting across the room. "She doesn't understand what a man like you needs."
I hear Lana make a small sound of protest that's quickly silenced.
Suddenly, Morgan's presence looms directly in front of me. The leather of her outfit creaks as she straddles my lap, her thighs gripping my sides with surprising strength. I gasp as she guides my cock inside her, sinking down until I'm fully sheathed within her.
"Don't worry," she whispers directly against the leather encasing my ear. "It's all part of the script. You didn't need one. Just sit there and look pretty. This is exactly how it's supposed to go."
Before I can process her words, she's already shifting gears, her voice rising to theatrical levels again as she begins to ride me with slow, deliberate movements.
"Fuck, I wish you could see how wet I am for you," Morgan growls, grinding her hips in a circular motion that makes me gasp. "Your wife never gets this wet, does she? Never drips down your balls like I am right now."
The slick heat of her pussy envelops me completely, her inner muscles clenching around my cock with expert control. Each time she rises and falls on my lap, I can hear the wet sounds of her arousal, amplified in the studio's perfect acoustics.
"Oh god," I mutter, overwhelmed by the physical sensation even as my mind races with confusion and guilt.
"That's right, feel how fucking tight I am," Morgan hisses, increasing her pace. She grabs my hair through the mask, yanking my head back as she rides me harder. "Tell me it's better than your wife's loose cunt."
I can't see Lana through the mask, but I can feel her presence, watching as another woman fucks me. The realization crashes over me like a wave, I'm actually cheating on Lana. Right here, right now, with her full knowledge and permission. Even with all that the guilt is crushing, a physical weight on my chest even as pleasure builds at the base of my spine.
"I can't…" I start to protest.
Morgan's mouth finds the opening in my mask, her lips crushing against mine in a hungry, demanding kiss that steals the words from my throat. Her tongue invades my mouth, claiming me completely as her hips never stop their relentless rhythm. The kiss is nothing like Lana's. It's possessive, aggressive, and consuming. It feels real in a way that terrifies me, like she's marking me as her territory.
I moan involuntarily into her mouth, my body betraying me as her pussy grips my cock like a velvet vise, impossibly tight and slick. The scent of her arousal fills my nostrils, distinct and intoxicating.
"You're mine now," she whispers against my lips, her words barely audible. "Say it."
"No," I gasp, turning my head away from her kiss.
—
Lana's point of view
I sit frozen on the stupid 'cuck chair' they've positioned for me, my fingers digging into the cheap upholstery until my knuckles turn white. The studio lights are hot against my skin, but I feel cold inside, watching Morgan ride my boyfriend with an intensity I've never seen from her before.
This isn't the Morgan I know. The Morgan I've worked with for years has always been efficient, almost robotic on set, going through the motions with technical precision but dead eyes. She's past her prime being in her mid thirties, but still. I've never seen her genuinely aroused during a scene. Not once in our our few years of working together.
But now... God, she's transformed. Her skin is flushed, her movements fluid and passionate rather than the calculated performance I expected. When she kisses Adam through that mask, I can see the hunger in her body language, the way she grips the back of his neck, the trembling in her thighs.
I swallow hard, my throat tight with unexpected emotion. I'd been prepared for jealousy, for discomfort. I'm not an idiot. But this visceral pain tearing through me is something else entirely. I agreed with her because I figured it'd just be her phoning it in like usual. But this, it's not just that she's fucking my boyfriend, it's that she's fucking him like she means it.
"Tell her you don't need her anymore," Morgan commands Adam, her voice husky with genuine pleasure. "Tell her I'm better."
I clench my fists so tight my nails dig into my palms. This isn't right. I should have read the script more carefully instead of just skimming and saying it was fine.
Adam's moans sound nothing like when we're together. With me, he's gentle, his sounds soft and intimate. Now he's practically growling, his hips straining against the restraints as Morgan rides him. I've never heard him be so raw and primal.
But I've always been careful with him, deliberately holding back. I never wanted him to feel like he was just another scene partner, never wanted to bring my work persona into our bedroom. I've always touched him with tenderness, keeping my professional life separate.
Morgan leans in close to Adam's ear, whispering something the microphones don't capture. Her lips curl into a vicious smile as she pulls back.
"Tell her my cunt is better, or I'll stop fucking you," she demands loudly, her voice carrying across the set.
My stomach drops.
Adam hesitates, his body tensing beneath her. I try to will him to use the safe word, to end this.
"Your cunt is better," he finally says, his voice strained.
The words hit me like a physical blow. I know it's fake, I know he's just saying what she wants to hear, but the conviction in his voice, it doesn't sound forced. It sounds like a confession.
Is this his revenge? For Leo? For all the scenes I've done? Is he punishing me for the jealousy I've made him feel?
My vision blurs as tears threaten. This was supposed to help us understand each other better, bridge the gap between us. Instead, it's revealing chasms I didn't know existed.
"Say it again," Morgan demands, grinding down on him harder. "Tell her how much better I feel."
"You feel so much better," Adam gasps, his head thrown back against the chair.
Something snaps inside me. A dark, possessive fury rises like a tidal wave, washing away my hurt and replacing it with cold, calculating rage.
Who does she think she is? Adam is MINE.
I've loved him since high school. I give him everything a man could ever dream of. I engineered our 'chance' meeting, orchestrated our reunion, built this entire life around him, and this red-headed bitch thinks she can just take him?
My nails dig so deeply into my palms I feel warm wetness, blood. Good. The pain grounds me, clears my mind.
"Tell her you don't need her anymore," Morgan commands, her voice dripping with satisfaction.
Adam hesitates. "I... I don't need you anymore."
I force myself to remain seated, to keep my face neutral despite the storm raging inside me. The cameraman pans to capture my reaction, my humiliation, and I give him exactly what the script calls for. Tears streaming down my face, lower lip trembling.
But behind my eyes, I'm plotting.
I know what I need to do now. I've been too gentle, too accommodating with Adam. I thought protecting him from the harsher realities of my industry was kindness. Now I see it was weakness.
Morgan throws her head back in ecstasy, her red hair cascading down her back as she rides my boyfriend harder. "He's mine now," she announces to the room, to the camera, to me. "He's always been meant for me."
I sit perfectly still, letting the tears flow freely while something cold and hard crystallizes in my chest. The shoot with Leo is in a few days. I've been dreading it, knowing how much it'll hurt Adam for me to work with an ex.
But now... now I see opportunity.
As Morgan's movements become more frantic as Adam's breathing grows ragged, I make my decision. I'll request something special, a visitor's pass for Adam.
"I want you to see what I do," I'll tell him tonight when we're alone. "Since I've seen you now. It's only fair."
I'll frame it as reciprocity, as mutual understanding. I'll make him believe it's for us, for our relationship.
And Leo, that manipulative, well-endowed bastard who thinks he still has some claim on me, he'll be perfect. I already know exactly how to play this. The lingering touches, the inside jokes, the chemistry we manufacture for the camera. I'll make it look real. I'll make Adam feel what I'm feeling right now.
I watch as Morgan's movements become more frenzied on top of Adam. Her back arches dramatically, those perfect tits bouncing with each thrust. The wet, obscene sounds of her pussy taking my boyfriend's cock fill the studio.
"Fuck, his cock feels so good inside me," she moans, her voice carrying across the set with theatrical volume. "So much thicker than I expected."
My teeth grind together at the blatant lie. Adam's cock is perfectly average, we both know that, but the way she's performing, you'd think he was hung like the industry's top male stars. The cameraman shifts position, capturing a close-up of where they're joined, Adam's glistening shaft disappearing into her with each downward stroke.
Morgan's hand snakes around to the back of Adam's head, gripping the leather mask as she rides him harder. "You're going to cum for me," she commands, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "You're going to fill my cunt while your pathetic little wife watches."
Adam's body tenses beneath her, his muscles straining against the restraints. "I'm close," he gasps, the words barely audible through the mask's mouth opening.
"Beg me," Morgan demands, slowing her movements to a torturous pace. "Beg me to let you cum inside me."
I dig my nails even deeper into my palms as I watch this woman dominate my boyfriend completely.
"Please," Adam groans, his hips bucking upward desperately. "Please let me cum inside you."
Morgan laughs, the sound cruel and victorious. "Louder," she commands, grinding down on him in slow circles. "I want her to hear you."
"Please let me cum inside you!" Adam practically shouts, his voice cracking with desperation.
A vicious smile spreads across Morgan's face as she looks directly at me, her green eyes locking with mine as she increases her pace again. "Give it to me," she hisses, riding him with renewed vigor. "Every. Fucking. Drop."
Adam's body goes rigid beneath her, a primal groan tearing from his throat as he climaxes. Morgan throws her head back, her theatrical moans filling the studio as her body shudders in what appears to be genuine pleasure.
Morgan's eyes never leave mine as Adam finishes inside her, her expression filled with bliss.
"And cut!" The director's voice breaks the spell. "Fantastic work, everyone. That was perfect."