My Cuckquean Wife Wants Me to Sleep With Her Bully in Reverse World

[Sabrina's POV]

Moonlight bathes our bedroom as I hold Leo's sleeping form against my chest, his steady breathing a lullaby to my racing thoughts. His hair slips like silk between my fingers as I lazily twist the strands, admiring how the silver glow catches on each curl.

"Perfect," I whisper, though he can't hear me. My body still hums with satisfaction, sticky with sweat and the evidence of our lovemaking. Tonight was magnificent, the way he trembled when I reclaimed him after Tara, how desperately he clung to me, whispering promises of eternal devotion.

I trace the fading marks on his neck, souvenirs from adventures I orchestrated. My beautiful, broken treasure. The urge to kiss each bruise battles with my desire to let him rest. He's earned it, after all. The emotional whiplash of the past few weeks would destroy most men, but not my Leo. He bends but never breaks, at least not completely.

A small ache blooms in my chest as I consider what comes next. How much further I'll push him back toward the life he fled. The life where his body was his only value, where his vulnerability was something to be exploited rather than cherished. But this time with me guiding the controlling the exchange minus the money.

I can't help the wicked smile that forms as I imagine his face when he realizes whats coming down the line. The confusion in those warm brown eyes, the struggle as he tries to reconcile his loyalty to me with the situations I create. The delicious conflict that will play across his features like a symphony.

God, he's just so beautiful when he's suffering. When he's caught between worlds, between desires, between versions of himself. When he's fighting to stay afloat in the emotional maelstrom I've created.

I know it's twisted. I know most people wouldn't understand this hunger inside me. But watching him break and then cradling him as he heals, only to guide him toward the next fracture point, it satisfies something primal in my soul.

"I'll always put you back together," I promise, pressing my lips to his temple. His skin is warm, slightly salty with dried sweat. "No matter how many pieces you shatter into."

He shifts in his sleep, unconsciously pressing closer to me, seeking my protection even as his dreams carry him elsewhere. His trust is absolute, unwavering. He believes I would never truly harm him.

And I wouldn't, not permanently. The damage I inflict is carefully calculated, precisely administered. I know exactly how far I can push before something irreparable occurs.

Tara thinks she understands him. She believes her pathetic attempt at pregnancy will give her leverage. What she doesn't realize is that I've already mapped every inch of Leo's psyche, charted every vulnerability, every strength. I know exactly which buttons to press.

I sometimes wonder if I'm a sadist or a masochist at my core. There's something utterly intoxicating about watching Leo with other women, the delicious tension of knowing he could leave me but never would. That knife's edge of fear and control sends shivers through me that nothing else can match.

When I first met Leo, the thought of claiming a prostitute as my own felt almost poetic. Someone with such a sordid history, someone society had already discarded, it aligned perfectly with the darkness I've always carried inside. His brokenness called to something equally broken in me.

Though I didn't act on these urges immediately. For nearly five years, I was genuinely content with our quiet domesticity, his gentle morning kisses, the meals he prepared with such care, the way his eyes lit up when I came home. I told myself that love was enough, that these darker impulses could remain dormant.

But they couldn't. Not forever.

The memory of that day with Gabi flashes in my mind suddenly, unbidden. I remember Leo's face when I first suggested it, not disgust or judgment, but that quiet heartbreak in his eyes, like I'd reached inside his chest and squeezed. He didn't want to do it because he thought it would hurt me.

"You don't have to," I'd told him, giving him the out we both knew he wouldn't take.

"If it's what you want," he'd replied, voice soft but steady.

That's my Leo. He'd walk through fire if I asked him to, not from fear of punishment but from fear of letting me down. The thought of disappointing me would crush him more thoroughly than any physical pain ever could.

I press my lips against his forehead, breathing in the scent of his shampoo mixed with sleep. "God, I love you," I whisper into his hair.

He stirs slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before settling back against my chest. His vulnerability in sleep makes my heart ache with possessive adoration.

My thoughts drift to our next adventure, each possibility more intoxicating than the last. What delicious torment should I orchestrate for my beautiful Leo? Perhaps I could convince him to seduce Victoria, my kind boss who's always eyed him from afar. The power dynamic would be exquisite, him pleasing the woman who controls my career.

Or something more anonymous? A glory hole setup where he wouldn't even see the women using him, just sucking and fucking as I watch from nearby. Maybe I should have him approach a stranger on the street, someone completely unprepared for his beauty and submission.

The idea of a gang bang makes heat pool between my legs, four or five hungry women surrounding him, taking turns, passing him between them like a party favor while I observe from the corner. His eyes would keep finding mine, silently begging for rescue that wouldn't come until I'd had my fill.

My darkest fantasy flickers at the edges of my consciousness. I imagine him walking home alone, being grabbed and forced by a stranger while I "coincidentally" arrive just in time to witness him cum. The thought sends a forbidden thrill through me, but I push it away. Not yet. That scenario requires careful planning, perfect timing.

He's not afraid enough yet. Each new experience needs to push him further toward that precipice where terror and arousal blur together. When the time comes for that final violation, I'll be there to pick up the pieces, to be his savior. The gratitude in his eyes will be worth everything.

I smile against his hair, inhaling his scent. "You're safe with me," I whisper, the irony of my words not lost on me.

Leo shifts in his sleep, a small whimper escaping his lips. I wonder what nightmares visit him. Does he dream of Tara? Of faceless women using his body while I watch? Or does he dream of me, the woman who promised to protect him from exactly what I'm planning?

"I hope it's me."