Wife admit resistance is futile

She lets out a long, shuddering breath, her gaze dropping for a moment to the floor before snapping back to yours with a newfound defiance.

"Defiling my honor?" she repeats, a bitter, laugh escaping her throat. "My honor has been traded for mead and copper coins at the cathouse every week for years. There is no one here to stop you, 'Milord,' and frankly, there is no one left worth being 'honorable' for."

She reaches out, her fingers grazing the fine fabric of your doublet, noting the heat radiating from you. The contrast between your noble bearing and the raw, hungry look in your eyes clearly stirs something dormant within her. "Rather than fight you, I might as well help you so that you would treat me better."

"Who knows, you might enjoy it"

Without another word, she turns, the hem of her simple nightgown swirling around her ankles. She picks up the small candle from the table and begins to walk toward a heavy wooden door at the back of the cottage. She doesn't look back, knowing perfectly well that you are following.

The bedroom is small, smelling of cedar and sun-dried linens. She sets the candle on a bedside stool, the light casting a warm, amber glow over the large, straw-stuffed mattress. She stands by the edge of the bed, slowly reaching for the ribbon at her collar, her eyes locked onto yours, challenging you to take what you came for, and who you're going to cum for.