I sat fuming in our living room, hating every nationalist fiber of my Kurdish boss who loomed over us at 195cm and 120kg. My wife stood tall beside me, strong and unbowed, her eyes flashing with defiance even as tension crackled. "You think that 20cm cock and your ego make you king here?" she snapped at him with sharp wit. He chuckled, "Because non-Kurds like you obey, and your husband who hates us will watch."
The air thickened with seduction as he stepped closer, his presence dominating yet met by her unyielding stare. "You're already horny for this, aren't you?" she taunted, voice laced with challenge, not submission. He replied, "Admit it, your pussy is wet just thinking of a real man." Their dialogue sparked, building heat until she pressed against him, dripping with anticipation.
She dropped to her knees for a blowjob, taking his hard cock with fierce control, her tongue working him while he panted. "That's it, show me what you've got," she said between strokes, strong and commanding. He groaned, sweating as she deepthroated him.
He lifted her onto the table, thrusting into her wet pussy with powerful strokes, her ass gripping him tightly. They moved in rhythm, panting and horny, her strong hands clawing his back. "Harder," she demanded, not yielding.
She came first, screaming "I am Kurdish!" in a powerful cry of ownership amid the extreme play, her body shaking. He followed, filling her with cum that dripped down her thighs as they both sweated and collapsed.
I watched, humiliated yet aroused, as she stood strong afterward, smirking at us both. The nationalist tension lingered, his presence promising more.
The night had only begun to unravel our obedience.
Want to know how it ends?
This is just the opening chapter. Continue the saga - or write a steamy tale starring you.