The day unfolded in a heavy, hushed quiet, each hour stretching long and laden with unspoken truths.
Jason rose from the bed first, his movements careful, giving Stella space to gather herself.
Her scent clung to his skin, a lingering reminder of her surrender, her moans echoing in his mind—gagged, bound, trembling beneath his hands, her body a canvas of their shared desires.
The memory refused to fade.
She joined him in the kitchen later, wearing one of his oversized shirts, the fabric draping loosely over her frame, barely brushing the tops of her thighs.
Her hair was a tangled cascade, her face bare of makeup, raw and unguarded. Just her. Real.
They spoke little, the air between them thick with the weight of what they'd done, what they were becoming.
The day passed in glances, in brushes of hands, in silences that said more than words could.
As the sun dipped low, painting the living room in streaks of molten gold, Stella curled up on the couch, legs crossed, a glass of red wine cradled in her hands.
She stared into the distance, lost in thought, her fingers tightening around the stem of the glass.
Jason sat across from her, watching, waiting, his eyes tracing the curve of her jaw, the faint flush still lingering on her cheeks.
"I want to tell you something," she said suddenly, her voice soft, barely breaking the quiet. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, avoiding his.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Tell me."
Her voice dropped, a confession barely above a whisper. "No one's ever heard it. Not my ex. Not friends. Not my husband. Not therapists."
Jason stayed still, his gaze steady. He nodded once, a silent invitation.
She exhaled, the sound shaky, her fingers trembling around the glass.
"I've had these… thoughts. Since I was twenty. I buried them, tried to pretend they weren't there. But they always came back. Dirtier every time."
He didn't move, didn't speak, letting her words fill the space.
Her eyes lifted, meeting his, raw and unguarded.
"You think being tied up was the worst of it? The leash? The crop?" She shook her head, a faint, bitter smile tugging at her lips. "That's nothing."
His throat tightened, but he held her gaze. "Then tell me."
Her thighs shifted, a subtle movement, her body betraying the weight of what she was about to confess.
"I think about being watched," she said, her voice low, rough around the edges. "Not just in public. But knowing someone's there, getting off on it. Masturbating while they film me without asking. Or walking into a room full of men and letting them use me like I don't matter. Like I'm a thing."
Jason's cock stirred, a traitor to the intensity of her words, his pulse quickening.
Her voice grew quieter, heavier. "I dream about being passed around. Being told what to do. Stripped, tied, spit on, filled. My holes—my mouth—used like they aren't even mine."
She lifted the wine glass to her lips, taking a slow sip, her eyes distant, lost in the confession.
"And the worst part?" she continued, her voice barely audible now. "I love it when I imagine one of them is family. Someone I shouldn't be near. I want to be humiliated by the very people who are supposed to protect me. I want it to be wrong."
Jason's breath caught, his chest tight, the air between them electric with the rawness of her truth.
She smiled, soft and broken, her eyes glistening.
"Still want to know how deep this goes?"
He didn't flinch, didn't look away. "Say it all," he said, his voice low, steady. "Every part."
Her gaze held his, unflinching now, her words spilling out like a dam breaking.
"I want to be gangbanged," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "In front of you. While you watch. I want your friends to take turns, and I want you to tell them where to cum. I want to be made into a slut in our own home."
Jason's jaw clenched, his body responding even as his mind reeled at the depth of her desires.
She drained the last of her wine, setting the glass down with a soft clink, her eyes never leaving his.
Then, in a whisper, she added, "And I want to hear you tell me I belong to you while they do it."
The silence that followed was deafening, her confession hanging between them, raw and unfiltered, a challenge and a plea all at once.