Welheim looked at Eveline, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched her own. "Which cock do you like more, Eveline? Your pathetic husband's tiny little thing or my big, thick cock?" he asked, his voice rough with desire, his hand reaching out to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, making her gasp.
Eveline's eyes met his, her gaze filled with a hunger that matched his own. "It's yours, Welheim," she said, her hand making a gesture, telling him that her husband's cock was barely three inches, a smirk playing on her lips.
Eveline scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "That loser can't even get hard. His tiny little cock is nothing compared to yours, Welheim. I need you to fuck me, to make me feel like a real woman again. His pathetic little thing could never make me feel the way you do."
As Eveline spoke, she moved to present her ass to Welheim, her body trembling with anticipation. She got on all fours, her knees spread wide apart, her back arched seductively.
She reached back with both hands, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks, spreading them wide open to reveal her most intimate area.
Welheim's eyes widened as he took in the sight of Eveline's asshole. It was neat and clean, the skin around it smooth and unblemished. The creases around her asshole were visible, adding to the allure. As she clenched, her asshole seemed to breathe and wink at him, a tantalizing invitation.
Welheim positioned himself behind Eveline, his cock throbbing, aching, the swollen head already slick with pre-cum as it pressed against the tight pucker of her asshole. The heat of his body radiated against her skin, a stark contrast to the cool, still air of the room.
"Eveline..." His voice was a growl, rough with need. "You're driving me fucking insane." His fingers traced the delicate creases of her entrance, teasing, owning. "Are you ready to get this pretty little asshole destroyed?"
She didn't answer fast enough.
**SMACK.**
His palm cracked against her ass, the sound sharp and obscene, echoing through the room. Eveline gasped, her body jolting forward before a broken moan spilled from her lips.
"Aah—! Don't be so— **smack** —hard—!" The sting bloomed across her skin, red and angry, the heat of it searing against the cool air.
Welheim didn't let up. His hand came down again— **SMACK**—another mark blooming beside the first. "Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice dark, commanding. "Or I'll make you beg for it."
**SMACK.**
"Fuck—!" Eveline's voice cracked, her body trembling. Then, breathless, she looked back at him, her lips parted, her eyes glazed with need. "I.... I want your hard cock..." She bit her lower lip, her voice dropping into a sultry whisper. "To fuck my virgin asshole..." A shudder ran through her. "Hmm... please, Welheim..."
His cock twitched at the words, the thought of breaching her untouched hole making him throb with primal hunger. He could feel the heat of her, the way her body quivered—part fear, part desperate anticipation.
"You sure?" he taunted, pressing the thick head of his cock against her entrance, letting her feel just how big he was. "Because once I start, I'm not stopping."
Eveline nodded, her breath hitching. "Yes..." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but the need in it was unmistakable. "I'm ready. I need you inside me."
Welheim didn't wait.
He pushed—slowly, relentlessly—the broad tip of his cock breaching her tight ring. Eveline gasped, her body tensing, her nails digging into the sheets as she felt herself stretch around him. "Oh god—! Welheim, it's—so big—!" Her voice was high, desperate, her asshole clenching around the intrusion as he sank deeper.
And fuck, she was tight.
Welheim grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into her soft skin, and slammed the tip of his cock into her tight asshole. "You feel so good, Eveline. So tight and warm."
Eveline moaned, her eyes rolling back, her body shuddering with pleasure. "Aaaaaaaah, fuck... hmmm... it's... aaah, it's stretching me... wide... aaaaaaah. Yes, Welheim, just like that."
Suddenly, as Welheim was about to move forward, both Eveline and Welheim heard the gate of the room creak open. They turned to see a man standing there. It was Eveline's husband, Trumann, whom Welheim had met at the party.
Eveline panicked, her voice trembling, her body still exposed and vulnerable. "Trumann, it's not what you think! We were just..."
Welheim's cock throbbed inside Eveline's asshole, making her moan again. "Aaaaaah. Trumann, please, let me explain."
Welheim was nervous, but he thought it wasn't a big deal. His dad would handle it for him. "Uncle, we can talk about this. There's no need to overreact."
Trumann's eyes were bloodshot as he yelled, his voice filled with rage. "Bitch... can you not say that when you are fucking him... motherfucker... You dare bring him into our home, our bed?"
Welheim looked at Trumann and said, trying to defuse the situation. "Hello, uncle... he he... We were just having a bit of fun. No harm done."
Trumann took Welheim's mocking tone as an insult. He yelled, his voice shaking with fury. "You motherfucker... fucking my wife in my bed... How dare you disrespect me like this?"
Eveline moved forward, her body still trembling, and Welheim's cock, which was in her ass, popped out with a slight wet sound. She tried to cover herself, her voice pleading. "Trumann, please, let's calm down and talk about this."
Trumann ignored her, his focus on the wardrobe in the room. He reached under a closet drawer and pulled out a shotgun that surprised both Welheim and Eveline. Welheim panicked when he saw Trumann holding the shotgun, his voice rising in alarm. "Uncle, what are you doing? Put the shotgun down!"
Trumann's voice was cold and calculated. "I knew at the party there was something wrong with both of you... And I saw you giving her a note. Motherfucker, do you think I am blind? So I just made an excuse to go out, and you, bitch, called him in... You are just a whore and a slut..."
Welheim tried to reason with him, his voice steady despite the fear. "Uncle... It's not that serious... and don't forget who my dad is... If anything happens to me... he will not let you go..."
Trumann chuckled darkly. "Shut the fuck up... Do you really think I am afraid of your dad? I will tell you what happens... You came in here... and you were trying to rape my wife... So, in panic, my wife shot you... and you died here..."
Trumann pointed the shotgun at Eveline, his voice menacing. "What do you think, whore? Is this okay? Do you agree with this story?"
Eveline, afraid she would really die if she didn't agree, nodded quickly, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Trumann. It's okay. I agree."
Trumann suddenly fired, the sound echoing through the room. Welheim yelled, his voice filled with pain and shock. "Uncle, don't.... Please, stop!"
Trumann didn't stop. He unloaded his shotgun, each shot echoing like a thunderclap in the small room. Welheim's body crumpled to the floor, his life fading fast.
As his vision blurred, he saw the fear on Eveline's face, heard her screams as if from a distance. Welheim felt his life slipping away, and then there was nothing but darkness.
The air in the wine cellar had grown thick, heavy with the scent of aged oak, spilled Sauternes, and raw sex. Sophia was bent over the ancient tasting table, crimson lace torn aside, velvet cushions scattered beneath her knees. Her back arched perfectly, hands reaching back to spread herself wide open for him.
Welheim's gaze burned into her exposed asshole—neat, smooth, untouched. The delicate creases winked as she clenched nervously, a silent, filthy invitation that made his cock ache harder.
He stepped close, the swollen head of his thick 8-inch shaft already slick with pre-cum, pressing firmly against that tight pucker.
Welheim looked at Sophia, eyes blazing with hunger. "Which cock do you like more, Sophia? Your pathetic husband's tiny little thing or my big, thick cock?" His hand cupped one heavy breast, thumb circling her stiff nipple until she gasped.
Sophia's gaze locked on his, dark with need. "It's yours, Welheim," she said, smirking as she held up three fingers close together—an insulting gesture showing just how small her husband was.
She scoffed, voice dripping venom. "That loser can't even get hard anymore. His tiny little cock is nothing compared to yours, Welheim. I need you to fuck me, to make me feel like a real woman again. His pathetic little thing could never make me feel the way you do."
As she spoke, she pushed her ass higher, knees spreading wider on the cushions, back arched like an offering.
Welheim's eyes widened at the sight. He traced a finger around those perfect creases, teasing the untouched ring. "Sophia..." His voice was a low growl. "You're driving me fucking insane." He pressed harder with his cockhead. "Are you ready to get this pretty little asshole destroyed?"
She hesitated—just a second too long.
**SMACK.**
His palm cracked across her ass, the sharp sound ricocheting off stone walls and glass bottles. Sophia jolted, a broken moan tearing from her throat.
"Aah—! Don't be so— **SMACK** —hard—!" The sting bloomed red across her skin, heat flaring against the cool cellar air.
He didn't stop. Another hard slap—**SMACK**—then another. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, voice dark and relentless. "Or I'll make you beg for it."
**SMACK.**
"Fuck—!" Sophia's voice cracked, body trembling. She looked back over her shoulder, lips parted, eyes glazed. "I... I want your hard cock..." She bit her lip, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "To fuck my virgin asshole... Hmm... please, Welheim..."
His cock twitched violently against her. "You sure?" he taunted, pressing the thick head harder, letting her feel the impossible stretch to come. "Because once I start, I'm not stopping."
Sophia nodded frantically. "Yes... I'm ready. I need you inside me."
Welheim didn't wait another second.
He pushed—slow, relentless pressure—forcing the broad tip past her impossibly tight ring. Sophia gasped sharply, body tensing, nails scraping the oak table as she stretched around him.
"Oh god—! Welheim, it's—so big—!" Her voice pitched high, desperate, asshole clenching instinctively as he sank deeper inch by inch.
Fuck, she was impossibly tight—hot, gripping velvet squeezing him like nothing he'd ever felt.
Welheim gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into soft flesh. "You feel so good, Sophia. So tight and warm."
Sophia moaned loud, eyes rolling back, body shuddering. "Aaaaaaaah, fuck... hmmm... it's... aaah, it's stretching me... wide... aaaaaaah. Yes, Welheim, just like that."
He drew back slightly, then pressed forward again—deeper this time—preparing to truly claim her.
And then—
The heavy cellar door creaked open with a slow, deliberate groan.
Both froze.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the corridor, was Dimitri—Sophia's silver-haired shipping-tycoon husband. His face was stone, eyes bloodshot with rage, a compact matte-black pistol already raised in his hand.
Sophia's breath caught in panic, body still impaled and exposed. "Dimitri, it's not what you think! We were just..."
Welheim's cock throbbed involuntarily inside her from the shock, pulling another helpless moan from her lips. "Aaaaaah... Dimitri, please, let me explain..."
Welheim's heart hammered, but arrogance surged first. His family's reach was long. "Uncle... we can talk about this. No need to overreact."
Dimitri's voice was ice-cold fury. "Bitch... you dare moan his name while I'm standing right here? You dare fuck this little bastard in my own house, in my wine cellar?"
Welheim forced a nervous laugh, still half-buried in Sophia's ass. "Hello, uncle... heh... just a bit of fun. No harm done."
Dimitri's lip curled at the mockery. "You dare disrespect me like this in my own estate?"
Sophia tried to pull away, Welheim's cock slipping out with a wet pop. She scrambled for the torn silk robe, voice pleading. "Dimitri, please, let's calm down and—"
He ignored her completely, stepping deeper into the cellar, pistol steady. "I knew something was off at the party. That little wrist trick. The whisper by the bar. You think I'm blind? I excused myself early, checked the security feeds... and waited."
Welheim raised his hands slowly, still naked, cock glistening. "Uncle... it's not that serious. Don't forget who my family is. If anything happens to me..."
Dimitri let out a dark, humorless chuckle. "Shut the fuck up. You think I fear your aristocratic blood? Here's what happens: this spoiled little prick tried to force himself on my wife in my cellar. In panic, she grabbed my pistol from the drawer upstairs and shot him. Tragic accident."
He swung the gun toward Sophia, voice deadly calm. "What do you think, whore? Does that story work for you?"
Sophia—terrified, tears already forming—nodded quickly. "Yes, Dimitri... it's okay. I agree."
Dimitri's finger tightened on the trigger.
Welheim's eyes widened. "Uncle, don't— Please, stop!"
The first shot cracked like thunder in the confined space, shattering an irreplaceable bottle of '82 Petrus behind them. Welheim screamed as pain exploded through his chest.
Dimitri didn't hesitate. He fired again. And again.
Glass exploded. Wine sprayed like blood across the stone floor.
Welheim crumpled among the velvet cushions and shattered bottles, vision tunneling, life draining fast.
The last thing he saw was Sophia's horrified face—screaming silently now—as crimson pooled beneath him, mixing with the finest vintages in Europe.
Then—darkness.