Walk over and watches her ex getting worship by Harry

The ex-wife rose from her throne. She didn't storm or rage. She glided. The silk of her gown whispered against the carpet as she moved, her steps deliberate and predatory. The crowd parted for her, sensing the shift in the room's energy. She stopped a few feet away, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of icy fury.

Harry, from her position on her knees, could feel the woman's gaze like a physical weight. She didn't stop. If anything, she intensified her performance, taking Richard deeper, her moans becoming more desperate, more convincing. She was putting on a masterclass in betrayal.

"Richard," the ex-wife's voice cut through the air, sharp as shattered glass. "Did you get tired of fucking your own hand and decide to bring a professional to remind you what it feels like?"

Richard opened his eyes, a lazy, cruel smile spreading across his face. He looked down at Harry, stroking her hair possessively. "This isn't a professional, darling. This is devotion. Something you wouldn't understand. She knows how to appreciate a man. A young babe who can really worship unlike you. You old hag."

The ex-wife's eyes flickered to Harry, a mix of contempt and a grudging, unwilling respect for the sheer audacity of the performance. "She's a whore you found on the street."

"And what does that make you?" Richard countered smoothly. "You're here, in a room full of strangers, letting some boy toy play with your tits for an audience. This is my slut." He pump Harry face a few times.

"She's not very good at it," the ex-wife said, her voice dripping with condescension. "You've had better."

That was a challenge. A direct, personal attack on Harry's craft.

Harry slowly pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to Richard. She turned her head, looking up at the ex-wife with wide, innocent eyes.

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