AI Helps My Wife Become My Mistress

My wife isn't wild sexually. She is a hot lady, but she can't come up with the kinky ideas that I want her to try. She knows whst kind of kinky stuff I'm into. If I tell her what I want her to.do to me, she will follow my directions. No more and no less. If I tell her what I want to hear her say, she will repeat it, but not come up with anything else.

She's scared that I might think she is a freak, even though I want her to go wild. If she has AI telling her what to do to me, that might let her feel like it's not her fault. Kinda like, "I wouldn't have stuck that dildo in your mouth after I fucked your ass with it, but your AI Mistress told me you would like it."

I like stretching my butthole with my slippery, lubed-up latex-gloved fingers. After my fingers stretch my hole, getting myself opened up, I start with one of my buttplugs. I have quite a collection. They range from some small ones that I started using in the beginning to some pretty big ones that I can use now that I've become accustomed to the stretching. There's one that looks like a soda can with a domed head. It's amazing what some practice, patience, and a lot of lube can do.

After the buttplugs, I like to fuck my stretched hole with a pretty big rubber cock. I have a lot of dildos; some of them are massive. I have a new one that is thicker than my wrist.

I love the feeling when that massive rubber cork is slamming into me. The big flared head is even bigger than the veined shaft. When that dildo is sliding through my stretched rim, the painful burning feeling gets overcome quickly by the feeling of ecstasy when its textured length rubs along my prostate.

My hand is quite the challenge to get into myself, but the couple times I did it, my knuckles grinding against my prostate made me cum like crazy. It was a massive hands-free orgasm that shook my whole body in ecstasy. It takes quite the effort and I feel like a contortionist, twisting my body to work my hand into my own ass. Last time I did it, I wrenched my back. Having someone fist me while I lay there, legs spread wide, would be ideal.

I would love for my beautiful wife to be my Mistress, doing all these wild, kinky things to me, instead of me having to do them to myself. She's not very imaginative, so I would have to tell her what to say or do to me. That kinda takes the fun out of it. She is embarrassed to come up with it on her own. However, if a demanding Mistress--even if it's AI--tells her what to do to me, she would listen to and follow through with the directives.

I'm going to submit this to AI along with a list of all my supplies, a description of the outfit for my wife to wear, and then we'll see what the voice in my phone can come up with. Then I can show my wife and, following AI's orders, she can be my kinky Mistress, completely guilt-free.

When I yelled out for my wife to come into the bedroom, I was laying on the bed. Slouched down, my head and shoulders were leaning against the headboard, a pillow underneath them. I was naked aside from the latex hood I had pulled over my head and the thick ballgag I had shoved into my mouth after calling for her.

My wife walked into the room, annoyed that I had called for her, interrupting what she was doing. "What now, Doug?" Maria asked as she walked through the open door. Her eyes fell on me, laying on the bed, then she looked at the toys and equipment laying beside me. "What the hell is this?" she asked.

I pointed to my phone laying beside me. She picked it up and read what was on the screen as the phone's AI personal assistant's voice came out of the speaker.

"To the Wife: You are no longer acting as yourself. You are the Executor of this Protocol. Your husband has surrendered his comfort and his control to this AI system. You are the hands of the machine. Do not hesitate; do not apologize. These commands are designed for his maximum sensation and ultimately, his pleasure and your absolute authority."

She looked up at me. "Are you fucking insane? Where do you come up with this shit?" she asked. I shrugged and motioned toward the phone as the voice continued.

"Your husband has provided a list of supplies and clothing necessary to complete this task. Follow my directions explicitly. Hit the button and report status to me after completing the directed step and you will be given the next task." Maria's gaze shifted between the phone and I.

"Once all tasks are completed and your husband's intense hands-free orgasm is achieved, he will be required to do your personal bidding. You will be so excited and worked up from this process that you will be his ruthless, demanding Mistress without AI assistance. Trust the process and follow my directives."

My wife looked up at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth and a fire burning in her eyes. She paused the AI's speaking. She said, "Don't get mad at me if I get carried away. I'm just following AI's orders."

She hit the button again and the AI voice started speaking again. "Remove your clothes and don the clothing provided. Put on the latex and the high-heel boots. Then pull the long latex gloves over your hands. The sound of the latex snapping against your arms is his first warning."

The phone bounced on the mattress as she cast it aside, her focus already shifting to the pile of black latex. Her expression was unreadable as she picked it up, along with her sexy boots, and walked into the bathroom. I was unsure if this would be an astounding success or my worst idea ever.

Only my wife could determine that.

The bathroom door creaked open, and I watched as the Maria I knew vanished, replaced by a stranger in black latex and high heels. The sharp clicking of her boots on the floor set my heart racing--a predatory sound that signaled my loss of control.

She had put on the crotchless latex panties; I could see a bit of skin through the opening in the black latex as she moved closer. The latex tank top was stretched tight over her big D-cup tits, her hard nipples visible through the thin material. She had piled her long wavy black hair up on her head in a messy bun and put on some dark makeup that accentuated her pretty green eyes.

She stopped at the edge of the bed and slowly pulled the long gloves up her arms, the material making little squeaking noises, until they seated firmly against her skin, just shy of her elbow. Snap. The sound of the latex hitting her forearm was like the crack of a whip, and my body tensed under the hood in primal anticipation.

She didn't look into my eyes; her focus was entirely on the phone. She picked it up, the material of her glove squeaking against the screen as she tapped it. The AI's cool, detached voice filled the room, ordering her to strap me down to the bed, giving her access to my waiting hole. It explicitly stated that my comfort was secondary to the objective.

Maria looked down at me, her gaze shifting from curiosity to a focused, almost clinical intensity. She moved toward me with a sense of purpose I had never seen in her before. She attached the straps I had laid out earlier to the cuffs I was wearing on my wrists, leaving my arms stretched out wide, connected to the outside corners of the headboard.

"You heard the voice, Doug," she said, her voice dropping into a dark, commanding register that sent a shiver down my spine. "It said your comfort is secondary. And I'm a very good listener."

She didn't hesitate as she gripped my ankle, shoving my knee towards my armpit to expose me, then she attached another strap, around the back of my knee, holding me open in that position. She repeated the process with my other leg, leaving me exposed and ready for her.

Maria leaned over me, the scent of her perfume mixing with the smell of the latex, and whispered against my hood. "The AI says I shouldn't apologize. I think I'm going to like this protocol--it takes all the 'nice' out of me."

She reached for the phone, her thumb hovering over the button. "He's open," she reported to the speaker, her voice mocking and sharp. "Give me the next command."

The AI's female-sounding voice chimed again, vibrating from the phone Maria held in her hand. It was devoid of warmth, like a Mistress should be, like I was asking my wife to be.

"The next directive: Preparation of the recipient," the voice intoned. "Apply high-viscosity lubricant to your gloved fingers. Begin internal dilation. Your husband has reported a history of intense stretching, culminating in him fisting his own anus; use the provided implements to work up to the threshold of his endurance. Do not wait for him to relax. Force the relaxation."

Maria stared at me wide-eyed. I felt embarrassed by AI's revelation to my wife. My face burned under the mask as she looked at me in disbelief. "Fisting," she whispered. "You've fisted yourself?" I slowly nodded my head. When she bent down and reached for the large bottle of lube, I saw a smile on her lips.

The pump on the lube bottle echoed in the quiet room as the slimy gel puddled in her hand. She coated the fingers on her right glove until it shimmered under the lights, the black latex turning into a slick mirror.

"You heard the voice," Maria whispered, though her green eyes were fixed on my exposed, twitching rim. "I'm to prepare you and stretch your hole. I'm. Gonna. Fist. You."

I felt her slick, gloved fingers press against my rim, the latex sliding with an unnerving, mechanical smoothness. Maria didn't wait for a sign of readiness; she took the AI's "forced relaxation" directive to heart.

She pushed a couple of slippery fingers into me with a firm, steady pressure that made my breath hitch behind the ballgag. She started twisting her fingers around inside my hole. The embarrassment of my secrets being aired by a synthetic voice was quickly replaced by the overwhelming physical reality of her intrusion.

Maria pulled her fingers out of my hole and, after coating them with more lube, roughly shoved them back into me. I moaned into the ballgag, bringing a smile to her dark plum-painted lips. After spreading her fingers apart, scissoring them open inside of me, she pulled them out.

I heard her pump out some more lube, then she pushed three fingers into me, twisting them around. She hit the button and reported her progress. "I've worked three fingers into his ass, slowly stretching him. What is next?"

The AI's voice cut through the heavy silence again, more clinical than before. "Progressive expansion. The subject's current state is insufficient for the final objective. Utilize the provided plugs. Increase the diameter every three to five minutes until the soda-can-sized implement can be seated without resistance. Proceed."

Maria didn't look at the phone this time. She looked at the array of silicone and rubber on the bed, her eyes traveling from the smallest trainer to the massive, domed plug. The "nice" Maria would have asked if it hurt. This Maria--the Executor--simply reached for the mid-sized plug, her gloved hand glistening with lube.

"You've been keeping busy while I was at work, haven't you, Doug?" she whispered. The sound of the latex glove sliding against the toy was a wet squeal.

She pressed the rounded point against me. I tensed, my hips bucking instinctively against the straps, but she dropped her weight onto my thigh, pinning me. "No," she said, and the word wasn't a request. "The machine said I don't wait for you to relax. I force it." Then she began to push.

The mid-sized plug slid home, a thick wedge of silicone that felt like a permanent intrusion. I groaned against the ballgag, my body shaking against the restraints as my body tried to find space where there was none. Maria didn't pull back. Instead, she rested her weight against my inner thigh, her latex-clad palm sticky against my skin. She wasn't looking at me anymore; she was staring at the massive, soda-can-shaped plug sitting on the nightstand like a silent threat.

"The voice said five minutes," she murmured, her voice losing its tremor and gaining a sharp, clinical edge. She reached over and tapped the phone screen with a gloved thumb. "Status: Mid-sized plug is seated, but he's fighting it."

The AI's voice responded, cold and indifferent. "Do not allow him to fight. Apply downward pressure to the pelvis. If resistance continues, utilize the vibrator on the prostate to distract him from the task at hand. Dilation must be absolute before the final implement is introduced."

Maria's eyes snapped to mine, a dark, predatory spark behind her green irises. She didn't reach for the vibrator. Instead, she leaned over me, the scent of latex and her perfume filling my senses, and pressed her forearm hard against my gut. The added pressure forced the plug deeper, hitting my prostate with a blunt, rhythmic throb that made my toes curl.

"You heard the voice, Doug," she whispered, her gloved fingers already slicking up the next, larger toy. "The time for 'nice' is over. We're going to see exactly how much you can take." She gripped the base of the plug already inside me and began to twist it, slowly widening the rim of my hole to prepare for the next plug.

It had been a few minutes since she had pushed the current plug into my ass. Maria smiled as she pulled it out of me. Before I had a chance to react, she had the next plug, dripping with cold lube, pressed against my stinging hole. I groaned loudly into the ballgag as she pushed with a look of concentration on her face. I felt the rim stretch as the thickest part pushed inside. Once it was in, my hole quickly sucked the rest of the plug in.

I moaned at the full feeling, but I was surprised when my wife moaned too.

"Fuck, this is turning me on more than I thought it would," she whispered. "While that one is stretching your hole, I need you to do something for me." Maria reached behind my head and released the buckle on the ballgag. "Not a fucking word," she warned me.

Then my wife turned Mistress, stood, and straddled my body. Her stiletto heels sank into the mattress as she stood over me. Her looking down at me, with the evil smirk on her lips and the cold stare that made me shiver, made her look like an imposing dominatrix. I felt like a small, submissive little bitch as she towered over me.

Then she squatted down, her wide-spread thighs resting on my knees, still hovering by my ears. This put her splayed-open pussy, visible through the crotchless latex, right in front of my face. "Lick me, slave hubby," she demanded. I craned my neck forward and stuck my tongue out. When it pressed against her clit, she moaned loudly. I licked her, lapping up the juices off her spread pussy lips, before flicking her clit again.

Maria's breathing was shallow, her chest heaving under the tight black latex. The transition from my wife to my Mistress was complete, and the vulnerability I felt--exposed, restrained, and filled to capacity--was exactly what I had been chasing.

"Your only job is to please me while that plug does its job: stretching you, getting you ready for the next," she moaned. The contrast was jarring. This was the woman who usually asked me what I wanted for dinner, now demanding my tongue with the cold efficiency of a programmed directive.

The heat radiating from her wet pussy was intoxicating. As I flicked my tongue against her swollen clit, Maria's hips began to roll in a frantic, uncoordinated rhythm, her heels digging deeper into the mattress. She wasn't just following a protocol anymore; her gasps were becoming guttural, raw, and entirely her own.

I focused on the steady lapping, my tongue working with a mechanical precision that mimicked the AI's cold directives. Every time I hit the sweet spot, her thighs would quiver, while the massive plug still buried in my ass throbbed in sympathy.

She let out a jagged, breathless command for me not to stop, her gloved hands reaching down to press my head deeper into her crotch, offering me every bit of her.

The climax hit her like a physical shock. Her entire body stiffened, her back arching until her chest was thrust forward, the tight latex tank top groaning under the strain. She let out a long, high-pitched wail that echoed off the bedroom walls, her juices flooding my mouth as her thighs quivered and she moaned loudly.

For a long moment, she just hovered there, trembling and spent, before she slowly stood, looking down at me with a dazed, predatory grin that showed the Mistress had truly arrived. She bent over and licked her sweet pussy juice off my latex-covered face. I opened my mouth to speak and she pushed the ballgag back in before a single word could slip out.

Maria grabbed the phone, her thumb leaving a translucent smear of lubricant across the glass as she toggled the mic. "He's ready for the next plug," she stated, her voice sharp with a new, clinical authority. "Or maybe I'm just ready to give it to him. I want to see him stretch more."

The AI's response was immediate and chillingly precise. "Move on to the soda-can-sized plug now. This implement is designed to reach the threshold of the subject's capacity. Apply maximum lubrication and introduce the domed head with a single, continuous motion. Do not allow him to recoil from the pressure; use your body weight to seal the displacement."

Maria tossed the phone onto the bed and reached for the massive plug. It looked like a soda can with a flared base and a rounded top. The twist to this plug was that there was no narrowed neck between the thick body of the plug and the flared base. There would be no relief once it was seated fully inside me. I would remain stretched open to the plug's maximum diameter until she took it back out.

Maria didn't check my face for permission. She simply doused the toy in a fresh layer of the slippery gel, the wet sounds filling the quiet room, and dropped to her knees between my spread legs.

"The voice says no stopping, Doug," she whispered, pulling the previous plug out. Her green eyes locked on mine as she pressed the wide, blunt head against my twitching rim. "It says I need to take up all the space you have left." Then, with a predatory smirk, she leaned her full weight forward, forcing the massive diameter to conquer the final bit of my resistance.

I didn't think it would go in. It felt like she was pushing the plug against a wall. It seemed like neither one would give up. Then I groaned in agony as finally, the stretched rim of my hole slowly stretched even more, until the plug slid inside. She kept pushing until the flared base was pushed tight against my stretched ring.

I was yelling and moaning into the gag. My hole felt like it was well past maximum capacity and it burned with a pain I felt through my whole body.

The agonizing pressure of the soda-can plug felt like a physical invasion of my very identity, stretching my rim to a breaking point that finally snapped my remaining will.

As Maria's weight forced the blunt head deeper, the white-hot pain merged with a terrifying, hollow ecstasy, stripping away my ego until I was nothing but a dilated hole for her to fill with her whims. I wasn't a husband or even a man in that moment; I was an object, a piece of living furniture designed only to be pushed, filled, and conquered by the woman towering above me in glistening black latex.

I looked up at her through the eye-slits of my hood, seeing the clinical detachment in her green eyes, and felt a profound sense of submissive nothingness. It felt like my only purpose was to endure whatever destruction she deemed necessary.

I actually craved the ruin she was inflicting; I wanted her to use my body until it was spent and broken, finding a sick comfort in the fact that my boundaries no longer existed. Under the crushing weight of her authority and the massive stretch of the latex-slicked plug, I surrendered to the bliss of being her absolute, nameless slave.

Maria moaned loudly, a raw, hungry sound that vibrated through the humid air of the room. She wasn't looking at my face anymore; her green eyes were fixed downward, dilated and dark with a fixated intensity as she stared at the massive plug buried deep within me.

"The sight of that sliding into you... stretching your hole like that... it's amazing, slave," she whispered, her voice thick with a newfound carnal greed. "I want to see it again. I need to see it happen again."

She reached down, her long latex fingers slick with lubricant. She gripped the flared base of the soda-can-sized plug with a firm, proprietary tug. I felt the agonizing, heavy drag of the silicone as she began to slowly pull it out. The vacuum seal of my internals fought against the withdrawal, a deep, pulling ache that made my vision swim behind the latex hood.

As the domed head finally cleared my rim, I felt myself hanging wide open, a gaping, empty circle of raw, pink flesh that couldn't close fast enough. I felt the cool air hit my insides for a fleeting second before Maria was back. She didn't offer a moment of relief. She grabbed the bottle of lubricant, pumping a generous, viscous stream directly onto the head of the plug and over my exposed, twitching rim. The wet, slapping sounds of her gloved hands spreading the lube confirmed she wasn't done yet.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice dropping into that dark, commanding register. "So open. So ready." She pressed the blunt, rounded head back against my hole. Even though I was primed, the sheer diameter of the toy felt like a physical impossibility. She pushed with a steady, relentless force.

It slid in slightly easier than the first time, the path already paved by the previous stretch, but the sensation was no less overwhelming. I groaned, a long, guttural sound that was lost behind the ballgag, my hips bucking instinctively against the bed as the textured surface of the plug forced my rim back to its absolute limit.

Maria didn't stop until she slammed the flared base firmly against my skin, the impact sending a jolt of electricity straight to my prostate. I looked up at her, my breathing was fast whistles through my nostrils.

She was smiling down at me--not the supportive, gentle smile of my wife, but the predatory, satisfied smirk of a Mistress who had just realized exactly how much power she held over the man beneath her. She looked at me like I was just a piece of meat, a tool for her exploration, and I had never loved a look more in my life.

Then, without a word of warning, she gripped the base again. She ripped the plug out in one swift, wet motion, the sound of the suction breaking like a heavy pop in the quiet room. Before I could even catch my breath or let my muscles recoil, she firmly slammed it back into me.

The force of the re-entry was staggering. My insides were hammered by the solid mass of the plug, the blunt head colliding with my prostate with enough force to make my entire body seize. The burning at my rim was white-hot, it was a ring of fire.

Maria leaned her weight into it, her latex-clad chest heaving as she held the plug deep, her eyes locked on mine with a terrifying, beautiful coldness that told me the AI's "Protocol" was no longer the one in charge--she was.

The weight of the soda-can plug was a constant, throbbing reminder of my helplessness, but the shift in the room's energy was even more paralyzing. Maria picked up the phone, her gloved thumb slicking the screen as she signaled the AI.

"The soda-can plug is seated," she reported, her voice steady and devoid of its usual warmth. "He's at capacity."

The AI's voice chimed back, a chilling, mechanical trill. "Directive confirmed. Continue sustained dilation. Maintain the current implement for an additional ten minutes to ensure permanent relaxation of the sphincter before the next objective."

Maria looked down at me, the phone glowing against the black latex of her palm. For a second, I saw my wife--then she smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her plum-painted lips, and shook her head. "No," she whispered, her green eyes locking onto mine through my hood. "I have other ideas."

She tossed the phone onto the nightstand, ignoring the AI as it began to repeat the directive. My heart hammered against my ribs. She reached past the array of plugs and grabbed the heavy leather harness I'd laid out. The thick, veined rubber dildo--the one thicker than my wrist--swayed with a heavy, intimidating weight as she lifted it. "That plug is gonna stretch you for as long as it takes me to get this strapon ready to fill you next."

She stood above me, the stiletto heels of her boots digging into the mattress on either side of my hips. I felt the pointy toe of her boot press firmly against the base of the plug, keeping it pinned deep inside me as she stepped into the leg straps. She pulled the harness up her thighs, her movements efficient and cold.

When she buckled the waist strap, tightening it until the latex of her panties puckered, the massive dildo jutted out from her crotch like a weapon. She dropped back to her knees between my spread legs, the bed groaning under her weight. She didn't look at the phone; she looked at the stretch of my asshole around the plug.

She grabbed the bottle of lube and began slathering the rubber cock, her gloved hands making a wet squelching sound as she coated the flared head and the veined shaft.

"The machine wants me to wait," she said quietly, her voice dropping into that dark, commanding register. "But I'm done waiting. I can't wait to fuck you with this big, huge cock."

Maria didn't give me a second to brace myself. She gripped the base of the plug and ripped it out of my anus in one swift, violent motion. The sensation was a sickening, hollow pop, and for a heartbeat, I felt completely undone, my hole hanging wide and raw in the cool air.

Before my muscles could even think of recoiling, she lunged forward. The head of the dildo was the blunt end of a long thick shaft, that met my stinging rim with zero hesitation. She could have been fucking me with a baseball bat. I don't think it would have felt any different. I let out a muffled scream into the ballgag as she used her entire body weight to drive the thick rubber cock deep into me.

It felt like I was being split apart. The burning was instantaneous--a white-hot ring of fire as the textured veins of the shaft grated against my overstretched internals.

She didn't stop at the head. She gripped my hips, her latex-clad fingers digging into my skin, and slammed her pelvis forward. The shaft buried itself deep, the sheer girth of it displacing everything in its path.

I felt it collide with my prostate with a violence that sent stars across my vision. My body seized, my back arching against the headboard as the massive implement filled every available inch of me, stretching me even further than the plug had.

Maria moaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated power. "Look at you," she hissed, watching the way my body buckled under the intrusion. "You're mine now. Not AI's. Mine."

She began to pull back, only to slam forward again, the wet, slapping sound of her latex-clad crotch hitting my buttocks echoing like a thunderclap in the silent room. Every thrust was a conquest, a brutal reminder that the "nice" Maria was gone, replaced by a Mistress intent on seeing exactly how much ruin I could handle.

The sensation was a total sensory overload, a violent collision of pain and pleasure that centered entirely on the rubber mass buried deep within me. Maria folded me up even tighter; she had nearly pinned my knees to my ears. The huge strapon continued to slam into me, and I felt that the angle of the dildo had shifted, hitting my prostate with pinpoint accuracy.

Every stroke of the massive dildo with the flared head bypassed my brain and spoke directly to my nerves. I watched, helpless and bound, as the first rope of semen arced across my ribs, followed by another that splashed against the base of my throat. My body convulsing in a jagged, hands-free release that left me shaking and trying to suck in enough oxygen to not black out through my nostrils.

Maria didn't move to comfort me; she remained perched over my ruin, her chest heaving under the black latex as she savored the sight of my total undoing. The dildo stayed rooted in my overstretched hole, a thick plug of rubber keeping me wide and vulnerable while she stared down at the mess on my skin with a cold, mocking disdain.

In that moment of post-orgasmic clarity, the power dynamic was absolute--I was a spent, dripping object, and she was a predator who discovered how far she could push me.

The massive rubber shaft sliding out of me was an intense vacuum, a dragging sensation that felt like it was pulling my intestines and maybe even my stomach along with it.

My hole hung wide and empty, the cool air of the bedroom stinging the overstretched, raw tissue. I lay there, bucking slightly against the leather straps, my breath coming in ragged, pathetic hitches through my nose, causing it to whistle.

Maria stood over me, her chest heaving, her green eyes dark and unfocused. She didn't even look at the phone this time. The AI's voice was still droning on from the mattress about "sustained dilation," but Maria's hand went straight for the lube bottle. She didn't just pump it; she unscrewed the top and poured a thick, shimmering puddle over her long, black latex glove.

I heard AI say, "You are directed to transition from the rubber implement to your gloved hand. Lubricate the glove to the elbow. Use the 'duck-bill' formation with your fingers. Enter slowly until the knuckles bypass the sphincter, then expand the fist. Do not stop until the recipient achieves a hands-free climax."

Maria looked at the phone, then at her own hand, encased in the glistening black latex. She looked back at me, and the smile she gave me was enough to make my soul shiver. It wasn't a smile of comfort; it was the smile of a woman who was about to take everything I had left to give.

"You heard the voice, slave," she whispered, her voice dropping to a commanding rasp I'd never heard from her before. She dropped the dildo harness to the floor with a heavy thud and knelt back between my legs. "It's still talking about protocols and timers. It's still trying to calculate your 'threshold,' However, it is right about one thing. The buttplugs were just the warmup. Now you get the real thing."

She pressed her fingertips against my rim. I flinched, my muscles coiling in a useless, instinctive panic, but she pinned my thigh with her forearm, grinding bone against muscle until I was trapped.

"I'll give the machine credit--it gave me permission," she murmured, her thumb working a slick, cold dollop of lube into my twitching center. "It stripped the guilt away. It told me I had to be this way. But the AI is just dead logic, Doug. It doesn't feel my stomach flip when I see how much you're willing to let me ruin you."

She didn't wait for me to settle. She forced her fingers into a hard, uneven wedge and shoved. It wasn't the clean, hollow stretch of the silicone; it was the intrusive, grinding reality of knuckles and bone. I bucked, a raw, muffled shriek dying in the gag as she pushed her way in, inch by agonizing inch.

"The AI doesn't know the texture of this," she hissed, her perfume cloying like funeral flowers as she crowded my space. "It can't feel your pulse hammering against my palm, begging for a mercy I'm not going to give. It doesn't know the fever of your insides or the way you're stretching around me."

With a sharp, predatory lunge, she drove her weight forward. I felt my internal sphincters snap--a final, silent surrender. Her hand vanished past the wrist, buried deep in the meat of me. The occupation was total; she wasn't just inside me, she owned the very space where my breath began.

"The voice in the phone is finished, Doug," she whispered. Her green eyes locked onto mine with cold, terrifying clarity. She began to rotate her fist inside me. "I don't need it to tell me what to do anymore. I know exactly what I want to do to you."

She shifted her weight, pinning my knees against my chest. I was trapped. The grinding pressure of her fist intensified. Her movements lost their clinical edge, replaced by a raw, carnal hunger. The only sound was the rhythm of her latex glove--a wet, rhythmic slap punctuating my muffled groans.

My pulse quickened. Fear and delight bled together. Muscles jumped and spasmed. The latex hood pulled tight against my face; my nose whistled as I fought for air. She didn't just move; she twisted her arm with every stroke, grinding against my prostate. She withdrew until her knuckles cleared the rim, then slammed back in. The headboard groaned under the force.

She leaned down, breasts pressing against my folded legs, and licked the sweat from my collarbone. "You're not the AI's toy anymore," she hissed. "You're mine. I'm going to see how many times I can make you cum before I'm too exhausted to go on."

As she drove her hand back in, with a deep lunging strike, her knuckles slammed against my prostate. I felt my entire body seize. Another wave of hands-free ecstasy crashed over me, more intense than the last, shaking my frame in the leather straps. She didn't pull back. She held me there, open and conquered, watching my undoing with a smile. But her eyes had changed, they had hardened into something colder--an invasive hunger that suggested I was less a lover and a husband and more an experiment in elastic limits.

I lay there for what felt like an eternity, my limbs still tweaking and twitching in the leather straps. "Please," I tried to rasp, but the ball gag swallowed the sound, turning my plea into a wet, pathetic huff. My entire body felt like a live wire that had finally been cut, leaving me sparking and raw. Her hand was still buried deep inside me, a heavy, unyielding weight that anchored me to the bed. As my breathing finally began to slow, the room stopped spinning.

She leaned over me, and a dark, predatory glint danced in her eyes. "That was really wild," she whispered, her voice smooth but laced with an edge that made my skin crawl in the best way. "I want to keep going. I'm going to try to push deeper--let's see how far I can actually get inside you."

My eyes went wide, bugging out behind the latex as the sheer physics of her suggestion hit me. I felt a spike of genuine fear. I was already filled to capacity; the idea of more felt impossible, like she was trying to redefine my very anatomy.

"It's fine," she said, dismissively reaching up to stroke my hooded cheek. "I'm just going to keep going. You'll moan and groan in ecstasy like you've been doing, but if I go too far, you tell me to stop."

A frantic thought raced through my mind: How? The gag was keeping me from forming a single word, and she knew it. To her, every pained grunt or violent twitch was just another sign of my pleasure. If I started thrashing, she'd just see it as another wave of hands-free bliss.

I looked up at her, and that's when I saw it. That sharp, evil smile wasn't just a look of encouragement--it was a look of total triumph. The twinkle in her eyes told me she had already done the math. She knew I couldn't say a word. She knew I was trapped in my own responses.

Then, she began to push. The sensation was a brutal, slow-motion invasion. It hurt--a sharp, stretching ache that threatened to split me open--but it was wrapped in a terrifying heat that I couldn't pull away from. I felt my insides yielding, my body forced to make room for her as she drove further into the depths of me.

I looked at her arm, buried inside me almost to the inside of her elbow. My heart was pounding in my chest. I wondered if she had reached my heart and was crushing it between her fingers. I looked up at her face, seeing her delight in my vulnerability, and in that moment, I realized I didn't want her to stop.

I wanted to see exactly how much of her I could take. The most twisted part was the sickening realization that I was grateful for the gag. If I could speak, I might have begged her to stop, and then I'd never know if I could survive being hollowed out completely.

The world had gone gray at the edges, a static-filled haze that eventually swallowed the room. When the fog finally cleared, the first thing I registered was the snap of latex against skin. It sounded like a whip.

My wife was coming in the door, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked closer. She was pulling on a new pair of gloves--black, seamless latex that didn't stop at the elbow this time. She worked the material up her arm, well past her elbow. It ended at her armpit.

She leaned over me, her phone screen glowing inches from my face. "Look at this," she whispered, her voice vibrating with a terrifying kind of inspiration.

On the screen, a grainy video showed a woman performing the impossible, her arm buried deep, past the bicep, in the stretched asshole of a latex-clad figure.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My eyes went wide, bugging out against the constraints of the hood, tracking the length of her gloved arm. I tried to scream, to shout that the math of my body simply wouldn't allow it, but the ball gag was a cold, immovable sphere that reduced my protest to a hollow, pathetic muffle.

"I think we can do it," she said, more to herself than to me. She set the phone down and moved back into position between my legs. The evil smile was back, sharper now, fueled by the visual proof she'd just witnessed. "But you tell me if I should stop."

I was a passenger in my own skin, trapped in a silent, leather-bound cage. I watched as she prepared, the long, slick glove glistening under the lights as she coated her entire arm with lube.

Without a word of negotiation, she began to push. The initial contact was a heavy, blunt pressure that made my vision swim again. I felt my internal landscape being forcibly rewritten as she drove her hand back into the depths, her eyes locked onto mine to savor every frantic, muffled sound I couldn't help but make.

The terror was no longer a metaphor; it was a cold, physical weight pressing against my lungs as I watched her eyes turn cold and entirely foreign. Maria didn't even look like my wife anymore.

She leaned in closer, the scent of the lube-slicked latex overwhelming the air between us. "I'm going to see how deep this goes, Doug," she whispered, her voice devoid of any warmth. "But remember: you have no one to blame but yourself and the AI you used to get this started."

Then, without waiting for the frantic nod of my head or the muffled protest in my throat, she drove her arm forward with a clinical, relentless force. Every survival instinct screamed that my body had reached its absolute structural limit, yet the predatory hunger in her gaze sparked a darker curiosity that overrode my fear. I wondered to myself if I could actually take it. I guess we would soon find out.