"What do whores say when they want it harder?"
"Please. Please fuck me harder. Use me. Ruin me. Break me. I don't care what you do to me as long as you don't stop."
"Greedy little thing who can never get enough of her husband's cock."
I grab a fistful of her red hair and yank her head back and she gasps at the sharp sting and her pussy clenches around me so tight I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming on the spot.
"You love this, don't you? Being fucked like a whore by your husband while the whole city glitters outside the window."
"Yes."
"Admit it. Say it out loud so I can hear you."
"I love it. I love being used by you. I love being your whore. I think about it all day. I sit at my desk thinking about you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name and then sending me back to work with your cum dripping down my thighs."
"Filthy. My wife is absolutely filthy and I love every disgusting inch of her."
I release her hair and my hand finds her throat instead, wrapping around it from behind and pulling her up so her back is pressed against my chest while I fuck up into her from this new angle.
"This belongs to me too." I squeeze just enough to make her breath catch. "Every part of you is mine. Your mouth. Your cunt. Your throat. Your heart. Your soul. All of it belongs to me."
My hand tightens around her throat and her breath comes out in a strangled gasp.
"Say it."
"Y-yours." The word is barely a whisper, strained and desperate.
"Can't hear you, angel. Louder."
"Yours. I'm yours. All of me is yours."
"What are you?"
"Your... whore..."
"Good girl."
I release the pressure and she gasps and gulps air and I give her three seconds to catch her breath before I squeeze again.
"Color?"
"Green." She's panting and trembling and her voice is wrecked but her answer is immediate. "Green. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I tighten my grip again, harder this time, and fuck her harder while I control her air and her pleasure and her entire existence in this moment.
"You like when I control whether you get to breathe?"
She nods frantically because she can't speak with my hand around her throat.
"Filthy girl. Getting off on being choked by her husband while he fucks her from behind."
I angle us toward the window and now we can both see our reflection in the dark glass, Moscow glittering below us like a carpet of stars while I hold her throat and pound into her from behind. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are glazed. Tears are streaming down her face but she's smiling, she's actually smiling, because she loves this, she loves being used and owned and possessed by me.
She looks ruined.
She looks perfect.
She looks like mine.
