You had to

His mouth works on your nipple, tongue and teeth sending bolts of heat straight to your core, and you're so lost in the sensation that you barely register his hand closing around your wrist, guiding your palm down the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, and you feel him hard and heavy beneath the thin fabric, your fingers tracing the outline before he pushes your hand past the elastic, and the heat of him against your palm makes you gasp, thick and pulsing in your grip as he groans against your breast, pulling back to watch your face as he makes you stroke him, slow and deliberate, his eyes dark and hungry as they bore into yours.

"You like that, don't you," he breathes, "you like my fat black cock, don't you, tell me you fucking love it," and the words should disgust you, should snap you out of this haze, but instead they sink into your skin like a brand, and you feel your hips shift involuntarily, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable as your hand moves on its own, slick with his need, "If you don't want your husband to find out, you'll say it," and you hear yourself whisper yes, the word escaping before you can stop it, and the shame and the wanting merge into something molten, something that burns away every excuse you've made, you couldn't believe you'd gone this far, woke up in this body, got eaten out by a man who was apparantly your husband, sucked his dick and now.... here with this man, his hand over yours, his cock in your grip, and the terrible feeling about what was coming.

And then he pulls his hand away, leaving you holding him, your fingers still wrapped around his girth as he looks down at you with that predatory glint, "Not yet," he says, voice rough, "I want that pretty mouth of yours," and the command hangs in the air between you, heavy and inevitable, as he tugs you forward by the hair, guiding you down to the floor below.

Your knees hit the carpet, the rough fibers biting into your skin as he releases his grip on your hair, his hands moving to the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms, pushing them down just enough for his cock to spring free, and you feel your breath catch in your throat as you see it for the first time in real life, thick and dark and so much bigger than your husband's, that lst thought was intrusive, it's not something you cared about before, but now, in the moment, the head already glistening with need as he wraps his fingers around the shaft, stroking himself slowly as he watches you stare, "Go on then," he says, his voice a low growl, "open that pretty mouth and show me what you can do," and the sight of him, the sheer size of him, sends a fresh wave of heat through your core even as your mind screams at you to stop, to pull away, but your body is already leaning forward, lips parting as you surrender to the inevitable.

You lean forward, your lips brushing against the tip, the taste of him salty and male, and for a moment you hesitate, the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you don't know this man, that you're married, that you should be a guy in your 20s! But then you hear his voice, low and mocking, "Remember what happens if you don't, sweetheart," and the threat is enough to break the last of your resistance, and you open your mouth and take him in, the weight of him heavy on your tongue as you struggle to accommodate his size, your throat tightening as he pushes deeper, one hand fisting in your hair as he guides your pace, and the shame mingles with a dark, pulsing arousal as you suck him, your mind a blur of disgust and want, the taste of him filling your senses as you give in completely.

His hand tightens in your hair, guiding you deeper, and you feel the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, your gag reflex protesting as he holds you there, but the pressure of his grip is insistent, and you force yourself to relax, to breathe through your nose as he pushes further, inch by inch, until your lips are pressed against the base of his shaft, his entire length filling your throat, and the sensation is overwhelming, a mix of suffocation and submission that sends a fresh wave of wetness between your thighs as you feel him pulse against your tongue, and you hear him groan above you, "That's it, take it all, fucking take it," his voice strained with pleasure, and the shame burns hot in your chest but so does the dark satisfaction of pleasing him, of being used like this, and you stay there, his cock buried in your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you fight the urge to pull away, your body trembling with the effort of holding still as he begins to move, fucking your throat in slow, deliberate strokes.

He pulls out of your throat with a wet sound, leaving you gasping, drool and spit running down your chin as he looks down at you, his cock slick and glistening in the dim light, "That's it," he says, stroking himself slowly, "you're earning that weed now, sweetheart, you keep sucking me like that and you'll have more than enough to get through the week," and the words hit you like a slap, grounding you in the reality of what you're doing, trading your dignity for the promise of escape, and the shame should be overwhelming, should make you stop, but instead you feel yourself nodding, your mouth already opening again, desperate for the taste of him, desperate to prove you're worth the price.

He doesn't give you time to prepare, his hand fisting in your hair as he yanks you forward, forcing his cock back into your mouth and down your throat in one brutal thrust, and you choke, your hands flying up to his thighs to push against him, but he's too strong, holding you in place as he begins to fuck your face in earnest, each thrust driving deeper than the last, the sound of his grunts and the wet, obscene noise of your gagging filling the room, and the pressure builds in your chest, your lungs screaming for air, but he doesn't stop, his hips slamming against your face as he uses your throat like a toy, and you feel yourself starting to panic, your vision blurring at the edges, but then he pulls back just enough to let you breathe, giving you a single, gasping inhale before he's plunging back in, his rhythm relentless, and the shame and the fear and the pleasure all blur together as you surrender to the violence of his need, your body going slack as he takes what he wants, your mind a white-hot haze of submission and desperation.

He pulls out again, this time more slowly, letting you gasp and cough as he holds your face in his hands, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, and there's a cruel amusement in his eyes as he says, "So tell me, sweetheart, what's your husband doing right now?" the words dripping with mockery as he strokes your cheek with his thumb, almost tender, "Is he at work? Worrying about you? Maybe calling your phone, wondering why you're not answering?" and you feel a fresh wave of shame crash over you as you imagine your husband's face, you barely knew the man, but you felt bad, his concern, his trust, while you kneel here, lips swollen, throat raw, another man's cock still wet on your tongue, and Darren laughs softly, reading the answer in your expression, "Yeah, that's what I thought," he murmurs, "poor bastard probably has no idea his wife's on her knees for me, choking on my cock, getting ready to trade her wedding vows for a little bit of weed."

His degrading was only making this worse, but turning your new body on so much...