Her View

Sandra lay there, hips sore, thighs sticky, her black shiny hair matted to her cheek like a crown spun from sin. She felt so full — full of him, full of the sweet ache that made her want to drag her fingers down her belly just to taste that last slow drip before it cooled on her skin.

It always amazed her — how every whispered command, every hypnotic clip, every soft push from Andy hadn’t turned her into something new…

It had peeled her open.

Shown her what she’d hidden under all the polite smiles and modest sarees.

The good girl was always a monster.

She’d just been waiting for permission.

Sometimes she replayed the memories in her head — the tiny changes.

How her hair went from pinned-up black to these shiny black waves that looked so right when streaked with white.

How her skin — once hidden under layers of cotton — now glowed warm and soft, fed by every single drop she swallowed down like her private beauty ritual.

How her lips, once so careful with polite words, now stayed parted, raw and pretty, a sloppy little hole that made Andy twitch every time she gagged just to please him.

She loved the taste. God, she’d never imagined she’d love it.

That first salty slip across her tongue, that warm, heavy texture — thick and soft at the same time — that clung to the back of her throat.

Now she craved it like wine.

She wanted to feel it roll across her tongue, swirl it around, even gargle it until she moaned, knowing it’d coat her teeth, seep down her throat, stay inside her long after he’d pulled out.

But it wasn’t just the taste.

It was the idea — the way Andy’s secret folders used to terrify her and now they were her private training ground.

She’d studied his clips like homework:

Watching those girls on their knees, eyes glazed, mascara ruined, ten cocks pumping over their face while they begged for more.

Facials that made them look like ruined trophies.

Bukkakes where the drips turned into rivers that painted them into something holy and filthy at once.

She’d learned to love it.

To want it.

To dream about it.

Now she wanted to feel it too:

A circle of strangers, Andy’s friends, her colleagues — all of them stroking, grunting, covering her in wave after wave until she was drowning in it, until she couldn’t blink without it sliding into her lashes.

Her tits were her napkins now — soft, warm catchers for every messy blast.

Her throat was his lecture hall — no more polite PowerPoints. Now she gave her lectures on her knees, with her mouth stuffed so full she couldn’t speak, only gag and moan and thank him when he called her good.

Sandra dragged her fingers down her belly, caught the last warm drop between her thighs, and brought it to her tongue — soft, reverent. She licked it clean, humming at the taste — that blend of salt and sweetness that made her feel alive.

She knew now:

This wasn’t Andy’s kink alone.

It was hers too.

Her little monster — finally fed, finally proud.

She’d turned every sweet inch of herself into his perfect pornstar cumslut wife.

She’d given him her hair, her skin, her mouth — all trained to take him, taste him, display him.

And tomorrow? She’d give him more.

A new clip to replay — but this time, live.

Her favorite scene: the one where she never gets clean.