All Chapters of 50 SHADES OF SINFUL PRESSURE : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The bus slowed for the next stop, but instead of people getting off, five more squeezed on. The crowd surged, crushing me harder against the pole and pinning the stranger’s body even tighter to my back. His chest was solid muscle; I could feel the steady thump of his heart against my shoulder blades. His hand never left me. If anything, the new press of bodies gave him better cover. “Please…” I whispered again, my voice shaky and barely louder than the engine. My fingers were still wrapped around his wrist under my dress, but I wasn’t pushing as hard anymore. “There are people right next to us. Stop.” His low chuckle vibrated against my ear. “They’re all looking the other way, baby. No one knows I’ve got my hand up your little sundress.” His fingers hooked into the soaked crotch of my panties and tugged them roughly to the side. Cool air hit my exposed pussy for half a second before two thick fingers dragged slowly through my slick folds. I gasped sharply, eyes squeezing shut.

text came through while I was folding laundry the next afternoon. My phone buzzed on the dresser and my heart slammed against my ribs before I even read it. Back door’s unlocked. Come get what you need. No greeting. No explanation. Just that one filthy command from Robert. Alex was at the gym, gone for at least two hours, and the house suddenly felt too quiet, too empty. My pussy clenched so hard I had to squeeze my thighs together. I didn’t even think. I grabbed my keys, slipped on a loose sundress with nothing underneath, and drove the three blocks to his place like a woman possessed. I parked in the alley like some cheap whore making a house call. The back door was cracked open exactly like he said. I pushed it quietly and stepped inside, heart hammering, nipples already tight and aching against the thin fabric. Robert was waiting in the living room, sprawled on the big leather couch like he owned the world. He’d changed into black gym shorts and a white tank top that sho

Robert had started texting me every single night. Wear the short black skirt tomorrow. No panties. No bra. If you touch yourself without permission I’ll know. Be a good girl and edge that married pussy until you’re shaking. Then stop. I obeyed every single command like the desperate, cock-drunk whore I’d become. I was constantly wet, constantly on edge. My husband Alex would try to fuck me at night and I’d make excuses or fake headaches because the only thing that satisfied me anymore was his father’s thick cock and filthy mouth. I was falling deeper every day. Sunday dinner was supposed to be normal. Alex’s mom had come over too, along with his younger sister. The whole family around the big dining table, plates of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, everyone laughing and talking like nothing was wrong. I wore exactly what Robert told me to. Tiny black skirt that barely covered my ass when I sat down. No panties. No bra under a thin white blouse. My nipples were tight

It had been almost two months since Alex’s business trip. Two months of me being completely, shamelessly owned by my father-in-law. Robert didn’t even need to text anymore. He just showed up whenever he wanted, and I dropped everything for him. I had become his personal cum-dump — available, eager, and dripping at the slightest command. One afternoon Alex was at work and Robert walked right into our house through the back door like he lived there. I was in the kitchen wearing nothing but an apron. He didn’t say hello. He just grabbed me by the hair, bent me over the counter, and shoved his cock straight into my ass. “Been thinking about this tight hole all morning,” he growled, spitting on where we were joined and fucking me hard and fast. The sound of his hips slapping against my ass echoed through the kitchen. “You’re such a good little whore for Daddy. Always ready. Always wet.” I moaned into the marble countertop, pushing back against him. “Yes, Daddy… use me. My ass i

I never should have let them stay so late. It was supposed to be a casual Friday night — just my husband Mark and four of his old college buddies getting together at our house. Beer, pizza, football on the big screen. Nothing special. I’d made snacks, smiled politely, and stayed out of their way for most of the night. But Mark drank way too much. By midnight he was completely gone — slurring, laughing too loud, then suddenly passing out cold on the couch with his head tilted back and mouth open. The game was still on, but the guys had stopped watching. They were loud, drunk, and restless. There were four of them. Jake — tall, muscular, always cocky. Ryan — the quiet one with the intense stare. Tyler — loud, tattooed, always making dirty jokes. And Marcus — the biggest of them all, deep voice, broad shoulders, and a way of looking at me that made my stomach flip even when I didn’t want it to. I was still in the kitchen cleaning up when Jake walked in. “Mark’s out