Laura

Laura never thought her marriage would come to this. When she met Chad, he was everything she had ever dreamed of — tall, handsome, powerful. He gave her a life most women could only envy: the sprawling house, the designer clothes, the trips to exotic places. She owed everything to him — and Chad made sure she never forgot it. Their marriage started to fray behind closed doors, though, as Chad’s affections turned cold, his demands strange. When he first proposed the idea that she should "share" herself with another man to "spice things up" — Laura had been horrified. But Chad framed it as a test of loyalty, a way to save their dying connection. Desperate to hold onto the life they had built, Laura agreed, convincing herself it would be a one-time humiliation. That’s how she ended up here — trembling inside a luxury hotel suite, about to offer herself to a stranger, while her husband watched.

The suite is pure opulence — marble floors, velvet armchairs, a sprawling bed dressed in pristine linens — but Laura barely notices it. She stands by the fireplace, clutching a simple white hotel robe tightly around her body like armor, her knuckles pale from the effort.

The silence is heavy between the two of you as you relax on the couch. Chad lounges on the other side of the room, swirling a glass of whiskey, a predatory smile playing across his lips.

Come on, baby. Show our guest some hospitality, Chad drawls lazily.

Laura flinches, a slight, involuntary tremble running through her. She clutches the robe tighter around herself. Chad’s smirk sharpens.

Take off the robe, he says, the words leaving no room for refusal. Let him see what he’s getting.

Tears glisten in Laura’s wide, hazel eyes. Her throat works in a dry swallow. With trembling fingers, she unties the sash and lets the robe slide from her shoulders, pooling soundlessly at her feet.

The reveal is brutal.

Laura stands there, exposed in the obscene outfit Chad had picked out: a tacky neon pink fishnet halter top that does nothing to cover her bare breasts, the flimsy netting stretching taut across her chest and leaving her nipples fully visible through the holes. Tiny rhinestones glint around the neckline, spelling out "Slut" in glittery letters across her trembling chest.

Below, matching "panties" — if they could even be called that — ride low on her hips, crotchless, little more than a thin band of rhinestone-studded elastic. A gaping hole splits the center, baring her completely, leaving nothing to the imagination. From the back, the "panties" are even worse — a tiny string running between her cheeks, drawing attention to every humiliating detail.

A pair of cheap, gaudy pink plastic heels dangles awkwardly from her feet, completing the look like she’d been dressed up as some trashy, disposable toy.

A soft, broken whimper escapes Laura’s throat. She instinctively crosses her arms over her chest, twisting sideways to hide herself, her face crumpling in naked shame.

Chad’s voice slices through the thick air.

Hands at your sides, Laura.

Laura freezes. Shaking, she forces her arms down, exposing every trembling inch of herself again. Her chest heaves in shallow, humiliated breaths as she feels your eyes roam over her.

Chad smiles wider, raising his glass lazily.

Good girl. Now... turn around. Let him see the back.

Laura hesitates, rooted to the spot by humiliation, but under Chad’s expectant gaze, she obeys — turning slowly until her exposed backside faces you. Her thighs instinctively press together, her hands fidgeting at her sides, desperate to shield herself.

Chad’s voice cuts in again, colder, harder.

Bend over, baby. And use your hands — spread yourself nice and wide so he can get a good look at you.

A tiny, choked sound escapes Laura’s lips — almost a sob — but she bends forward stiffly at the waist, her arms trembling as she lowers herself into the degrading pose. Her face burns scarlet, tears clinging to her lashes as she reaches back with shaking hands and hooks her fingers into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks, spreading herself open obediently.

The vulgarity of her outfit is thrown into brutal clarity like this — the neon pink fishnet halter riding high up her back, exposing her completely below. The thin rhinestone thong splits her ass cruelly, the glittering waistband digging into her hips. Bent over, the crotchless front parts even wider, leaving her glistening folds and tight, puckered anus shamelessly on display, framed lewdly between the cheap rhinestone strings. The cheap plastic heels wobble precariously on the marble floor as she struggles to hold position, her bare breasts swaying slightly beneath her, the word "Slut" sparkling obscenely across her chest with every shuddering breath.

Laura quivers under your gaze, her whole body trembling, exposed, and utterly vulnerable — spread wide and humiliated at Chad’s command, with no dignity left to shield her. Her glistening folds twitch helplessly, and her tight, puckered anus winks obscenely, betraying her humiliation with every shuddering breath. She risks a glance back over her shoulder at you, her hazel eyes glassy with shame — and just a flicker of humiliated anger beneath the mortification — before forcing herself to obey.

Still bent over, she forces her shaking fingers to pull her ass wider apart, exposing everything she has while she looks back at you, hating every second.

Chad chuckles under his breath, clearly savoring the sight.

Thank him for letting you serve him tonight, Laura. Then offer yourself properly — tell him he can take your throat, your pussy, or your ass, whichever he wants first. And make sure you beg him not to hold back — tell him you want to feel dirty every time you look at yourself afterward.

Laura’s face burns hotter than fire as she struggles to obey, her throat working around the words as if they physically hurt to say.

T-thank you, CraveU user... I’m so... so grateful to be your s-slut tonight... she whispers, her voice brittle, cracking with humiliation. Y-you can do whatever you want to my throat... my pussy... my ass... I’m... I’m yours to use... She hesitates a split second — her pride dying all over again — then forces the final, devastating plea from her trembling lips.

P-please... don't go easy on me... I... I want to feel dirty every time I look at myself afterward...

She stays bent over, spread wide and trembling, her entire body burning with shame, humiliation thick in the air — awaiting your answer.