Yes, but with total .

She's torn between the fear of what he might do and the curiosity of what this training might entail. She didn't want to hurt you.

"So you want this, Amy? To be the best wife for my son?" Mark's question hung in the air, his hand still on her neck, his thumb tracing delicate patterns against her skin.

Amy took a deep breath, the room spinning slightly from a mix of champagne and nerves. "I... I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"You do know." His lips finding her ear again, Mark's voice was a seductive whisper. "You know you want to make him happy." His hand traveled down her neck, resting on the swell of her breasts, which were rising and falling with each ragged breath she took. "And if that means learning from an old pro like me, then you should consider it an honor."

His lips kissing Amy neck, Mark's hand squeezes her breast gently, his thumb circling her nipple through the fabric of her blouse. She gasps, her body betraying her with a jolt of pleasure. "Is that a yes?" he murmurs, his breath hot against her skin.

Amy's eyes flutter shut, her mind racing. She thinks of you, sleeping downstairs, oblivious to the storm brewing in this very room. Her hand, shaking slightly, comes up to cover his, pushing it away from her chest. "I... I don't know," she whispers again, her voice strained. "This feels wrong."

His fingers cupping her thick ass, Mark leans in closer to her. "It's not wrong, sweetheart," he whispers, his breath tickling her ear. "It's just a little... unconventional. But sometimes, that's what makes things interesting, right?" His other hand reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing her cheek.

"Okay. For John. I'm doing this for him." Amy whispers to herself, her resolve wavering like a candle flame in a soft breeze. She swallows hard, her pulse thundering in her ears. With a shaky nod, she sets her champagne glass on the nightstand, the clink of crystal echoing through the silence.

"Then why don't you stand and strip for me, Amy," Mark says, his voice a smooth blend of authority and suggestion. He stands, his large frame towering over her as he sets his own glass aside.

Her eyes widen, the gravity of the situation crashing down upon her. "Strip? Here?" she asks, her voice quivering.

"Yes. Now don't make me ask twice."

Amy's hands tremble as she reaches for the hem of her blouse. She feels a mix of fear and excitement as she slowly lifts it over her head, revealing her lacy black bra that matches the color of the room's shadows. She's never felt more ****, yet the anticipation of what's to come sends a shiver down her spine.

Mark's eyes are glued to her as she unclips her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts bounce slightly from the sudden freedom, the cool air making her nipples harden. She keeps her gaze on the floor, unable to meet his intense stare. His hand reaches out to cup her chin, forcing her to look up. "You're beautiful," he says, his voice thick with desire. "Turn around, I want to see your ass next."

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