NTR: The live-in-husband gets a perverted heart system

No reply came.

Tom sat at the dining table long after the email had left his outbox, phone face-up beside the empty teacup. The screen stayed dark. Every few minutes he woke it, refreshed his inbox, and stared at the same empty list. The twenty-four-hour deadline sat in the corner of his vision like a quiet threat.

After forty minutes he could no longer stand the silence of the dining hall. He picked up the phone and went upstairs to his room, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed, then lay back, his phone held above his face. Every vibration from the device - a news alert, a system update, nothing from her, made his stomach tighten.

He told himself she was busy. She was a famous actress. She might not even check that email address often. The rationalisations grew thinner each time the screen stayed empty.

He was trying so hard to use those excuses to bury the one question that was making him afraid;

What if she didn’t check the message till after 24 hours? What would he do then?

Eventually the tension and the residual exhaustion from the previous day pulled him under. The phone slipped against his chest as he dozed off.

~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, Tom woke with a start.

The room was dimmer to his eyes which were just waking up. His neck ached. He snatched the phone up and unlocked it with clumsy fingers.

Still nothing.

Tom sat up slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. The mission timer continued its steady countdown. Less than twenty-two hours remained. He had no second plan. He had no other way to reach her.

[Host is inefficient when anxious,] the System observed in a mild voice. [Your heart rate has been elevated for hours. The waiting is wasting time you do not have.]

Tom let out a short, frustrated breath. "What am I supposed to do? She hasn’t answered."

[You can use the remaining time productively. Stella Marchetti is not a soft target. She is high-dominance. She responds to control being taken from her, not to hesitation. Host still lacks practical knowledge in that area.]

Tom frowned. "What does that mean?"

[It means you should learn how to handle a woman who is used to being the one in charge but deep down wants to be dominated. I have material.]

Before he could object, the phone screen changed. A video began playing at low volume.

The footage opened on a strong, athletic woman on her hands and knees across a wide bed. A man knelt behind her, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave white marks. He was already inside her, thrusting in long, sharp strokes that made her breasts swing beneath her. Every time she tried to push back and take control of the rhythm, he forced her shoulders down and held her there.

"Stay," he ordered, voice calm and low. "You don’t set the pace."

The woman let out a frustrated, needy sound. Her fingers twisted in the sheets. When he reached under her and rubbed slow circles around her clit without giving her direct contact, her thighs started to shake. She tried to rock forward for more pressure. He pulled his hand away completely and kept fucking her in the same unhurried rhythm until she was panting and cursing.

"Ask properly," he said.

She resisted for another few thrusts, pride still visible in the tight line of her shoulders. Then her voice broke.

"Please- fuck me harder. Please let me cum."

Only then did he give her what she wanted.

Tom’s mouth had gone dry. Heat settled heavy in his groin. He shifted on the bed, his cock already half-hard against his thigh, but he forced himself to keep watching. The System’s earlier words sat in his head: Note the pacing. Note how he does not ask.

The first video ended. A second began immediately.

This one was slower, more psychological. The same type of woman - confident posture, sharp eyes, sat naked on the edge of a desk. The man stood between her spread thighs, stroking himself while she watched. Every time she reached for him, he stepped back just out of range. He made her keep her hands flat on the desk. He made her describe exactly what she wanted him to do to her before he gave her the head of his cock to suck. When she finally took him into her mouth he held her head still and fucked her throat in shallow, controlled strokes, never letting her set the depth.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Her mascara smeared. She looked wrecked and visibly soaked against the wood of the desk. When he finally pulled free and bent her over, she was the one who reached back to spread herself open for him.

Tom’s breathing had grown heavier. His cock was fully hard now, pressing against the fabric of his pants with clear, aching pressure. He felt the urge to reach down and ease it. He didn’t. He kept his eyes on the screen, cataloguing the details the way he had once catalogued lines from the flirty book - the timing of denial, the tone of voice, the moment the woman’s resistance cracked into need.

When the second video finished, the screen returned to black.

[Basic patterns recorded. Host now has reference material. Whether you can apply it when the time comes is a different matter.]

[Don’t be a wuss.]

"I won’t be." Tom’s voice came out rough but the determination was clear in his tone.

"I’m going to show you I can be more than capable when I mean business." He told the system.

Then he locked the phone and set it face-down on the nightstand. His pulse thudded in his ears. The silence from Stella remained unbroken. The deadline kept ticking.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor, still hard, still waiting, the images of those controlled scenes replaying behind his eyes.

She had watched him from behind a camera once.

If she answered - when she answered - he would have to be ready to do more than just react.

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