Raw Throat of Reckoning 🔥
Jump to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Echoes of Betrayal
The dim flicker of the bedside lamp cast jagged shadows across the motel room walls in downtown Ravena. Lena’s heart hammered like a trapped bird as she slipped back into the tangled sheets, her thighs still slick from the neighbor’s hurried thrusts. The air hung heavy with the musky tang of sweat and cheap cologne—his, not Marcus’s. Marcus. Her husband for eight years, the broad-shouldered welder whose callused hands had once made her melt.
She’d always been the wild one, yoga-toned body curving just right at thirty-two, raven hair spilling wild over her shoulders. But lately, the fire in their bed had dulled to embers. That afternoon, while Marcus slaved at the shipyard, she’d let Rico pin her against the alley wall behind their apartment block. His cock had plunged deep, raw and urgent, splitting her open in ways Marcus hadn’t in months. Guilt gnawed now, sharp as broken glass, but so did the thrill.
The door crashed open. Marcus loomed there, veins bulging in his neck, his work boots tracking grime across the threshold. He’d come home early, smelled the lie on her skin from a block away. “You reeking bitch,” he growled, voice gravel-low. The scent of her arousal hit him like a slap—salty, feminine, mixed with stranger-spit.
Lena scrambled up, sheets pooling at her waist. Her nipples peaked hard against the thin tank top, traitorous. “Marcus, wait—”
He crossed the room in two strides, fist cracking into the wall inches from her head. Plaster dust rained down. “Saw you. With Rico. Raw fuck in the alley like a street slut.” His eyes burned, but lower, his jeans tented unmistakably. Rage and lust twisted in him, a vicious knot.
She flinched, breath catching. Part of her wanted to beg, another to spread wide and prove her devotion right there. But Marcus’s face hardened. “In Ravena, we don’t forgive. Plaza rules. Uncle Tomas gets the call.”
The Plaza de Sombras. Ravena’s hidden heart, an underground market square where old codes still ruled. Cheating wives knelt for the godfather’s judgment—choked to the brink, exposed, broken publicly. Lena’s stomach flipped. Fear coiled hot between her legs.
The Call
Marcus snatched his phone, dialing without breaking stare. Tomas answered on the first ring, voice booming like thunder over forge fires. “Nephew. What’s the sin?”
“Lena. Spread for Rico. Today.” Marcus’s free hand clamped her wrist, bruising. She whimpered, the pain sparking unwelcome heat.
Tomas chuckled dark. “Plaza at dusk. Bring the cord. I’ll make her gasp her sins.”
Hanging up, Marcus shoved her back. “Strip. Now.” His command brooked no argument. Fingers trembling, Lena peeled off the tank, then jeans, standing bare under his glare. Her pussy lips glistened, swollen still from Rico. Marcus’s gaze raked her, nostrils flaring at the raw scent rising off her skin.
He didn’t touch her. Not yet. Just watched as she folded clothes, body humming with dread-laced want.
Chapter 2: Bound for Shadows 💋
The elevator to the underbelly of Ravena groaned like a dying beast, depositing them into the humid haze of the Plaza de Sombras. Torchlight danced off wet stone walls, the air thick with sizzling street meat, incense, and the undercurrent of desperate moans from shadowed alcoves. Vendors hawked spiced skewers; laughter mingled with distant cries.
Lena’s wrists chafed under the zip ties Marcus had cinched behind her back. She’d begged on the drive over—raw pleas spilling from her lips—but he’d only cranked the AC, letting cold air pebble her skin through the thin sundress he’d forced her into. No bra, no panties. The fabric clung damp now, nipples stabbing like accusations.
Tomas waited at the square’s heart, a burly ex-cop in his fifties, black shirt straining over his gut, silver-streaked hair slicked back. Leather cord dangled from his belt, oiled and supple, twice as thick as rope. Around him, a crowd murmured—men in grease-stained tees, women with hungry eyes, phones poised.
“On your knees, niece,” Tomas rumbled, grabbing her ponytail to yank her down. Stone bit her knees through the dress. The crowd hushed, circle tightening. Smell of unwashed bodies, cigar smoke, her own fear-sweat sharp in her nose.
Marcus stood aside, arms crossed, bulge straining his zipper. He’d jerked off twice that afternoon to the image of her alley fuck—raw betrayal fueling his need. Now, watching Tomas loop the cord loose around her throat, he ached to claim her himself.
“Confess,” Tomas demanded, voice echoing off vaults.
Lena’s voice cracked. “I… fucked Rico. In the alley. He… he came inside me.” Gasps rippled through spectators. Her cheeks burned, but her clit throbbed, traitorous pulse syncing with the cord’s weight.
Tomas tugged once, experimental. Air whispered thin. “Louder. For the Plaza.”
“Rico’s cock filled my cheating cunt! Raw and hard!” Shame flooded her, hot tears pricking, but so did slickness trickling down her thigh.
Tease of the Cord
The first real pull came slow. Cord bit into her neck, compressing windpipe. Lena’s vision spotted, chest heaving uselessly. Panic surged—clawing hands useless behind her. Mouth gaped, tongue lolling for air. The raw scrape against her skin ignited nerves, a burn that arrowed straight to her core.
Tomas leaned in, breath onion-hot on her face. “Feel that, slut? Your husband’s pain, tight around your throat.” He eased up; she sucked greedy gulps, drool stringing from lips.
Marcus groaned low, hand palming his erection. The sight—his wife’s face purpling, tits heaving under the dress—stirred something primal. Raw possession.
Crowd phones flashed. A woman nearby licked lips; a man stroked openly.
Chapter 3: Exposed Flames 🔥
Tomas nodded to Marcus. “Uncover the whore.”
With a snarl, Marcus hiked her dress to her waist. Cool air kissed her drenched pussy, folds parting sticky. Cheers erupted—crude catcalls bouncing off stone. “Look at that sloppy hole!” “Betrayed and begging!”
Lena sobbed, knees grinding stone raw. But exposure ignited her. Juices smeared her inner thighs, scent blooming pungent, drawing flies almost. Tomas pulled the cord again, tighter this time. Stars burst behind her eyes as oxygen fled.
Her body bucked, hips grinding air instinctively. The raw constriction pulsed like a lover’s grip, squeezing her throat while her clit swelled neglected. She needed touch—filthy, punishing touch.
Marcus knelt before her, eyes locked on her gaping mouth. “You like it, don’t you? Gasping like the alley bitch.” His fingers—thick, oil-smeared from work—speared her cunt without warning. Two plunged deep, curling against that spot Rico had missed.
Lena’s strangled moan vibrated the cord. Taste of copper on her tongue, his knuckles grinding her clit. He fucked her with his hand, merciless, while Tomas yanked rhythmically. Pull-release-pull. Air in gasps, matching his thrusts.
The crowd roared. Phones captured every squelch, every quiver of her thighs.
Sensory Overload
Sound battered her: wet slaps of Marcus’s fingers in her heat, her own guttural wheezes, crowd’s filthy encouragement. “Finger-fuck the cheater!” Smell choked—sweat-soaked bodies, her arousal sharp as vinegar, Marcus’s musk. Taste of drool and bile. Touch overwhelmed: cord’s raw bite, stone knees, invading fingers stretching her walls. Sight blurred to torch flares, Marcus’s snarling face.
Orgasm built savage. Her vision tunneled black as Tomas wrenched hard. Marcus added a thumb to her ass, breaching the ring. She shattered—squirting around his hand, body convulsing in raw ecstasy. Cum sprayed stone, puddle reflecting flames.
Tomas released; she collapsed forward, forehead on Marcus’s boot, aftershocks rippling. Tenderness flickered in him then—raw, unexpected. He stroked her hair, murmuring, “Mine again.”
Chapter 4: Crowd’s Claim
But the Plaza demanded more. Tradition twisted modern—spectators bid for turns. A wiry vendor won first, twenty bucks for a tug. He gripped the cord dangling free, hauled Lena upright by her hair. Her dress hung askew, tits spilling free, nipples raw-red from heaving.
“Beg for it, puta,” he hissed, Spanish thick.
“Choke me… please,” she whispered, voice hoarse. Shame burned, but the raw edge lingered, pussy clenching void.
He obliged, pulling till her eyes bulged. Marcus watched, conflicted—jealous fire stoking his cock harder. When the vendor released, Marcus reclaimed her, flipping her onto all fours. Crowd encircled tighter, breaths hot on her back.
“Time for the real punishment,” Marcus growled. He unzipped, thick length springing free—veined, precum-smeared. Nine inches of raw husband-fury. He rubbed the head along her slit, teasing, then slammed home.
Lena screamed, throat raw-sore. His girth split her wider than Rico, balls slapping her clit. Tomas looped cord loose again, handing slack to Marcus. One hand collaring her neck, he rode her brutal—thrusts jolting her forward onto elbows.
“Feel that? Raw cock owning your traitor hole.” Each word punctuated a slam. She babbled incoherently, drool pooling beneath. Cord tightened on out-strokes; air starved her peaks higher.
Public Breaking
Vendor groped her swinging tits, pinching nipples till she yelped. Another stranger fingered her mouth, cock out, smearing pre on her tongue. Lena sucked greedily, lost in overload. Marcus’s pace frayed control—hips snapping animalistic, scent of his sweat dripping onto her back.
She came again, walls milking him vise-tight. He followed, bellowing, flooding her depths with hot ropes. Pulled out mid-spurt, painting her ass cheeks white for the crowd’s delight. Cum dripped slow, mixing with her squirt.
Tomas hauled her up last, cord final yank bringing blackout edge. She dangled limp, then dropped, crowd parting as Marcus scooped her spent form.
Chapter 5: Hotel Inferno 💋
The motel room above the Plaza reeked of mildew and old smoke, but tonight it cradled salvation. Marcus carried Lena up creaky stairs, her body limp-feverish against his chest. Heart thundered—raw mix of fury ebbed, love surging back fierce.
He laid her on the bed, dress shredded remnants. She stirred, throat bruised purple rings, voice whisper. “Forgive…?” Eyes glassy, vulnerable.
“Not yet.” But gentleness cracked his tone. He fetched ice from the mini-fridge, pressing cubes to her neck. She hissed, arching. Cold melt trailed down, beading nipples.
His mouth followed—sucking ice from her skin, tongue laving bruises. Lena moaned, fingers threading his hair. “Marcus… hurts so good.”
Clothes shed, he loomed naked, cock reviving thick. She spread willingly, guiding him to her ass—new territory, raw offering. Lube from drawer, slicking generous. He pressed slow, breaching ring with bulbous head.
Pain flared bright; she gasped, raw throat shredding anew. But pleasure bloomed deeper, forbidden. Inch by inch, he filled her, balls nestling pussy. “Take it all, my dirty girl.”
Anal Absolution
Thrusts built languid to pounding. Her hand snaked down, circling clit. Room filled with slick sounds, her whimpers salt-tanged on his tongue as he kissed deep. Sweat-sheen skins slapped; bedframe banged wall rhythm—aerosol moans echoing hall.
“Love your raw ass gripping me,” he grunted. She shattered first, ass clenching milking him dry. He collapsed atop, spent, holding tight. Afterglow hummed—fingers tracing patterns, breaths syncing slow.
“Never again,” she murmured. He chuckled dark. “We’ll see. Plaza broke you right.”
Chapter 6: New Edges 🔥
Weeks blurred. Lena’s bruises faded, but cravings lingered. Nights, she’d straddle Marcus, begging cord-play at home. He’d oblige gentle at first, tightening till she gasped, fucking her through edges.
One evening, Rico knocked—face pale. Marcus grinned wolfish. “Join us?” Lena flushed, nodding shy. Door shut; clothes flew. Trio tangled—Rico in her mouth, Marcus reaming pussy, cord shared pulls.
Raw poly bliss. Her screams muffled cock, bodies slick frenzy. Orgasms chained endless, scents mingling heady. Rico came down throat; Marcus claimed ass; she squirted rivers.
After, entwined sweaty, Lena sighed content. “Plaza saved us.”
Marcus kissed her raw-marked throat. “Our dirty secret.”
In Ravena’s shadows, betrayal forged unbreakable fire. They wandered Plaza often now—not for punishment, but thrill hunts. Life pulsed raw, unyielding, alive. 💋
