Selena awaits Arlo in the dark
# Hotel Weekend The hotel suite smelled like stale champagne and new leather. I adjusted the camera on its tripod, the red recording light a tiny, accusing eye in the dimness. Selena stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights pa
Chapter 1
The hotel suite smelled like stale champagne and new leather. I adjusted the camera on its tripod, the red recording light a tiny, accusing eye in the dimness. Selena stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights painting her silhouette in neon. She wore the dress I’d picked—black, barely-there, a second skin over her curves. It hugged her thick ass and the dip of her waist, stopping high on her thighs. Her dark, curly hair was a wild frame for her face. She was chewing her lip, a nervous habit she’d had since we were kids.
“You good, baby?” I asked, my voice rough.
She turned, her eyes wide and dark. “He’s really coming up?”
“He’s in the elevator,” I said, checking my phone. A text from Arlo: *Be there in 2. Got a present for that esposa.*
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. Months of fantasy, of whispered confessions in the dark, of her showing me pictures of latino men and thick, dark cocks on her phone while I worshipped her pretty feet. Now it was real.
A sharp knock at the door.
Selena jumped. I just
Chapter 2
I opened the door, and Arlo filled the frame. Taller than me, covered in black ink that snaked up his thick arms and neck. His eyes didn’t even glance at me. They locked onto Selena across the room. He held up a small velvet box. “For you, mamita.”
He walked past me like I was furniture, the scent of his cologne and cigars cutting through the champagne air. Selena stayed by the window, frozen. Her chest rose and fell fast. Arlo stopped in front of her, opened the box. A delicate gold ankle bracelet gleamed inside. “So I know what’s mine,” he growled, his voice low and rough.
Before she could react, his hands were on her. He spun her around and shoved her against the cold window, his big body caging her. My camera was rolling, the red light steady. I zoomed in.
“Look at him,” Arlo snarled into her ear, his hips grinding against her ass. I could see the thick outline of his cock, already hard, straining against his jeans, pressing into the back of her slutty dress. “Your husband’s just watching. He likes this. He wants to see me ruin you.”
He nipped her earlobe, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper the mic barely picked up. “I’m gonna breed you right in front of him. Fill this pretty little pussy up so deep you’ll taste me for a week.”
Selena whimpered, a high, desperate sound. Her hands splayed against the glass. “Please…”
“Please what?” His hand fisted in the back of her dress. With a sharp, brutal tear, the flimsy black fabric ripped open from her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. She gasped, the sound shuddering through the room. The dress fell apart, pooling at her waist, leaving her bare back and the perfect, hairless curve of her ass exposed to me, to the camera, to the city lights.
Arlo palmed her ass, squeezing hard. “That’s it. Be his good little slut. Be my good little whore.” He leaned in, biting the side of her neck, making her cry out. “You want this big Latino cock, don’t you? You been dreaming about it.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her body going pliant against the glass. “God, yes.”
I kept filming, my own breath ragged in my throat, capturing every tremor, every tear in the fabric, every broken moan she gave him. My wife. My beautiful, slutty wife. And all I could do was watch, and worship her for it.
Chapter 3
I kept filming, zooming in as Arlo’s hands slid over my wife’s bare skin. He didn’t bother removing the rest of her dress. He just unzipped his jeans, the heavy sound loud in the quiet room. He pressed himself against her, his thick, dark cock sliding between the cheeks of her exposed ass. She gasped, her forehead thumping softly against the cool windowpane. He was slick with her wetness already, the head of his cock glistening as it pressed against her tight pussy.
He didn’t ask. He just drove his hips forward.
Selena cried out, a sharp, broken sound. Her body bowed, taking him in, her hands scrambling against the glass for purchase. Arlo groaned, a deep, possessive rumble. “Fuck, mamita. So tight. So fucking perfect.”
I watched through the lens as he began to fuck her, hard and deep, each thrust slamming her soft body into the window. His tattooed hands gripped her hips, his nails digging into her dark skin. The city lights blurred behind them. He owned her, every inch, his huge Latino cock stretching her open in a way I never could.
“Look at the camera,” Arlo growled, his breath hot on her neck. “Let your husband see.”
Selena’s head lolled to the side. Her tear-filled eyes found my lens. She was wrecked, used, beautiful. Her lips trembled.
“I want him to breed me,” she whispered, the tiny mic picking up every desperate syllable. Her voice was raw, shattered with need. “I’m off the pill. I want him to put a baby in me.”
My world stopped. The camera shook in my hands. Every fantasy, every whispered confession—it crashed into a terrifying, permanent reality. My heart hammered a frantic, sick rhythm against my ribs. She’d stopped without telling me. This wasn’t just a game anymore.
Arlo’s thrusts became even more brutal, possessive. “You hear that, papi?” he snarled, never slowing his pace. “Your wife wants my seed. She wants my kid in her belly.” He punctuated each word with a punishing drive of his hips. “You gonna let me fill her up? Let me knock up your slut?”
I couldn’t speak. My throat was locked tight. All I could do was nod, my eyes glued to the viewfinder, capturing the moment my life changed forever. I kept filming as Arlo buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering against hers, claiming her, breeding her right there against the window for me and the whole city to see.
Chapter 4
Arlo’s thrusts were brutal and final, each one hammering her deeper into the glass. He was breeding her, claiming her in the most permanent way. Selena’s body was limp with surrender, her cheek pressed against the cool window.
Then her eyes, glazed and tear-streaked, slowly focused past Arlo’s shoulder. They locked onto the red light of my camera, finding my gaze through the lens. Her swollen lips parted.
“J…” she gasped, her voice breaking with each of Arlo’s deep, driving impacts. “Baby… I… I have to tell you.”
Arlo chuckled darkly, his hips never slowing. “Tell him, mamita. Tell your husband what a good little whore you’ve been.”
“We… we didn’t just talk online,” she confessed, the words tumbling out between ragged moans. “I’ve been seeing him… for weeks. After work. Hotel rooms. His car.”
My blood turned to ice in my veins. The camera was the only thing holding me up.
“And last week…” she cried out, a sharp sound as Arlo filled her to the hilt, grinding deep. “I missed my period. I took a test.” Her voice dropped to a shattered, triumphant whisper only the sensitive mic could catch. “I’m already pregnant, J. It’s his. It’s Arlo’s.”
The world shattered. The fantasy cracked open, revealing the raw, ugly, beautiful truth beneath. This wasn’t a game. This was her reality.
Arlo roared with possessive victory, his pace turning animalistic. “You hear that, papi? My seed’s already growing in your slut wife’s belly! This weekend?” He snarled, pulling her hair to force her to look at me. “This was her idea. Her way of making it official. She wanted you to watch while I finished what I started. While I showed her who she belongs to.”
Selena sobbed, a sound of pure, unadulterated submission. “I’m yours, Arlo,” she wailed, her body convulsing around his cock. “Breed me more. Make it deeper. I want your baby… I want everyone to see…”
Her confession was the final key, twisting in the lock of my soul. She wasn’t just being bred tonight. She was being reclaimed, consecrated as his property right in front of me, her cuckold husband, forced to bear witness to the ultimate victory of Latino dominance over every part of her life.
Chapter 5
Arlo grunted, a feral sound of pure triumph, and slammed her face-first into the glass. Her cheek smeared against the window, her breath fogging the city lights as he drove into her with raw, pounding force. “Take it, you fucking Latina whore,” he snarled, his hips a brutal piston. “Take this breeding seed deep in that brown pussy. My baby’s already in there, and I’m gonna feed it.” His voice was a filthy, possessive growl against her ear. “This is what you were made for, mamita. A brown slut made for a real man’s cock.”
Through the viewfinder, I saw it all. My wife, her body jarred with every impact, her eyes rolled back in surrender. I saw the moment his rhythm shattered, his body locking against hers. A raw, guttural roar ripped from his chest as he emptied himself inside her, his cock pulsing deep, flooding her with everything he had.
Then he pulled out.
My lens held steady, zooming in on the glistening, ruined aftermath. Her pussy, my wife’s beautiful pussy, was gaping open, slack and used. A thick, pearlescent stream of his cum began to seep out immediately, tracing a hot path down the inside of her trembling thigh. It pooled against her skin, a blatant, dripping claim.
Arlo stepped back, tucking his still-dripping cock away, his eyes on me. “Get a good shot, papi? That’s what a real man leaves in a slut.”
Selena slid down the glass, a boneless heap on the floor, her back against the window. Her legs were splayed, the evidence of her betrayal openly on display. She looked at the mess between her legs, then at my camera, a tear cutting through her smudged makeup. Her hand trembled as she brought her fingers to her swollen lips, tasting him. A broken, blissful smile touched her mouth.
I lowered the camera. The red light blinked off. The only sounds were our ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city far below, witnesses to the complete and total end of our old life.
Chapter 6
The silence was thick, a physical weight pressing down on the leather and glass of the suite. Arlo’s cum was still trickling down Selena’s thigh. She looked from the mess on her skin to my face, her dark eyes glazed with a satisfaction so deep it bordered on triumph.
“Baby,” she said, her voice hoarse from screaming. She pushed herself up from the floor, her movements fluid, owning the space. She didn’t bother to wipe herself. She walked toward me, each step a deliberate sway of her hips, the evidence of Arlo’s claim glistening in the low light. She stopped inches from me, the scent of sex and sweat and him overwhelming.
“I made some calls,” she whispered, her hand coming up to my cheek. It was a tender gesture, utterly at odds with the devastation in the room. “While you were at work yesterday. Arlo’s lease is up. He’s moving into the guest room next week.”
The words didn’t compute. I just stared at her, the camera hanging uselessly from my hand. “The… guest room?”
“Our guest room, J,” she said, as if explaining something simple to a child. Her fingers trailed down to my collar. “He’s my full-time bull now. This isn’t just a weekend thing anymore.” She glanced over her shoulder at Arlo, who was leaning against the window frame, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched us. “This is our permanent lifestyle. You film. He fucks me. You worship me. He breeds me.”
As if on cue, Arlo pushed off the wall. He came up behind her, his hands circling her waist, pulling her back against his bare chest. His huge, still-wet cock pressed against the small of her back. He looked directly into my eyes as his hands slid down, cupping her ass, spreading her open.
“You heard your wife, papi,” Arlo growled. “This brown pussy’s got a permanent owner now. Your job is to record the receipts.”
He guided her, turning her to face the camera I was still clutching. He bent her over the arm of the plush sofa, her fat ass high in the air, presented. Her gaping hole, red and used and slick with his last load, was a blatant, obscene bullseye. He spat into his palm, slicked himself, and without any preamble, drove his thick, Latino cock back into her.
Selena’s back arched, a sharp, broken moan tearing from her throat. “Fuck! Yes! *Mi toro*!” Her hands clawed at the sofa cushions as he began to pound, each thrust stretching her open wider, the wet, slapping sounds obscenely loud. She turned her head, her cheek against the leather, her eyes finding the lens. “You see that, J? You see how he fits? This… this is home now.”
I raised the camera, my hands shaking. The red light glowed. Through the viewfinder, I watched my wife being reshaped, claimed all over again, moaning about our new forever as another man’s monstrous cock pistoned into her ruined depths. The fantasy had crystallized into a cold, inescapable reality, and I was forever on the other side of the lens.
Chapter 7
The brutal, steady pounding against the sofa ceased. Arlo pulled his slick, dark cock out of Selena with a wet pop, leaving her gasping and empty. He kept one hand firmly planted on the small of her back, holding her in place.
“Up,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble.
He hauled her upright by her hair, turning her to face the wall beside the window. The city lights cast their tangled shadow against it. Before she could catch her breath, he spun her, pinning her shoulders against the cool glass. He hooked his hands under her thigh, hiking her leg high over his shoulder, spreading her open against the vertical plane.
I fumbled with the camera, zooming in. The angle was obscene. Her used, glistening pussy was stretched wide, a dark, wet flower presented to the lens. Arlo positioned himself, the broad, purple head of his cock nudging her entrance. He looked over his shoulder, right at me, a brutal challenge in his eyes.
Then he drove forward.
Selena’s mouth fell open in a silent scream as he buried himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Her back arched, her head thumping against the glass. He didn’t wait. He set a punishing, deep rhythm, fucking her standing up, each thrust lifting her slightly off the floor, his hips slapping against her ass with a sound like a beating drum. The sheer power of it, the visual of her small, curvy body taking all of him, made my own cock ache.
He leaned in, his mouth at her ear, his words a vicious, possessive growl meant for me to hear. “You’re going to take all of this Latino seed deep in your Latina pussy, and your husband’s going to film how your womb gets filled.”
His thrusts became shorter, harder, a focused piston aimed at her deepest point. Selena’s cries turned into guttural, sobbing moans. “Yes! *Dámelo!* Fill me!” she chanted, her eyes rolling back, completely lost in the raw claiming. One of her hands slapped against the glass for purchase; the other reached back, her fingers digging into the thick, tattooed muscle of Arlo’s thigh, holding him inside her as he wrecked her.
Through the viewfinder, I watched the impossible stretch, the way her tight, hairless body deformed around his girth with every inward surge. My role was crystallized: chronicler of my own obsolescence. The red light was my only purpose.
Chapter 8
Arlo pulled out, a thick strand of his come connecting them before it snapped and dripped down Selena’s thigh. He patted her ass, a wet slap that echoed in the silent suite.
“You’re a good fucking whore,” he said to her, his voice still rough. Then he turned to me, his dark eyes predatory. “She’s got one more surprise for you, papi. Show him, baby.”
Selena, still panting against the glass, turned her head. Her eyes found mine through the viewfinder. A broken, triumphant smile touched her lips. Her hand trembled as she reached for her phone, discarded on the floor near the ruined sofa. She swiped the screen, the light illuminating her flushed face.
“While you were… busy filming, J,” she said, her voice hoarse but clear, “I was texting.”
She held up the phone. The screen showed a group chat. The name at the top was “Arlo’s Crew.”
My blood froze.
She scrolled, reading aloud, her voice gaining strength, a performance just for me. “‘Welcome to the family,’ Arlo texted them after he finished. And I wrote back…” She cleared her throat, a slutty pride in her eyes. “I wrote, ‘Don’t just welcome him. Come welcome me. I need to be broken in properly for my new bull.’” She looked past the camera, directly at me. “They’re on their way up. Three of them. Right now.”
Arlo laughed, a low, cruel sound. He zipped his jeans, his work done for now. “A little welcoming committee for my new home. You get to film the whole housewarming, cameraman.”
A frantic, triple-knock hammered at the suite door.
Selena pushed herself off the glass. She walked, swaying slightly on her thick, gorgeous legs, the glistening evidence of Arlo’s claim slick on her inner thighs. She didn’t cover herself. She went to the door and opened it.
Three men filled the doorway. Latino, tall, built. They looked past her, their eyes immediately finding Arlo, then landing on me with the camera. Their expressions were hungry, amused.
“This her?” one asked, his gaze raking over Selena’s naked, used body.
“This is her,” Arlo confirmed, crossing his arms. “My woman. And his wife.” He jerked a thumb at me. “He’s documenting. Make it good.”
The first man, with a shaved head and a gold chain, stepped in. He cupped Selena’s face, his thumb brushing her swollen lips. “Heard you like big cock, mami.”
Selena didn’t speak. She just nodded, her eyes glazing over with a submissive high. She dropped to her knees right there in the doorway, her pretty face level with his belt. Her hands went to his buckle.
I fumbled, but the camera stayed rolling. The red light was a burning coal in my hand. This was the fantasy I’d whispered to her in the dark, the one she’d shown me on her phone. It was here, now, raw and unfiltered. And my only role was to watch it happen through a lens.
The man with the chain buried his thick fingers in her black curls, guiding her head forward as she took him into her mouth. The other two men filed in, closing the door behind them. They circled her like sharks, their hands on her shoulders, sliding down to squeeze her fat, marked ass.
Arlo leaned against the window, watching me watch them. “Get a close-up, J,” he growled. “Show how good your Latina wife sucks a real man’s cock.”
Chapter 9
The man with the gold chain fucked Selena’s mouth with slow, brutal thrusts. Her cheeks hollowed, her throat working around his girth. The other two men crowded around, their hands all over her—palming her fat tits, pinching her nipples, spreading her slick, used pussy open from behind.
The friend on the left, a broad-shouldered man with a spiderweb tattoo on his neck, looked up from watching her. His eyes narrowed, then widened with recognition. He stared straight at me, the red light of the camera reflecting in his pupils.
“Hold up,” he said, his voice cutting through the wet sounds of Selena’s sucking. He tapped his friend’s arm. “Yo. I know this guy.”
The man in her mouth paused, his hands still tangled in her hair. Selena whimpered, her eyes rolling back, desperate for him to continue.
Spiderweb pointed a thick finger at me. “The Luxe Lounge. Last fall. You were there with some blonde, trying to watch in the voyeur room. You kept filming, asking if you could join. Real polite and shit.” He smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. “Your little Latina wife here wasn’t with you that night, was she?”
My blood turned to ice. The camera shook in my hands.
Arlo laughed from his spot by the window. “Nah, ese. She was with me.”
Spiderweb’s smirk widened. He looked down at Selena, who was still bobbing her head, lost in her task. “That’s right. I remember now. Saw you two sneaking out the back door after closing. You had her bent over your trunk in the parking garage.” He leaned down, his voice a low, taunting rumble meant for me to hear. “That was months ago, mami. You been taking my boy’s dick for months, haven’t you? This whole ‘weekend’ shit is just for show.”
Selena moaned around the cock in her mouth, a high, slutty sound of confirmation. She didn’t stop. She sucked harder, taking him deeper, as if the truth was just another form of worship.
The betrayal wasn’t a new knife. It was an old one, finally twisted, tearing through the last of my denial. The online chats, the “first-time” meeting—all of it was a carefully staged performance for the cuckold camera. She’d already been his.
“She’s a greedy little bitch,” Arlo said, pushing off the window. He walked over, his own huge cock still glistening and half-hard. He gripped Selena’s chin, pulling her off the other man’s dick with a wet pop. Strings of saliva and pre-come connected her swollen lips to the tip. “Aren’t you, baby? You couldn’t wait for the official date. Had to come get your fix.”
Selena panted, her eyes glazed. “I needed it,” she slurred, the words thick. “I needed you to wreck me. I needed to know what it felt like to be yours for real.”
Arlo nodded to Spiderweb. “She’s all broken in. But she’s still hungry. Show my boy here what a real gangbang looks like. He wants to film his wife getting what she deserves.”
Spiderweb didn’t hesitate. He unbuckled his own jeans, freeing a thick, dark cock. He grabbed Selena by her wild hair and forced her head toward his groin. “Open up, puta. You’re gonna take two at once. Show your husband how a real slut swallows.”
The man with the chain grabbed the back of her head, guiding himself back into her mouth from the front. Spiderweb positioned himself behind her, the head of his cock pressing against her tight, glistening asshole.
I watched, the lens capturing every detail: the strain in her throat, the tears of effort and bliss in her eyes, the way her body trembled as she was filled from both ends. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore. It was an archive of my own annihilation, and my only purpose was to hold the camera steady.
Chapter 10
Spiderweb’s brutal pace was driving deep into Selena’s ass, her small body shuddering with each thrust. He looked straight at the camera’s red eye, his breath coming in harsh grunts. “You remember that spring in Phoenix, J?”
The use of my name, so casual, so knowing, froze the air in my lungs.
“Back when she danced at the Mirage,” he continued, his hips never slowing. “She was mine before you ever paid for a drink. Dated her for a whole year.” He laughed, a cruel, wet sound. “She came back to town, looked me up a few months ago. Started texting. Sent me a picture of your pale, limp dick next to a ruler. Said she missed a real fucking man.”
The words were physical blows. Selena’s eyes rolled back, a strangled sob of pleasure and shame caught in her throat around the other cock.
“She wasn’t lying, man,” Spiderweb grunted, his rhythm turning punishing. “Her exact words were… shit… ‘I need a brown cock to wreck this pussy the way it remembers.’ She said your little white boy dick could never reach what she needed.”
Arlo clapped his hands, howling with laughter. “That’s my girl! Always keeping it real!”
The man at her mouth pulled out, letting her gasp for air. Strings of spit and pre-come dripped from her chin onto her tits. “Tell him, Selena,” Spiderweb demanded, yanking her head back by her hair. “Tell your husband what you texted me about his tiny fucking cock.”
Selena’s voice was a broken, slutty whisper, raw from abuse. “I said… I said I needed to feel a man who could fill me up… who could breed me right.” She moaned, her body convulsing as Spiderweb hammered her asshole. “I said his dick was a joke… a little joke… after feeling you… after feeling Arlo… God, please!”
The confession, ripped from her in the middle of her violation, was the final demolition. My fantasy wasn’t just stolen; it had never existed. I was the punchline, filming my own punchline.
Spiderweb’s thrusts became erratic, animalistic. “This ass is still mine, puta! You’ve been dreaming of this!”
I kept the camera steady, zooming in on her face, on the tears cutting through her sweat and smeared makeup, on the blissful, broken smile she wore as her ex-boyfriend reclaimed a part of her I never even knew existed. The red light blinked, an eternal witness.
Chapter 11
The hotel bar was sleek and dimly lit, the clink of glasses and low hum of conversation a stark contrast to the violence of the suite upstairs. Selena walked between Arlo and Spiderweb, her steps unsteady. She’d thrown on a short, tight black dress that did nothing to hide the fresh bite marks on her neck or the shaken look in her eyes. I trailed behind, the camera bag a heavy anchor over my shoulder.
Arlo chose a large, circular booth in the center of the room. He slid in first, then pulled Selena down onto his lap. Spiderweb and the other guy, Rico, took the opposite side, leaving me to hover at the edge.
“Sit the fuck down, J,” Arlo said, not looking at me. “You’re blocking the view.”
I slid in beside Rico, feeling every stare from the surrounding tables. A well-dressed couple a few booths over was watching, the woman’s eyes wide.
Arlo’s hand disappeared under Selena’s dress. She gasped, her back arching against him. “You hungry, mami?” he asked, his voice loud enough to carry.
“Yes, Arlo,” she whispered.
“Not for food,” he laughed, squeezing her thigh. “You’re hungry for what you just got. Aren’t you? Tell the nice people.”
Selena’s face flushed a deep red. She looked at me, a flicker of shame, then buried it. “I’m hungry for my man’s cock,” she said, her voice trembling but clear.
Arlo grinned, nodding at a passing waiter who pretended not to hear. “See that?” he announced, his eyes locking on mine. “That’s a real woman. Knows what she’s for. Her *husband* over there…” He jerked a thumb at me. “He just films it. Pays for the hotel. That’s his job. Right, J?”
My throat was sandpaper. I managed a nod.
“Louder,” Spiderweb sneered.
“Right,” I croaked.
Arlo shifted Selena on his lap, making her grind down. “Prove it, baby. Show everyone who you belong to.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she moved, a slow, obvious roll of her hips against the hard line of his cock still trapped in his jeans. A low moan escaped her lips.
“Good girl,” Arlo purred, his hand moving higher. “Now, since your husband’s buying, I want a drink. Get on your knees and ask for it properly.”
He pushed her off his lap. Selena slid to the floor between the booth and the table, hidden from the waiter’s view but fully visible to the surrounding patrons. She knelt on the carpet, her hands on his knees, and looked up at him.
“Please, Arlo,” she said, her voice a slutty whisper. “Can I have your cock in my mouth?”
“You can have whatever I give you,” he said, unbuckling his belt. He didn’t pull it out, just let the implication hang in the air, a public promise. “But first, kiss my shoes. Thank them for letting you kneel.”
Without hesitation, Selena bent forward, her dark curls brushing the floor. She pressed her lips to the toe of his black boot, once, twice. A choked sob hitched in her chest, but she did it.
Arlo looked over her head, directly at me, his smile a blade. “You see this, husband? This is worship. This is what you married. And she’s *mine*.”
I saw everything. The couple staring in open shock. The bartender looking away. The glorious, humiliated submission on my wife’s face as she knelt at another man’s feet in a crowded bar, proving his ownership for the world to see. The fantasy was ashes. All that remained was this brutal, explicit truth, and my role was to sit there and finance it.
Chapter 12
Selena’s jaw dropped, Arlo’s fingers curling in her hair, keeping her mouth locked against his. Spiderweb, across the table, had his phone out. A bright, garish photo filled the screen. A younger Selena, maybe nineteen, her dark curls wild, her face twisted in pleasure. She was on her knees in what looked like a dorm room, a thick, dark cock sliding between her parted lips. The man holding her head wasn’t Spiderweb. It was Rico, the quiet one sitting next to me now.
“Remember this, baby?” Spiderweb said, his voice a low, venomous drawl. He swiped. Another photo. Selena on a bed, naked, her legs spread wide, Rico’s face buried between her thick thighs. “You used to scream his name. Still do, from what Arlo tells me.”
My blood turned to ice. I couldn’t look away.
Arlo finally broke the kiss, saliva stringing between their lips. “Tell him, mami. Tell your husband who Rico is.”
Selena’s eyes, glazed with lust and shame, found mine. “He… he was my boyfriend. At UC Santa Barbara.” Her voice was a broken whisper. “My first.”
“First what?” Arlo demanded, his hand tightening in her hair.
“My first… everything.” A tear tracked through her smeared mascara. “My first black cock. My first gangbang.” She moaned the words, her body writhing on Arlo’s lap as if the confession turned her on.
Rico finally spoke, his voice calm, devastating. “We never really broke up, J. Just… paused. When she moved here, met you.” He leaned toward me, his scent of weed and expensive cologne filling the space between us. “She’d come see me every few months. Tell you it was a girls’ trip. A work conference.” He pulled out his own phone, swiped to a video, and hit play.
The sound was low, but I heard it. Selena’s high, frantic pleas. *“Fuck me, Rico! Fuck your slut!”* The camera showed a hotel room—not this one, but similar. Her wedding band flashed on her finger as she clutched at the sheets, his dark hips pistoning between her thick, spread legs.
“That was our anniversary weekend,” Rico said, taking the phone back. “You took her to Napa. She left after dinner. Spent the night with me. Came back to you smelling of my soap.”
The world collapsed into a single, searing point of humiliation. Every date night. Every “business trip.” Every time she’d come home distant, smelling of strange showers, and I’d worshipped her pretty feet, praised her for being my adventurous girl.
Arlo laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. “You thought this weekend was the start? This was the victory lap, pendejo. She’s been ours for years. You just paid the bills.”
Selena was crying now, but her hips were grinding in a frantic circle on Arlo’s lap. “I’m sorry, J,” she sobbed, but it was a lie. Her eyes were on Rico. “I needed it… I needed to be a slut for a real man. I’ve always needed it.”
Spiderweb slid his phone across the table to me. A gallery of images. Selena with Rico. Selena with other men. Selena in a car, her mouth stretched wide. My wife. A stranger. A whore for years, right under my nose.
Arlo shifted, unzipping his jeans under the table. “Show Rico you remember, baby. Show him his slut’s still here.”
He pushed her off his lap. Selena knelt on the floor again, but this time she turned to Rico, her hands going to his belt. She fumbled it open, her tears dripping onto his thigh. Then she took his thick, dark cock into her mouth, her eyes closed, a broken, blissful smile on her lips as she began to suck.
Arlo looked at me, his grin feral. “Film this, husband. This is your real wedding video.”
Chapter 13
The hotel bar was a low-lit cave of polished oak and hushed voices. Selena sat on a stool between Arlo and Rico, her back to me. My phone was heavy in my hand, the camera app open, a silent command I couldn’t disobey. Arlo had ordered a round of top-shelf tequila. “For my girl,” he’d said, his hand high on Selena’s bare thigh, his fingers brushing the hem of her tiny dress.
She threw back the shot, wincing slightly, then turned to face the room. Her eyes found mine across the space. A slow, dazzling smile spread across her lips—the same smile she’d given me at our wedding reception. But now it was a weapon.
“J, baby,” she called out, her voice sweet and carrying. A few patrons glanced over. “Can you come here for a second?”
My feet moved on their own. I stopped beside her stool, the camera held limply at my side.
Selena hooked a finger in my belt loop, pulling me closer. Her breath smelled of lime and expensive liquor. “Arlo was just telling me how much he loves the way I taste,” she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper meant to be overheard. She looked up at me, her smile never wavering. “Isn’t that sweet? He says I’m the sweetest little cocksucker he’s ever had.”
My face burned. Rico chuckled, sipping his drink.
“But you know that, don’t you, honey?” she continued, her hand patting my chest. “You’ve always said I have a talented mouth. You used to beg to watch me suck on a popsicle, remember? Said you loved seeing my cheeks hollow.” She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “Turns out you just wanted to see me suck *real* dick. You just didn’t have the balls to ask for it.”
Arlo’s laugh was a sharp crack in the quiet bar. He slid a hand around Selena’s waist, his thumb dipping beneath her dress to stroke the bare skin of her hip. “Your wife’s a fucking poet, man.”
Selena kept her eyes locked on mine, that beautiful, humiliating smile still in place. “Get the camera up, J. I want you to get a good shot of this.” Without breaking our gaze, her hand drifted down, over Arlo’s lap. I saw the movement under the fabric of his jeans, her small fingers working his zipper down beneath the bar. Her smile widened as she felt him, thick and already hard for her.
“She’s smiling ‘cause she’s happy,” Rico murmured to me, not looking away from the spectacle. “She’s finally where she belongs.”
Selena gave a soft, pleased sigh as her hand disappeared under the bar. She bit her lower lip, her eyes fluttering for a second before focusing on me again with terrifying clarity. “Record it, husband. Record your happy wife.”
Chapter 14
I fumbled with my phone, my fingers clumsy and slick with sweat. The red recording light blinked on, a tiny beacon of my humiliation. The bar had grown quieter, a few patrons pretending not to stare while their eyes kept darting to our corner.
Selena’s hand was still moving under the bar, a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her breath hitched, and a low, needy sound escaped her lips. It wasn’t a moan meant for privacy; it was a performance.
“Please, Arlo,” she said, her voice suddenly loud and desperate in the hushed room. “Please, I need it. I need
Chapter 15
I fumbled with my phone, my fingers clumsy and slick with sweat. The red recording light blinked on, a tiny beacon of my humiliation. The bar had grown quieter, a few patrons pretending not to stare while their eyes kept darting to our corner.
Selena’s hand was still moving under the bar, a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her breath hitched, and a low, needy sound escaped her lips. It wasn’t a moan meant for privacy; it was a performance.
“Please, Arlo,” she said, her voice suddenly loud and desperate in the hushed room. “Please, I need it. I need your cock in me. Right here.”
Before Arlo could respond, a new voice cut through the tense air, smooth as oiled leather. “She always needs it. Doesn’t matter who it is.”
We all turned. Rico stood at the edge of our booth, a smirk playing on his lips. He held his phone up, the screen glowing. My blood turned to ice.
“What’s this?” Arlo asked, his hand tightening possessively on Selena’s thigh. She’d gone stiff, her eyes wide with panic.
“Just some home movies,” Rico said, his gaze locking on me. “Thought your husband might appreciate the context. All those late nights at the office, J? She wasn’t doing overtime.”
He tapped his screen. A video started playing, the sound low but unmistakable. It was Selena, younger, her hair wild, on her knees in a dim garage. There were three, four men surrounding her, their cocks hard and thick, slapping against her face. Her mouth was stretched wide, taking one after another, her eyes glazed with pure hunger. The audio crackled with her choked gagging and their laughter.
“That’s from, what, three years ago?” Rico mused, swiping. Another video. Selena bent over a pool table, a line of men waiting their turn. A different man was emptying himself inside her, his grunt loud as he pulled out, a glossy white thread dripping from her used pussy. Another immediately took his place, fucking her raw.
“She called those her ‘breeding nights’,” Rico said, looking directly at Selena. “Told us her husband was too weak to give her what she really wanted. A real family. So she let us try. Over and over.”
Selena was trembling. A tear traced a path through her makeup. “Rico, don’t,” she whispered, but it was a plea with no power.
Arlo snatched the phone from Rico’s hand, his eyes scanning the footage. A dark, furious hunger crossed his face. “You deceitful little slut,” he breathed, not angry, but impressed. “All this time? You’ve been taking loads from strangers for years?”
He grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look at the screen, at her own past self being relentlessly filled. “You told me I was the first to breed you. That was our thing.”
“I… I wanted it to be special with you,” she sobbed, the lie pathetic and transparent.
Rico laughed. “Special? Baby, you’ve had so much seed pumped into you, it’s a miracle you’re not pregnant with triplets right now. Remember the warehouse party? Five of us. You begged for it.”
Arlo’s expression shifted from betrayal to a terrifying, possessive glee. He looked from the videos to Selena’s shaking form, then to me, the camera still recording.
“You filmed this?” Arlo asked me, his voice a dangerous rumble.
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, the phone in my hand feeling like a lead weight.
“Good,” Arlo said. He shoved his own phone back into Rico’s hand. “You’re staying. You’re going to watch me reclaim what’s mine. And you,” he said, pulling Selena roughly from the booth by her hair, making her yelp, “are going to prove you remember how to be a proper gangbang slut. For your husband’s archive.”
Chapter 16
The bar felt suffocating. Arlo kept a vicious grip on Selena’s hair, the other hand already palming her ass over her short dress. Rico gave a lazy salute, gathering his friends. “Later, *puta*,” he called out. They filed out, laughing, leaving us in the charged silence.
Arlo yanked Selena towards the exit. I followed, my camera still recording the floor, a testament to my cowardice. At the bar’s entrance, the young bartender was wiping down the counter, his eyes darting away as we approached.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, a nervous attempt at professionalism.
Arlo stopped, spinning Selena to face the kid. He shoved his hand between her legs from behind, his thick fingers grinding against the thin fabric of her dress. Selena gasped, her back arching.
“Tell him why, baby,” Arlo growled in her ear.
Her voice was a broken, shameless whisper. “We’re going upstairs… so my husband can film while my bull… while he fucks me raw. All weekend.” Arlo’s fingers pressed harder, making her whimper. “He’s going to breed me. Again.”
The bartender’s face flushed crimson. He just nodded, unable to speak.
Arlo laughed, a low, cruel sound. “Good boy.” He pushed Selena forward, through the lobby towards the elevators. His hand never left her pussy, rubbing her through her dress with possessive, rough strokes as we walked. Her steps were unsteady, her body already yielding to his public claim.
In the elevator, he finally released her hair only to tear the front of her dress lower. He pinched and twisted her nipples, making her cry out, her body jolting against the mirrored walls. I stood in the corner, the phone in my hand capturing every second. The red light was the only part of me that felt alive.
The doors opened on our floor. Arlo shoved her into the hallway, following close. “Keys,” he barked at me.
I fumbled them out, opening the suite. He pushed Selena inside, finally removing his hand from between her legs. It was slick, the fabric of her dress darkened with her arousal. He brought his wet fingers to her lips.
“Clean it, slut. Taste how ready you are for me.”
With a broken sob, Selena opened her mouth, her tongue lapping at his fingers, her eyes closed in shameful pleasure. Arlo looked over her head at me, his gaze a command.
“Set the camera up on the dresser. Wide angle. I want you to get every fucking detail.”
I moved like an automaton, setting the phone on its tripod, framing the bed. Arlo walked Selena backwards until her knees hit the mattress. He didn’t bother with the remains of her dress. He just grabbed the hem and ripped it down the middle, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. The fabric fell away, leaving her naked, her hairless body trembling, her pretty feet bare on the carpet.
“On the bed. On your hands and knees,” he ordered, unbuckling his belt. “Show your husband what a used-up gangbang slut looks like when she gets what she really needs.”
Selena scrambled onto the bed, assuming the position, her head hanging low, her fat ass presented high in the air. Arlo freed his huge, latino cock, already thick and angry. He spat into his hand, slicking himself, then placed the blunt, dark head against her exposed, glistening opening.
He didn’t push in. Not yet. He just rubbed it against her, back and forth, coating himself in her wetness, teasing the both of them. Selena let out a desperate, keening wail, pushing her hips back, trying to impale herself.
“Please, Arlo… please, I need it… I need you to fuck your baby back into me…”
He smirked at my lens. “You hear that, J? She wants my baby. Again.” He leaned over her, his mouth near her ear. “After all those other cocks? You think my seed can still find a clean place to take root?”
“Yes,” she begged, sobbing. “Only yours. It’s only ever been yours.”
It was the most beautiful, devastating lie I’d ever heard. And as Arlo finally surged forward, burying every inch of his massive cock into her with one brutal, grunting thrust, making her scream, I knew I would film it all. I would worship her for being this perfect, treacherous slut. And I would let him have her, all weekend long.
Chapter 17
Arlo’s brutal thrusts shook the bedframe, making the camera on the dresser tremble. Selena was sobbing into the duvet, her hands fisting the sheets, her naked ass slamming back to meet him with every savage stroke. The sound of skin on skin was wet, rhythmic, and final.
Arlo leaned over her, his mouth against her ear. “Tell him, slut. Tell your cuck husband what you’re full of.”
“I’m full of you!” she screamed, her voice ragged. “Only you!”
Arlo pulled out of her suddenly, leaving her gaping and empty, dripping his mess onto the white sheets. He flipped her onto her back, her body limp and used. He loomed over her, his huge, wet cock resting against her trembling stomach.
“Not good enough,” he snarled. He reached over to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer. From inside, he pulled out a small, white plastic stick. He held it up to the camera’s unblinking eye. A digital readout was clear in the dim light: **PREGNANT**.
“Found this in her purse when we got back,” Arlo said, his voice a dark laugh. He tossed it onto Selena’s heaving chest. “Show him.”
Tears streamed down Selena’s face. Her hands shook as she picked up the test, holding it up for me to see through the lens. Her expression was pure, shattered shame.
“J…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m… I’m already pregnant. It’s his. It’s been weeks.”
Arlo laughed, a sound of pure victory. He grabbed her ankles, spreading her legs wide, exposing her swollen, used pussy to the camera. “You hear that, cuck? She’s been carrying my baby for weeks. My seed’s already growing inside this gangbang slut’s belly.” He positioned himself at her entrance again, the thick head nudging against her. “Now you get to film me fucking my pregnant slut. Filling her up again. Marking what’s mine.”
He plunged back into her, deeper than before, as if claiming the very womb he’d seeded. Selena’s scream was one of absolute submission, her hands flying to her flat stomach as if she could feel him there, possessively fucking his own creation. I kept filming, my own arousal a sick, violent knot in my gut, worshiping her perfect betrayal.