All Chapters of 100 SHADES OF LUST: A PACK OF TABOO STORIES : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

I had just hung up with my ex after another humiliating begging session. I needed cash—fast. Majesty Knight was selling a used pair of his socks, the ones he claimed still carried the scent from when he’d peeled them off his petite feet after the gym. I needed them like I needed air. After months of drowning in his content, I understood my place: I existed to fund him, to amuse him when he felt like it, to worship him. He was superior in every way. A god. I was nothing but a pathetic devotee. Owning something that had touched his skin felt sacred—like prayer beads I could press to my face, inhaling the evidence of his superiority. Even the sharp, musky smell of his feet after a workout would be more than I deserved. I had already drained my hidden stash from the last jewelry heist. My ex had laughed and hung up when I made up another weak excuse. Desperate, I pulled out one of the last credit cards that wasn’t completely maxed out and added the socks to my cart with trembling

I pulled into the driveway just after eleven that night, the engine ticking softly as it cooled. A single lamp still glowed in the family room window overlooking the back, while every other light in the house remained dark. My wife usually slipped into bed by ten. The oddity of it pulled me forward. I killed the headlights, eased the car door shut with a quiet click, and let myself inside without a sound.The moment I stepped into the hallway, her moans reached me, low and throaty, rising and falling in a rhythm I knew too well. My stomach tightened. At first I thought she might be sick, but then the deeper, masculine grunts threading through her sounds made everything click into place. She was being fucked.I moved down the dark hallway on silent feet and stopped outside our closed bedroom door. Her cries grew sharper, more desperate, building toward release. Heart hammering, I turned the knob with aching slowness and cracked the door open six inches. My eyes adjusted to the dim

After I finished fucking her ass that afternoon, she sulked in silence for the rest of the day, which suited me perfectly. I figured a divorce was inevitable, so I retrieved my small tape recorder and hid it carefully behind a book on the shelf near my chair. I called her into the living room and settled back comfortably.“When did Larry start fucking you?” I asked.She hesitated before answering in a quiet voice. “It was about a month ago when you were gone for those three days. He came over the first night, got me drunk, and forced himself on me. I was scared to tell you. I thought you might kill him.”I leaned forward slightly. “Exactly what did he do to you?”“He mixed me a really strong drink,” she explained, eyes downcast. “After I drank it, he pushed me down on the couch and tore my clothes off. Then he made me suck his cock until he came in my mouth and forced me to swallow. After that he climbed on top of me and fucked me. I didn’t want to, but he made me cum anyway. He left

When I got home that evening, My wife was already gone. I figured that was the end of it. We had kept separate bank accounts, so the financial side was not a worry. Only one suitcase and some of her clothes seemed to be missing. Good, I thought immediately. Before we got married she had sucked my cock eagerly and let me cum in her mouth, swallowing every drop like she loved it. She had fully understood that was my favorite thing, and every other time we had sex she had done exactly that. Then, barely a month after the wedding, it all started to change. She suddenly complained that my cum no longer tasted good. I even started eating pineapple slices every day because another cock sucker in town, Linda, had told me it would make my cum sweeter. She was practically a regional expert, so I trusted her advice. But it still did not satisfy Cock Sucker. Blowjobs went from happening almost every other time we had sex to a couple of times a week, and eventually down to once a week

I was barely past eighteen when Mom married Jeff. He was younger than her by a good stretch—maybe thirty-three—and easy on the eyes. I never minded him being around. The first year was quiet enough. The only raised voices came late at night from their bedroom. Mom was loud when they fucked. Sometimes it irritated me while I was trying to sleep. Other times it left me restless and wet, lying there with my hand between my legs, picturing myself in her place. I’d had a few boyfriends by then, but nothing serious. Mostly kissing and groping. Real sex only once—on my sixteenth birthday with a guy two years older. He came fast, barely looked at me, and left me wondering what all the noise from Mom’s room was about. Things started going sideways in the second year. Arguments spilled out of the bedroom into the rest of the house. Mom was slipping back into old habits—seeing other men—and Jeff knew it. I stayed out of their way as much as I could. Then one night, right after my eighteenth