Martha’s heart slammed against her ribs when she saw Henry in the doorway. His hand was still wrapped around his cock, cum dripping slowly down his fingers. He didn’t look angry. He looked… intense. Focused. Like he’d already decided what was going to happen next.

 She tried to speak right away. “Hnnn—Henry, it’s n-not wha—” The words came out muffled and garbled around the wrinkled shirt still stuffed in her mouth. She jerked her head, trying to spit it out, but the fabric was wedged too deep. Her hands flew up instinctively to pull it free—and froze mid-air.

 The belts were still looped tight around her wrists, anchoring them to...