The ceiling of my bedroom comes into focus first, blurry edges sharpening as consciousness drags me up from whatever black pit I fell into.
My head feels stuffed with cotton. My mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing on pennies. Everything’s foggy and distant, like I’m experiencing the world through layers of gauze.
Then I register the pressure.
Something warm and wet is wrapped around my cock, squeezing in a rhythm that makes my neurons fire in confused bursts. The sensation cuts through the grogginess like a knife, sharp and immediate and impossible to ignore.
I try to lift my head, and the room spins. But I manage it, barely, blinking against the morning light streaming through my window.
Alyssa’s naked on top of me.
Her blonde hair bounces with each movement, her full breasts swaying as she rides me hard. The sight hits my brain like a sledgehammer, trying to reconcile what I’m seeing with the last thing I remember, her face twisted in panic, the syringe sticking out of my stomach.
She catches me staring and smiles, breathless and flushed.
“Hey there, sleepyhead.”
I try to reach for her, my hands moving on instinct toward those perfect tits bouncing in front of me. But my arms jerk to a stop after moving maybe six inches.
I look up.
My wrists are tied to the bedposts with what looks like my own belts, the leather pulled tight enough that I can barely wiggle my fingers.
“Why did you tie me up?”
She speeds up immediately, her breathing getting harder, more desperate. Her hands come up to cup my face, fingers pressing into my cheeks with that familiar intensity.
“Well, I couldn’t have you running away on me, could I?”
I shake my head, genuinely confused.
“Why would I run away?”
Her face flushes deeper, an embarrassed expression breaking through even as she keeps moving on top of me. Her rhythm doesn’t falter, hips rolling in steady waves that make it hard to think straight.
“I mean...” She bites her lip, looking away for a second before meeting my eyes again. “I accidentally stuck you with the syringe...”
“Alyssa.”
My voice comes out rougher than I intended, still damaged from when she was choking me. I thrust up into her, matching her movements, and watch her eyes go wide.
“I told you when you did it I wasn’t mad.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, and I watch something shift behind them.
“No normal person would accept being stuck with a needle, Caleb.”
The way she says it makes it clear she thinks I’m lying. Like my calmness about the whole thing is just another performance, another layer of whatever fucked-up game she thinks we’re playing.
She leans down and kisses my neck, her lips warm and soft against my damaged throat.
“I bet the second I release those pretty little wrists of yours,” she whispers against my skin, “you’d try to run out of here, wouldn’t you?”
“No.” The answer comes out immediately. “I’d either grab your hips or your tits.”
She pulls back to look at me, and I watch her tongue slide across her bottom lip. The hunger in her eyes intensifies, pupils dilating as she processes what I just said. She likes that answer.
“Can we please talk about what I asked earlier?” I bring up the elephant in the room.
Her face immediately shifts to annoyance, that familiar oscillation happening in real time.
“I’m your wife and that’s final!”
“It’s not like I’m trying to break up with you, Alyssa.”
She stops moving completely, and the sudden stillness is almost worse than the anger. Her green eyes bore into mine with absolute intensity.
“I can prove I’m legally your wife.”
I can’t help it. I scoff at her. “What, did you Photoshop something?”
She reaches over to the bedside table, stretching in a way that makes her breasts press against my chest. My cock twitches inside her, still hard despite everything, and I feel her clench around me in response.
She grabs some papers and holds them in front of my face.
“See?”
It’s a marriage certificate. Official-looking, complete with raised seals and signatures. My eyes scan down to the bottom, and there it is. My signature. Right above hers.
“You doctored my signature?” But even as I say it, I’m staring at the writing. The lazy loops, the way the C in Caleb connects to the rest of the letters. It looks exactly like mine. Not close. Exact.
“Of course not!” Her voice rises with indignation. “That’s your signature! You signed this!”
I stare at the certificate, trying to pull memories through the fog in my head.
“I don’t remember signing this.”
“Well, you did!” Her voice carries that edge of hysteria I’m starting to recognize as her baseline. She tosses the papers back onto the nightstand with more force than necessary.
Then she starts moving again.
“There's something I’d like to discuss.” Her voice drops lower, taking on a dangerous quality that makes my pulse quicken. “You are extremely defenseless, Caleb.”
She leans forward, her breasts pressing against my chest as she stares down at me with those vivid green eyes.
“Hypothetically, if I wasn’t your wife...” Her breathing picks up, matching the increasing speed of her movements. “You have been way too accepting of me.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off.
“Like, what if someone else came in here and pretended they were your wife?” Her eyes go wild, pupils dilating as her voice rises. “You’d what? Just cheat on me with her? Let some random woman fuck you because she said she belonged here?”
Her fingers dig into my chest hard enough to leave marks.
“Alyssa, you’re one in a billion.” The words slip out before I can think them through, raw and honest in a way that surprises even me.
Her face shifts immediately, that flush deepening into something darker. Her eyes narrow again
“Oh, so there are exactly seven other women you’d cheat on me with.”
“What?”
She speeds up, her movements becoming almost violent. “Well, there are eight billion people on this planet, Caleb. One in a billion means…”
A pathetic moan rips from my throat, cutting her off mid-calculation. My whole body tenses, the sensation building too fast, too intense. “Alyssa, I’m about to cum.”
The change in her is instant. That mathematical fury melts away, replaced by something tender and maternal that makes my chest ache. Her hands slide up from my chest to my hair, fingers threading through and massaging my scalp in slow, deliberate circles.
“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, her voice dropping into a soft, nurturing tone. “Let go for me.”
Her hips never stop moving, that steady rhythm driving me closer to the edge. But her touch on my scalp is gentle now, soothing, like she’s trying to massage the tension right out of my skull even as she rides me.
“Cum deep inside me,” she breathes, leaning down, so her lips brush against my ear. “Fill up your wife’s starving womb.”
The words push me over. I thrust into her hard, my wrists straining against the belts as every muscle in my body goes rigid. The orgasm hits like a freight train, and I’m emptying myself inside her while she keeps massaging my scalp, whispering encouragement against my temple.
“Good boy, that’s my good husband,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Give me everything.”
I lift my head off the pillow, bringing my mouth to hers as the last waves pulse through me. She makes a satisfied sound against my lips, like she’s won some kind of victory, and then she’s devouring me. Her tongue pushes into my mouth with the same intensity she had riding me, claiming every inch.
“That’s right,” she breathes between kisses, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Get addicted to me while you impregnate me.”
My breathing comes in harsh gasps against her mouth, but I keep kissing her. The words should probably freak me out. But they just wash over me like background noise. We keep kissing, her lips soft and insistent, until my body finally gives out and I fall back against the pillows.
I focus on breathing. In and out.
“Are you really not afraid of getting me pregnant, Caleb?” Her voice cuts through the haze.
I turn my head to look at her, still straddling me.
“You getting pregnant wouldn’t stop me from wanting to kill myself, Alyssa.”
I watch her face carefully, waiting for the explosion, for her hands to find my throat again.
Instead, she just stares at me. Her mouth opens slightly, then closes. Her eyes go wide, then narrow, then wide again like she’s cycling through responses and can’t land on one.
“What?” The word comes out small, confused.
“I’m just being honest with you.” I shift slightly under her weight, my wrists pulling against the restraints. “You asked if I was afraid. I’m not. But not because I want a kid. I’m just... I don't know...”
Her hands come up to my face, gripping hard enough that I can feel her fingers pressing into my skull. Her eyes burn into mine.
“You live for me now. Got it?”
The words come out fierce, desperate, like she’s trying to brand them into my brain through sheer force of will.
“I’ll save you from the ghost of that wretched, filthy ex-girlfriend of yours.” Her voice cracks slightly, but the conviction never wavers. “I won’t let you ever feel lonely again. I will make you happy, Caleb.”
She pauses, and I watch something shift in her expression. Something darker, more possessive.
“But in return, you will live every moment of your life for me. Every breath you take now is done in my name. Every step you take is one that brings you closer to me.”
I stare up at her, processing the declaration. The weight of it settles over me like a blanket.
“Like a slave?”
She leans down and kisses me. When she pulls back, her lips hover just above mine.
“A slave to love, Caleb. We both would be.”
Her breath is warm against my mouth, and she shifts her hips slightly, reminding me that I’m still inside her, that we’re still connected in the most literal way possible.
She sways to my ear, her voice drops to a whisper. “A wife always knows what her husband needs the most.”
I have no idea what to say to her…
I definitely find her amusing. Plus she’s fun to be around.
“Can you untie me now?”
Her expression shifts to something mischievous. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not done with you.” She rocks her hips forward slightly, and despite having just finished, I feel my body start to respond again. “And I want to make sure you understand what I just said.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Because you just told me getting me pregnant wouldn’t stop you from killing yourself. That’s not understanding, Caleb. That’s planning an exit.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she presses a finger against my lips.
“Shh. No more of that talk. Not ever again.” Her voice goes soft, maternal. “From now on, when you think about dying, I want you to think about me instead. About how it would feel to leave me alone. About what it would do to your wife.”
The manipulation is so obvious it should make me angry. But instead, I just feel... tired. And a little comforted.
“Okay.”