Falls asleep and next morning

Julia drifted into sleep tangled in the rumpled sheets of her marital bed, the faint scent of Ethan's sweat and cum still clinging to her skin despite the shower. Her mind refused to quiet; instead, it spiraled into vivid, feverish dreams—cock after cock filling her mouth, her pussy, her ass, all while the headmaster's voice loomed over her like thunder. In the dream he towered above her in his mahogany office, silver hair gleaming, trousers open, forcing her to her knees as he called her every filthy name she secretly craved: **** housewife, cheating cumdump, broken little whore. He made her beg for it, made her thank him for every degrading thrust, every slap across her ass, every rope of cum painted across her face while he reminded her how worthless her tiny-dicked husband was, how she'd always been destined to serve real men. She woke twice in the night gasping, thighs slick and clit throbbing, fingers instinctively slipping between her legs to chase the phantom fullness before exhaustion pulled her back under.

Morning light filtered through the curtains when her phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand. Julia stirred, groggy, reaching for it with a hand that still smelled faintly of sex. The screen glowed with a new message from the unknown number—Master.

Master: Good morning, dumb slut. You did well last night. That video of you getting railed on your wedding bed like a cheap whore was exquisite, I did not need that much but thanks anyways. Proof received. Your collection is growing nicely.

A link followed, blue and underlined. Julia's heart stuttered as she tapped it, the page loading to a private, password-protected site titled "Mrs. Edwards – Naive Wife Portfolio." She had to enter a simple code he'd texted earlier: SLUTJULIA. Inside was a growing gallery—grainy stills and short clips arranged in neat folders labeled by date and act.

The first folder: "Headmaster's Office – Mouth Service." Her on her knees, mascara-streaked, lips stretched around his girth, his hand fisted in her hair.

Then: "Neighbor Boy – Backshots." Last night's video, cropped and edited to highlight the obscene bounce of her ass, the way she threw it back, moaning like a bitch in heat.

A new subfolder appeared as she scrolled: "Growing Collection." Empty for now, but captioned: More to come, whore. You're deeper in my debt every time you spread those legs or open that mouth. Remember: one word from me, and William sees everything. Riley sees everything. Your perfect little life ends.

Julia stared at the screen, breath shallow, a fresh gush of arousal soaking her panties even as shame burned hot in her chest. She was trapped—deeper now, the evidence mounting, her submission documented in high definition. And the worst part? The humiliation only made her wetter. She typed back with trembling fingers:

Thank you, Master. I'm yours.

Then she set the phone down, rolled onto her back, and let her hand drift between her thighs again, replaying the dreams and the videos in her mind as the house slowly woke around her.