Hospital Debauchery

Devon's hand closed around the cold, textured grip of the pistol on the nightstand, his fingers steady, his senses honed to a razor's edge as the faint creak of the front door echoed from downstairs, a jarring intrusion into the heavy silence.

The air in the bedroom was thick, saturated with the musky scent of sex, Claire's juices, sweat, and the lingering sweetness of whipped cream smeared across the tangled red silk sheets. The room was a battlefield of passion, the bed a chaotic mess of damp fabric, stained with her cum and marked by the raw intensity of their encounter.

Claire lay sprawled across the mattress, her body limp, her pussy glistening, cum oozing slowly down her inner thighs, pooling on the sheets in a slick, glistening puddle. Her

blindfold remained knotted tightly, her chest rising and falling with soft, exhausted breaths, a faint, satisfied smile curling her swollen lips. In her sleep, she murmured, her voice a low, slurred purr, "Fuck… thank you… so good…" each word dripping with the afterglow of her relentless orgasms, her body still radiating heat, marked with purple bites and red handprints that glowed on her ivory skin.

The bedroom door swung open with a slow, deliberate creak, and Claire's husband, Richard, stepped inside, his broad shoulders stiffening as his eyes darted from Devon, standing calmly with the pistol in hand, to his wife, passed out on the bed, her naked body a vivid testament to the raw, animalistic passion that had just unfolded.

His gaze lingered on her, cum dripping from her swollen, pink pussy lips, her flushed skin crisscrossed with marks of possession, her expression one of utter satisfaction, a look he hadn't elicited in years, if ever.

His face twisted, the veins on his forehead bulging like cords ready to snap, his eyes blazing with a fury that could've ignited the room. His breath hitched, a low, guttural curse escaping his lips, "Son of a bitch," his voice a raw growl, his fists clenching so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white, his body trembling as he took a heavy step forward, his muscles coiled, ready to pounce like a predator cornered.

Devon's movements were smooth, almost lazy, as he dusted the pistol lightly with his fingers, the subtle gesture carrying a chilling weight that stopped Richard dead in his tracks.

No words passed between them, but the message was unmistakable, if you try anything dumb you're gone.

Richard's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly, his eyes narrowing into slits, his glare a silent vow of vengeance, a look that could've killed Devon a million times over in its intensity. His chest heaved, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, his rage a simmering volcano, barely restrained, his fists twitching, veins pulsing like they might burst through his skin.

He stood frozen, his body vibrating with the effort of holding back, his eyes locked on Devon, burning with a hatred that felt like it could sear flesh.

Devon's smirk was cool, calculated, a predator's taunt, as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He placed a firm hand on Richard's shoulder, his grip steady but not overtly aggressive, his touch a deliberate provocation.

"You're a good husband," he said, his voice low, laced with a cruel irony that dripped like venom, each word a dagger twisting in Richard's gut.

The husband's face flushed a deeper red, the veins on his forehead tripling in size, pulsing with a fury that threatened to explode.

Devon's eyes flicked to Claire one last time, her body still sprawled, oblivious to the storm brewing around her, her pussy still glistening, her blindfold intact, her murmurs soft and dreamy.

He turned, his movements fluid, almost mocking, as he walked out of the room, the pistol tucked into his waistband, the call catalogue file secure under his jacket. Richard stood rooted to the spot, his rage a palpable force, his body trembling with the effort of restraint, his eyes boring into Devon's retreating figure, each step a taunt that echoed in the silent house.

As Devon descended the stairs, his boots soft but deliberate on the hardwood, Richard moved closer to the bed, his steps heavy, his breath ragged, each exhale a growl of suppressed fury.

He stood over Claire, his eyes tracing the marks on her body. bites on her neck, handprints on her ass, her tits flushed and heaving, her pussy dripping with cum, a scene that burned itself into his mind, fueling his rage.

Claire stirred, her body shifting slightly, her murmurs growing softer, "Mmm… so fucking good…" Her eyes fluttered open beneath the blindfold, slow and dazed, her hand reaching up with a sluggish motion to tug at the silk, pulling it off and letting it fall to the sheets. Her gaze met his, and a bright, eager smile spread across her face, her eyes sparkling with a mix of lust, affection, and post-orgasmic haze.

"Hey, honey," she purred, her voice thick with sleep, her body stretching languidly, her big tits jiggling, her nipples hard and pink, her pussy still glistening, cum dripping onto the sheets in a slow, sticky trail. "God, you were incredible," she murmured, her smile widening, her hand reaching out to touch his arm, her fingers brushing his sleeve.

Her smile faltered, a frown creasing her brow as she took in his fully clothed form, his crisp suit jacket, his tie knotted tightly, no sign of the sweat-soaked, primal passion she'd just experienced. "Why are you dressed, hubby?" she asked, her voice a mix of playful pout and genuine concern, her hand trailing up his arm, her touch soft but needy.

"You're not leaving me alone in this big, empty house again, are you? Not after… that." Her eyes gleamed with a naughty glint, her body shifting closer, her tits brushing against his arm, her scent—musky, sweet, and raw filling his senses, a cruel reminder of what he'd just witnessed.

Richard moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on hers, his expression a forced mask of calm, though his jaw twitched, betraying the storm raging inside.

His hand rested on her thigh, his touch gentle but tense, his fingers trembling slightly as they grazed her hot, slick skin, still marked by Devon's hands. "No, sweetheart," he said, his voice low, strained, almost cracking under the weight of his emotions.

"I'd never leave you." His fingers tightened slightly, digging into her flesh, a flicker of pain crossing her face, but she mistook it for passion, her smile returning, softer now.

Claire's eyes sparkled, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she leaned closer, her hand trailing up his chest, her nails grazing his shirt. "God, what kind of pill did you take honey?" she teased, her tone playful but reverent, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasms.

"You fucked me like a beast, ripped my pussy to shreds, and I loved it. Did you get some kind of surgery or something? Your cock felt… huge, like it was tearing me apart, and I couldn't get enough." She giggled, her body shifting closer, her tits pressing against his arm, her pussy still dripping, her words spilling out with a dreamy adoration.

"No one's ever fucked me like that, not in all our years together. I'm so happy it was you, my perfect husband, making me feel like that." Her smile was radiant, her eyes filled with love, oblivious to the storm brewing in his chest, the truth she couldn't see.

Richard's lips curled into a rough, forced smile, his eyes dark, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed his teeth might shatter. His hand tightened on her thigh, his fingers digging in harder, making her gasp softly, her eyes fluttering, mistaking his grip for desire. "Yeah, baby," he said, his voice a low growl, each word forced through gritted teeth, "all for you."

His smile held, but his eyes betrayed him, flickering with a mix of rage, betrayal, and a darker, more dangerous edge, a promise of retribution simmering beneath the surface.

He leaned down, kissing her forehead, his lips lingering, his breath hot and uneven against her skin, masking the fury that threatened to consume him. "Get some rest, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with something cold, his hand patting her thigh before pulling away, his eyes never leaving her face, memorizing every detail of her satisfied expression, a wound he'd carry for a long time.

Claire sighed, her body sinking back into the sheets, her smile softening as she nestled into the pillows, her eyes half-closed, still glowing with adoration. "You're too good to me," she whispered, her voice fading as sleep began to reclaim her, her body still marked, her pussy still glistening, the blindfold discarded beside her like a relic of the night's passion.

Richard stood, his movements slow, deliberate, his fists clenching again as he turned away, his eyes burning into the doorway where Devon had vanished, his mind a whirlwind of rage and calculation, a plan forming in the shadows of his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Devon stepped out into the cool night air, the call catalogue file pressed tightly against his chest under his jacket. He pulled out his phone, ordering a ride with a few quick taps.

A sleek black sedan pulled up, its engine purring softly, and Devon slid into the backseat, the ride was silent, the hum of the engine a steady backdrop to Devon's thoughts, his mind dissecting the file's contents, the addresses flashing in his memory—Paris, Dubai, Tokyo, obscure towns in Eastern Europe, dates that aligned with deals gone wrong, passcodes that hinted at a network far larger than he'd imagined.

The sedan wove through the city, streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his face, his hand resting on the pistol in his waistband, the file a burning weight against his chest. He leaned back, his smirk faint, his mind sharp, ready for whatever came next.

As the car pulled up to the suite, its glass facade gleaming under the city lights, Devon stepped out, his boots hitting the pavement with a soft, deliberate thud. The night was still, the air crisp, the city's hum a distant murmur, but his instincts screamed, a prickle at the back of his neck warning him of danger.

Before he could take another step, shadows moved in the corners of his vision guards, five of them, emerging from the darkness like wolves, their movements coordinated, their eyes locked on him with predatory focus.

They closed in fast, their hands resting on holsters, their faces hard, professional, their boots scuffing the pavement in a synchronized rhythm.

One of the guards, a tall man with a jagged scar slicing across his cheek, stepped forward, his hand raised to halt the others, his presence commanding. His eyes narrowed, assessing Devon to see if he was hurt anywhere.

After a moment, he pulled a phone from his pocket, his fingers moving swiftly as he dialed, his gaze never wavering, pinning Devon in place with an intensity that matched the night's chill. The call connected, the line crackling faintly, and he spoke in a low, urgent tone, "Madam Yvonne We've found him. Devon Aldridge."