Home for Dinner 02

WARNINGS: This is (the second part of) a request for a lovely reader, who chose the dynamic of the story. It is a House Husband x CEO femdomme wife, a reversed 1950 kinda of couple, where the husband bears with his wife's cheating, thinking of it as something that comes with the territory of being married to a powerful woman.

This is a work of pure fantasy; in no way it wants to romanticize a toxic relationship.

Mention of: cheating, power dynamics, power imbalance, male objectification, reversed gender roles, monster dildo, golden shower, potentially dangerous sexual activities (sex inon vehicles).

I know nothing about motorbikes, so excuse any mistake about any technicality. I just know about pegging.

If you are not ok with it, stop here. Any feedback is appreciated!

Red

Venora Hart loved three things without apology: her husband, her empire, and sweet bubble-shaped male asses, preferably young, preferably trembling, always desperate for her approval.

She wasn't naive. Michael knew about her hobbies. The way she needed to sink her fingers into firm flesh after a meeting, the way her cunt throbbed when some blushing twink's thighs quivered around her grip. A lesser man would've filed for divorce. Hers? Looked the other way.

Women have needs men will never understand.

Like the chemical scream of estrogen-laced lust that could resurrect her libido five minutes after an orgasm. Like the primal itch in her palms that only faded when they were full of jiggling ass.

She adored Michael to the goddamn moon and back. But she also adored the way Keir's peach-soft ass dimpled under her nails, the snap of his collar when she yanked him closer, those fire-engine-red strands she fisted to keep his mouth exactly where she wanted it.

Keir had become her favorite model within weeks. Two campaigns as the face of Hush. Countless private fittings in her personal office. Today, he was being particularly persuasive.

Naked except for a slut-thin crimson collar, he straddled her lap, his thighs squeezing her clothed hips as his mouth worked along her neck. Little kitten licks behind her ear. Teeth grazing her clothed shoulder. A wet, open-mouthed kiss to her pulse point that made her attention to the documents in front of her slightly slip.

"Ma'am," he murmured against her jaw, his hips pressing just enough to remind her how hard he was. "Don't you need a break?"

Her free hand slid down the dip of his spine, nails scraping the perfect swell of his ass.

"I need to finish to revise this contract," she said, her eyes scanning the legal document on her desk.

But her hand had other priorities.

The tip of her middle finger pressed against his fluttering hole, circling once, twice, just to feel the way his body clenched in anticipation. Then, with just enough pressure to make him gasp, she sank in to the first knuckle.

"Mmmh--f-fuck--" he whined, hips jerking forward, his cock rubbing shamelessly against the crisp fabric of her tailored slacks. But she didn't give him more. Not yet.

Instead, she kept her finger right there, shallow and teasing, while her other hand flipped a page.

"You're working so hard lately," he panted, his voice trembling as he rocked back onto her finger, trying to take her deeper. "You do need a break-"

She rewarded his boldness by sinking in to the second knuckle, hard. "Ahh-" And his moan punched out of him, loud and wrecked. One of his hands flew to grip the arm of her office chair.

"That's because I'm going on vacation next week, sweet cheeks," she said dryly, her gaze still on the contract as she highlighted a clause.

And fuck, she was good at this, multitasking like a machine. Reading while her finger worked him open, slow and filthy, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office. His hole clung to her, greedy, his body begging for more even as she kept her strokes lazy, just enough to keep him writhing.

"One more reason to fuck me right today, please," he moaned in her ear, his voice cracking with desperation. His hips rolled shamelessly against her. "I want to feel you. I need it."

Venora smiled, dark and satisfied. A lapful of a begging, perfect model was all it took to make her clench with want. She crooked the finger buried inside him, relishing the way his body clenched around her in response.

"And what if I don't have time for a proper fuck?" Venora mused, her voice a velvet-coated blade. Documents forgotten, her free hand gripped the back of his neck, forcing him to arch deeper, presenting himself like an offering.

"What if I made you come here just because your ass is my new favorite anti-stress-ball? What if I just like feeling your sweet hole clench around my fingers?" A cruel smirk curled her lips as she added a second finger without warning, the stretch pulling a ragged gasp from his throat. "What if all you get is this?" she scissored them slowly, the drag of her skin against his inner walls obscenely wet. "Just my fingers stretching you open, hmm?"

His breath hitched, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Then it'll be enough. I'll take whatever you give me." So, he moved.

With a sinuous shift of his hips, he repositioned himself, arching his back to push himself deeper onto her finger. His body became a desperate, hungry thing, fucking himself on her hand with slow, rolling thrusts.

"Ah- h!" Up, then down, each movement dragging a broken sound from his throat. His long red hair spilled over one shoulder, swaying with every languid bounce of his body, the strands clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.

His pleading eyes never left hers as he whimpered, his cock leaking against his stomach with every downward grind. "F-Fuck, Ma'am," His voice shattered as her fingers pressed deeper, hitting that spot inside him that made his thighs tremble.

"There it is," she cooed, circling his prostate with sadistic precision.

He met her fingers with shameless greed, and she watched, rapt, as his breath come in ragged, punched-out gasps. Every roll of his hips was a filthy plea, every downward grind a silent beg for more.

"So, two fingers are really enough for you..."

He whimpered again, his hips stuttering as he chased that sweet stretch. And God, did she enjoy it.

"You gonna cum just like this, sweet cheeks?" she taunted. Her wrist twisted sharply, fingers curling just so inside him, the heel of her palm grinding against his ass in slow, filthy circles. The office chair creaked under their combined weight as he bounced on her lap, his thighs trembling with the effort of riding her hand.

"Nnnh--f-fuck--" A string of spit connected his lips as he gasped. "I'll--hhhn--I'll dirty your suit-"

She laughed, low and throaty, her free hand sliding up to pinch his nipple hard. "Good thing I've got another one."

His breath hitched, his hips stuttering as he tried to keep up the rhythm, up, down, clench, but she wasn't making it easy. Every time he rose, she crooked her fingers, dragging over his prostate.

He whimpered, high and broken, his thighs shaking as his hole fluttered around her fingers. "Please! Please! P-please..."

Something in him made her snap.

It wasn't the way his cock bobbed between them, flushed and leaking pre-cum untouched against his stomach. It wasn't the damp patch he'd already smeared across her slacks, his thighs trembling as he ground down on her lap like a desperate thing. Not even the sheer perfection of his body, all smooth planes and delicate angles, sweat-slick and trembling under her hands, could explain the primal hunger clawing up her throat.

And God, his pitched cries should've been enough to undo her. Those broken moans, the high, reedy whimpers that spilled from his lips. But no. It was his eyes.

Locked onto hers, wide and wet with unshed tears, pupils blown black with pleasure. Pleading. Begging. His brows furrowed in that perfect mix of scrunched-up desperation and helpless arousal; his gaze never wavered, not even when she dug the nails of her free hand into the soft flesh of his hips.

Venora had been content to watch him fuck himself on her fingers. She'd almost let him finish like that.

But those fucking eyes. They made her ravenous.

"N-noo, please-" His protest cracked as she yanked her fingers out, leaving him clenching around nothing.

She didn't let go of his hip, hauling him up with her as she rose from the chair. He stumbled, his knees buckling, but she maneuvered him easily, belly down on the couch, face shoved into a cushion, ass propped high on the armrest. His back arched beautifully, the curve of his spine begging for her touch.

"Stay."

She left him trembling there just long enough to select the smallest strap-on dildo in her office, a deep purple 6-inch one. Keir couldn't take the bigger ones and despite the hunger gnawing at her, she was still mindful.

The lube bottle clicked open. A cold drizzle down his cleft, over his already-slick hole. He whined into the cushion as she rubbed it in with her thumb, circling lazily before sinking the first inch into him.

"Fuck-!" His hands fisted in the couch, his back bowing deeper. He was so fucking sensitive.

The freckles scattered across his shoulders taunted her. Bite me, they seemed to whisper. But no, bites and bruises were reserved for her husband. Her models couldn't wear her marks, not like that.

But drilling his ass? This, she could do.

The second thrust buried her strap to the hilt, his body yielding with a wet, choked gasp.

"F-fuckfuckfuck!" His voice was muffled, strained, his thighs trembling as she set a brutal pace.

She leaned over him, her breath hot against the shell of his ear. "Didn't you want a proper fuck?" she mocked him, her hips pistoning relentlessly. The slap of skin on skin, the creak of the couch, his ragged, punched-out moans, every sound fed the fire coiling low in her gut.

His ass clenched around her, tight and desperate, his back bowing deeper. "P- please!"

"Please what?" She snapped her hips harder, grinding deep, savoring the way his breath hitched. "You want more?"

A sob. A nod.

She gave it to him.

Faster now, harder, each thrust driving him further into the cushions, his cock trapped between his stomach and the leather.

She could feel him unraveling. "I-I'm gonna-!"

Venora didn't let up. Not when his voice broke. Not when his thighs shook. Not even when he came untouched, his release painting the couch beneath him in sticky stripes, his body seizing around her in helpless, oversensitive spasms.

Only then did she slow her thrusts. But she didn't pull out.

She left the silicone buried deep in his hole, letting him feel every inch of it. "Fuck, you look pretty like this," she mused, dragging a fingernail down his trembling spine.

A knock interrupted them.

The door cracked open just enough to reveal William's mortified face, his gaze locked firmly on the ceiling. "I- I'm really sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Hart," he stammered, voice strangled. "But your husband has called twenty-five times--"

Venora didn't even glance over. Her fingers reached the red hair fanned across Keir's shoulder, yanking just hard enough to make the man beneath her whine. "And?"

William audibly gulped. "He, uh. He wants to know what flavor you want for your birthday cake. He's very insistent."

Keir's hair was sinfully soft, a blazing red. Her mouth watered with something far deeper than hunger.

He wasn't just beautiful; he was edible. And she wanted to devour him whole.

"Red velvet," she decided.

Another pause. William shifted awkwardly. "... Should I tell him you'll be home for dinner?" Venora's grip tightened. The man under her moaned.

"No."

The door clicked shut.

***

Blue

"V-Venora-" Michael's voice cracked, his palms smothering a broken moan as his hips jerked helplessly against the butter-soft leather of the Mercedes-Maybach's seat. The vibrations of the engine purred beneath them, a cruel contrast to the way his body burned, every nerve alight with need. Tears streaked his flushed face, his cock straining painfully against his jeans.

Venora didn't even glance over; her hands rested lightly on the steering wheel. The car's ambient lighting painted her sharp profile in cool blues, her expression as composed as if she were listening to a mildly interesting podcast, and not her husband unraveling beside her.

"Why-" he gasped, thighs trembling as another wave of sensation wracked him, "-do you have to torture me this way?"

Venora let out a low, wicked laugh, her fingers lazily tapping the remote against the steering wheel. "Torture?" she mused, her voice dripping with amusement. "How is it torture when this was your idea, darling? Or did you forget?"

Michael's fingers clawed into the leather seat, his back arching as the vibrations spiked again, sending

a fresh wave of pleasure-pain radiating from his stuffed hole. "Y-yes, but-"

"But what?" she interrupted. "Before we even loaded the luggage, you handed me this remote-" She held it up, the sleek blue device glinting. "-and begged me to play with that beautiful, thick, vibrating dildo buried so deep inside you. To have some fun, you said."

A flick of the remote sent the toy humming again to life, and Michael choked on a moan, his hips bucked uselessly against the seatbelt.

"I'm having a lot of fun," she smiled.

The highway stretched endlessly ahead, and Venora had hours left to play.

For her birthday this year, she'd decided on something different, no grand ballroom dripping in champagne, no performative toasts from investors angling for favor. Just a week of relaxation at Eleonor's secluded beach house, where the salt-stained windows faced an untamed stretch of ocean, and the guest list was... select. Eleonor's husband would be there, of course. A few of Venora's closest friends. And Michael, her ever-dutiful husband, who had spent the last month fussing over preparations like she'd demanded a coronation instead of a vacation.

He'd packed meticulously, as if he wouldn't spend half the trip naked.

"Ah!" Michael gasped, his thighs trembling violently as another brutal pulse of the vibrator shot through him.

"P-please! Venora, please let me touch my dick!" His voice cracked.

Her finger tapped the steering wheel in a slow rhythm. "Tsk tsk," she chided, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "If those pretty fingers so much as graze that twitching adorable thing between your legs, the play's over." She let the words hang in the air before adding, "do you really want to stop, baby? Hmm?"

The dildo inside him pulsed like a living thing, the sleek toy buried deep in his ass humming with renewed intensity as she casually pressed the '+' button on the remote. Michael's back arched violently, his cock leaked a desperate bead of pre-cum, wetting his jeans.

"N-no! No but I- ah! AH!" His protest dissolved into a guttural moan as the pattern shifted to short, sharp bursts against his prostate. His fingers clawed at the seatbelt cutting across his chest, his body writhing like a speared fish on the expensive leather.

Venora finally glanced over, drinking in the sight of her husband reduced to a drooling, squirming mess. "Good boy," she murmured, pressing the '+' button twice more in quick succession.

The pleasure was maddening.

The vibrating dildo pulsed relentlessly, each thrum sending electric shocks up his spine, just enough to keep him teetering on the edge, never enough to tip him over. His dick strained against the confines of his jeans, the denim punishingly tight, the fabric rough where it trapped his throbbing length against his stomach.

He was desperate for friction.

He could almost rub himself against the seam of his pants if he shifted just right- "Please," Michael gasped, his voice ragged. "Just- just one stroke. I'll be quick-"

"Do I need to pull over," she mused, her tone lethally calm, "and tie your hands to the headrest? Make you hump the air until we get to Eleonor's?"

The vibrations stopped.

For one blissful, torturous second, the pressure eased. Michael sucked in a shuddering breath, his thighs trembling. "N-no, no-" he stammered. "C-can I at least unfasten my jeans? It's painful-"

She glared at him. "You are not going to soil my car with your cum, Michael."

The vibrations inside his ass roared back to life, higher this time, the intensity cranked up until his vision blurred. His back arched off the seat again, a broken whimper tearing from his throat as his fingers clawed at the leather beneath him.

It was so good.

Not the kind of good that crashes over you in a single wave, but the kind that drags, slow, relentless, just shy of enough. And maybe, that was the best part.

The way his hips stuttered in useless little circles, his balls drawn up tight and aching. The way his brain short-circuited, torn between stop and more. The way Venora watched him unravel with those heavy- lidded eyes, her smile a razor's edge between cruelty and adoration.

She owned every desperate twitch of his neglected cock.

His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the door handle, the center console, anywhere to ground himself as the vibrations intensified. The seatbelt cut across his heaving chest, keeping him upright.

Venora watched his frantic movements with amusement. "I'll give your flailing limbs some purpose." The vibration inside him stopped.

She undid his and her seatbelt with one hand while the other guided the luxury car into the slow lane. Her pants unfastened with a whisper of silk against skin, revealing the barest hint of lace beneath. "Put that desperate energy into something useful, darling."

Her hand found the back of Michael's neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. She guided him downward, her thighs parting slightly in invitation.

His fingers trembled against her hips as he tried to protest. "Ven, it's dangerous, we could-"

"Nonsense," she cut him off, pressing his face firmly against the heat radiating through the wet lace. The scent of her arousal mixed with expensive perfume filled his senses. "Don't you trust me?"

The heady musk of her arousal flooded his senses as she arched into his face and every protest died against her pussy.

"Oh god," Michael groaned.

His tongue dragged over the lace first, slow, savoring the way the fabric clung to her. The taste of her seeped through it was musky, sweet, addicting and he groaned again against her, the vibration earning him a sharp gasp.

His tongue dove beneath the lace, hooking it aside to get at her bare, swollen flesh. The second he licked a hot, wet stripe from her entrance to her clit, her hips jerked.

He ate her like a man starved, with broad, flat strokes to soak his tongue in her, then sharp flicks over her clit, teasing the tight little bud until her breath came in ragged pants. Every suck, every nip of his teeth, made her thighs tremble. Her grip on his hair turned vicious, holding him in place as she rolled her hips against his mouth, fucking herself on his tongue.

Every gasp and moan went straight to his hard cock and the car's interior suddenly felt too small, too hot.

He buried his face deeper, coating his chin with her slick.

"That's it... right there, just like that," she cooed, her voice breathy.

He obeyed, his tongue working her in desperate, hungry circles, lapping up every drop of her arousal. He fought for every inch of space just to keep his mouth glued to her dripping pussy. The position was awkward as hell, back bent at an unnatural angle, neck craned to keep his tongue working her folds, but discomfort was the last thing on his mind.

Her hand on the steering wheel, the one not buried in his hair, held also the remote control, her thumb lazily tracing the buttons. And just as he found the perfect rhythm, she clicked it.

"Mmh... AH!"

The vibrating toy buried into him roared to life without warning, the sudden, brutal stimulation wrenching a muffled groan from his throat. His hips jerked helplessly, his cock twitched, but she only pressed his face harder against her, grinding down with a filthy little sigh.

"I didn't say you could slow down, Michael."

And she clicked the remote again.

The toy's intensity doubled, the brutal, buzzing thrusts wracking his body and he moaned against her swollen clit.

The pleasure was a live wire under his skin, dizzying, consuming. And when her back arched off the seat, he knew she was close.

He doubled his efforts, sucking her clit between his lips and flicking it with the tip of his tongue in quick, relentless circles.

A choked cry teared from her lips as she came, her pussy fluttering against his tongue, her fingers yanking his hair hard enough to burn. He drank her in greedily, his own whimper vibrating against her as the toy wrung him mercilessly, pleasure fraying his control until he was nothing but a shuddering, desperate mess beneath her.

When she finally released him, his lips were glistening, and his breathing was ragged.

Then it hit him, the absence. That relentless vibration buried inside him had gone silent again. Both her hands were tangled in his hair and wrapped around his neck.

How was she driving?

Michael jerked upright, panic cutting through the haze of pleasure, only to find the car stopped in layby, the engine still purring like his satisfied wife currently smirking at him.

When had she pulled over? Venora clicked her tongue, her thumb swiping across his lower lip to collect the mess she'd made. "I would never put your life in danger, my dear."

Michael fixed himself in the passenger seat. He took a long breath through his nose, willing his racing heart to slow and his aching cock to soften in its confines.

"Now be a good boy and buckle up. We've still got miles to go." Venora said.

His fingers trembled as they found the seatbelt, the click of the latch drowning in the sudden rush of blood in his ears. For one blessed moment, he let his head fall back against the seat, eyelids fluttering shut as he fought the overwhelming urge to palm himself through his jeans. His erection strained painfully against the tight fabric, the head slick with precum that had soaked through his briefs hours ago.

Just as exhaustion threatened to pull him under, he saw a flash of blue and heard a light 'click'. The buzz against his prostate was slow and made his toes curl in his sneakers.

The vibrating dildo was back on.

***

Black

"E & C" were everywhere in the beach house. They were scrawled in elegant cursive on the plush beach towels, embossed on the monogrammed cocktail glasses, even welded into the wrought-iron entrance gate like a brand. Eleonor and Chris Van Der Ryk.

No one could quite figure out how Chris, just a waiter before Eleonor plucked him from some upscale hotel bar, had slipped so effortlessly into their world. As if the universe had carved a space for him in the velvet-lined chaos of wealth and simply dropped him in. He was tall, lean, with the kind of composed brunette elegance that made him look like he'd been born in expensive clothes. Always hovering just behind Eleonor's shoulder, a silent shadow with sharp eyes and a cute nose.

Michael had taken to him immediately.

The two men had become something like allies, bonding over shared glances when their wives disappeared into hushed business talks, trading gossip and comparing notes on how to survive in a marriage like theirs.

And Chris was a natural at this. Marriage to a CEO suited him obscenely well. There was something almost rehearsed about the way he navigated married life, like he'd been born to orbit a woman with more power than patience.

Michael had confessed to him his deepest shame over wine, how he lay awake wondering if Venora still found him attractive, how he couldn't help but flinch at every notification on her phone.

Chris had laughed, not cruelly, but with the warm condescension of a veteran showing a rookie the ropes. "Jesus, Mikey. You're thinking too much," he had told him once. "Women like ours want pretty. They want pliant. They want a distraction!"

Michael had scoffed at first. But Chris--god damn Chris--was a pro at this. He always had a solution, a trick, a way to twist a fight into foreplay or a cold shoulder into a challenge.

"Think about it," Chris had murmured, leaning in like they were sharing state secrets. "Women like Venora and Eleonor? They spend all day working. The last thing they want is to come home to some mopey, insecure lump staring at them like a kicked puppy."

"I bet Venora would cream herself if she walked in and found you waiting on your knees with her favorite strap-on in your mouth," he had added.

The advice had made Michael's face burn but the image had seared itself into his brain. He'd dismissed it but he couldn't deny the heat pooling low in his gut at the thought.

Which was why, on their first morning at the beach house, Michael found himself sharing the details of his car trip stretched out beside Chris on the sun-warmed deck, their bodies glistening with sunscreen, and their swimsuits on. Their cling to every dip and curve, barely-there, leaving very little to the imagination swimsuits. 'You never know when your wife is watching,' his friend had teased, 'and enjoying the view.'

"So," Chris drawled, tilting his sunglasses down to peer at Michael over the rim. "Did she like it?" Michael swallowed. "Yes."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"I had a fucking rage of an erection for hours without cumming," Michael muttered, his face burning.

"Did you enjoy it or not?"

"Yes," Michael admitted, grudgingly. "But I don't think your advice works as well for me as it does for you. I saw her phone light up with some Red hearts text. " Chris didn't even blink. "So what?"

So what. It was a phrase he'd muttered to himself before. She was still his wife. But doubt had a way of creeping in, whispering through the cracks of his confidence, making his hands clench and his throat tighten.

Michael's voice cracked, raw with fear. "What do you mean, 'so what'? What if-" He swallowed hard. "What if this is the one text that makes her finally lose interest in me?"

"Did she answer?" Chris interrupted, tilting his head like he already knew. A beat of silence. The ocean roared in the distance.

"... No."

Chris's grin was vicious. "Exactly. And even if she did?" He leaned in, "those texts are just pressure valves. You're obsessing over the wrong goddamn thing." His finger jabbed at Michael's chest. "Your problem isn't her phone. It's you."

Michael recoiled. "Me?" "You're not slutty enough."

Michael bristled. "What else am I supposed to do? I had a vibrating dildo up my butt the whole ride!"

Chris groaned, flopping back onto his towel. "You're missing the point! You are not thinking slutty enough. And you're so fucking uptight!"

"Mickey," he added, patting his arm like he was a particularly slow child. "What's your plan for her actual birthday?"

Michael straightened, defensive. "I ordered a three-tier red velvet cake from the best pastry chef in-"

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," Chris dragged a hand down his face. "Venora covers you in gifts, cars, watches, that fucking collar she had custom-made, and you're giving her a cake?"

Michael's jaw tightened. "What do you get a woman who has everything?"

Chris leaned in, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. "Fun. You gift her some proper fun." He paused, swirling his drink lazily. "Let me tell you a story, my friend. A real birthday gift story."

He adjusted the tight waistband of his swim briefs, the fabric straining over his hips. The sun glinted off his sunglasses as he took a slow sip of his cocktail, letting the anticipation build.

"You know how Eleonor lives for her bikes. So last year, I got her a new Harley." Michael raised an eyebrow. "Another one?"

"Ah-ah- let me narrate," Chris wagged a finger. "Not just any Harley. A Thunderheader. Customized to hell and back, chrome shining like a mirror, black leather seats and so on. And me?" He laughed, low and wicked. "I didn't know a damn thing about bikes. Had to ask around like some lost puppy just to figure out what 'exhaust pipes' she'd even want. But oh, it was worth it."

He set his drink down with a clink, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.

"Mid-afternoon. I handed her the keys with a big black bow wrapped around them, kissed her, whispered 'happy birthday, baby' all proper, like a good little husband." His voice dropped. "Then I led her outside."

Michael could picture it. Eleonor's sharp eyes lighting up at the beast of a machine, the way her fingers would twitch toward the throttle. But Chris wasn't done.

"She was thrilled. But, oh, she wasn't ready for the real surprise." His laugh was low, conspiratorial.

"Because sitting on the back seat, or as she calls it, the bitch seat, was this boy, this delicious little accessory."

"Slender little thing, couldn't have been older than twenty-two. Hairless everywhere except for that pretty head of golden curls. Face all sweet and innocent, like a Renaissance angel who'd definitely been kicked out of heaven for sucking a strap-on dildo." Chris's tongue darted over his lips. "And the ass on him? Round, tight, it was like two scoops of vanilla ice cream wrapped in denim so tight you could see the dimples."

Micheal let out a low whistle.

Chris paused, savoring the memory. "And around his neck? A thick black leather collar, the kind with a heavy O-ring, stamped right across the front in bold silver letters: SLUT."

His mouth went dry.

"I just looked up at El through my lashes - all wide-eyed and playing dumb - and said, 'You know I don't understand these complicated machines, El darling. But the dealership helped me to customize it all for you. And he insisted I get their most popular add-on. Do you like it?' "

"Eleonor didn't say a word. Just looked at me. Then at him. Then back at me." He mimed the motion, his grin sharpening. "And then-" A beat. A sip of his drink.

"-she roared off on that monster of a bike, his arms locked around her waist, his thighs squeezing like he was born to ride her." Chris sighed, happily. "I spent the rest of the afternoon by the pool, blissfully alone."

The moment Eleonor's palms had gripped the handlebars, the world narrowed to three things: the growl of the engine between her thighs, the scent of genuine leather, and the delicious pressure of that boy molded against hers.

Her husband had outdone himself.

Later, she'd thank him properly. But right now? Right now, her fingers itched with the need to ruin. Every curve of the road sent his cock grinding into the small of her back through those obscenely thin shorts, his thighs trembling where they bracketed her hips.

She didn't remember where she was going. Didn't care. The bike was an extension of her will, tearing down backroads until the asphalt gave way to dirt, until the trees closed in around them, shadows stretching long and possessive.

She swung her leg off the bike but didn't let him move. No, his place was right there, bent over the bitch seat, ass perched high and begging in those tight fucking shorts. Eleonor circled the bike slowly, drinking in the sight.

His breath hitched as she unbuckled her riding gloves with her teeth.

Eleonor didn't speak. Words were for people who needed permission.

Her hand traced down his spine, slow as a blade being drawn. He shuddered, his breath hitching when her fingers finally hooked into the flimsy fabric at his waist.

One sharp tug.

A seam split with a sound like skin breaking. Another.

The shorts gave way entirely, the material shredding around his hips until his ass spilled free, plump, quivering, the cheeks flushed pink from the time pressed against the vibrating seat. The scent of him flooded her nostrils: warm skin, precum, and the faint metallic tang of the bike's chrome where he'd been grinding against it.

Eleonor's cunt pulsed.

She could've come right then, just from the way his hole clenched at the sudden exposure, the way his entire body tensed like a rabbit under a hawk's shadow.

He reached on his side, fingers trembling as he unclipped a leather saddlebag she hadn't noticed before. Inside, there was a thick black dildo, ribbed with brutal ridges, and the harness straps coiled beneath it like a waiting serpent.

Eleonor didn't smile. She lunged.

She didn't even ask for his name and she didn't even bother to undress herself. The harness was around her hips in seconds, the dildo jutting obscenely from her clothed pelvis. No prep, no gentle stretch, just the pop of his body taking the head, his scream ricocheting through the pines as she sheathed herself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

She pistoned into him, the bike rocking beneath them, the suspension creaking in time with the boy's shattered moans. Every ridge dragged against his walls; every snap of her hips punched another ragged sound from his throat. His fingers scrambled for purchase on the fuel tank, as his legs kicked uselessly, too short to reach the ground.

Her hand fisted the leather collar harshly while his cock dripped untouched onto the leather seat. She didn't care, too mesmerized by his arched back, by the way his mouth fell open around silent pleas, the way his hole gripped her when she angled just right.

The trees swallowed the slap of skin on skin, the panting, the keening moans, the wet squelch of the toy disappearing over and over into his wrecked hole. Pleasure pulsed up her spine, growing. The world dissolved.

Happy birthday to her.

"When she got back," Chris continued, "that poor boy could barely walk." He dragged a fingertip through the condensation on his cocktail glass, tracing lazy circles. "All stumbling and with this dazed look like he'd been hit by a truck."

A slow, satisfied exhale.

"Then, the next day she took me shopping."

He let the word shopping linger, heavy with implication. It had been the kind where Eleonor's gaze darkened every time he picked something out, where her fingers brushed his waist in the dressing room, where she murmured 'Try it on for me' in a way that meant 'I'll be peeling it off you later."

"Let me buy whatever I wanted," Chris stretched lazily. "And guess what? El couldn't keep her hands off me. Not in the car, not in the elevator, definitely not when we got back."

He tilted his head, studying Michael's flushed face. "Funny how that works, huh? You give them exactly what they really want, and suddenly, you're the one getting spoiled and railed."

*** Green

Chris was midway through his infamous cherry stem trick, tongue swirling with obscene precision tying the steam as the small crowd of guests hooted, when every light in the house's great room suddenly died.

Darkness. And then, the slow creak of wheels.

A monstrous, five-tiered cake emerged from the hallway, its surface a chaos of sparking candles. The flames glinted off Venora's sharp smile as the crowd erupted into cheers, their glasses raised.

"Blow them out, darling!" someone shouted.

Chris, still holding the knotted stem between his teeth, sidled up to Michael as Venora leaned toward the cake.

"You actually went with the cake?" Chris murmured.

Michael smirked, clinking their glasses together. "I followed your advice. Don't say I don't listen."

Chris's gaze dropped to the cake then back to Michael. "You just ordered a bigger one," he deadpanned. "There's, what, eight people here max? And tomorrow, it's just us and our lovely wives." He leaned in, his breath warm against Michael's ear. "El hates sweets. Who the hell's gonna eat it?"

But Michael just kept smiling, his eyes locked on Venora as she exhaled snuffing out every candle in one breath.

The cake was exactly as Venora had requested, a red velvet, decadent and rich, its surface glazed in a shimmer of crimson glitter with thick, dripping cream.

As soon as she blew out the last candle, the top layer slid open with a slow, mechanical whisper. A platform began to rise from beneath, and dim lights flickered back to life in the room.

A boy emerged, slowly and tantalizingly, his body slick with the same red edible glitter that adorned the cake. His long, lustrous dark hair was swept to one side, clinging to his neck and shoulders like spilled ink. Slender, almost delicate, he rose with practiced grace. The room fell into absolute silence as he winked at Venora.

Then he lifted the microphone.

The song started low, sultry, each note dripping with lascivious intent. It was Happy Birthday, yes, but reshaped into something darkly carnal, every syllable stretched like a caress. His free hand trailed down his own glitter-dusted chest as he sang, fingers slipping past his navel, teasing the waistband of the only thing he wore: a pair of open-back red latex briefs that left his ass fully exposed, the tight material framing his cheeks like a sinful invitation.

With each verse, he rose higher, revealing more of himself, from the hollow of his throat, the sharp cut of his hips, to his tensed thighs as he finally stepped free of the cake, turning to present his bare backside to Venora. His hair tumbled like a black silk curtain as he bent slightly, his final note trembling with fake innocence before he slowly sank onto her lap, his weight warm against her thighs.

The room erupted.

Cheers, whistles, the clink of glasses, all of it drowned out by the boy's soft, breathy laugh as he tilted his head back to look at Venora, his lips inches from hers.

"Happy Birthday, Ms. Hart," he murmured, loud enough for only her to hear.

Venora's laser-sharp gaze snapped to Michael as he approached, his lips curved in a smile that was equal parts devotion and defiance. He held a red box, its oversized satin bow the same violent crimson as the boy's glitter-streaked skin.

Michael settled it beside her. He leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear, "happy birthday, my love," he murmured, his voice rough with something dangerously close to pride. "This one's for you to unwrap in private... whenever you want."

Venora's throat went dry as desert bone.

Her fingers twitched around the box, but her attention was already split, half on Michael's retreating form, half on the warm, glitter-dusted body still perched in her lap. Without breaking eye contact with her husband, she let one hand slide up the boy's hip, her thumb tracing the sharp ridge of his pelvis. A single swipe of her finger caught a dusting of red edible glitter, which she brought to her lips, sucking it clean with a slow drag of her tongue.

She wanted to devour that boy right now.

Across the room, Chris let out a low, appreciative whistle, clapping Michael on the shoulder. "Don't you just love when they go all quiet like that? Eyes like panthers, all predatory..."

Michael laughed, his own gaze never left Venora as she disappeared upstairs. "Yeah," he said softly. "I do."

Venora hadn't wanted to open a present this badly in years.

She'd barely waited for the cheers to die down before her fingers dug into the boy's glitter-dusted hip, steering him wordlessly toward the nearest bedroom, some guest suite upstairs, its door slamming shut behind them with a thud.

The boy, ever the professional, had grabbed two things on their way out: the red box and a plate of red velvet cake, its frosting still glistening under the dim bedroom lights. He set both on the side table with practiced ease before turning to face her, his grin all mischief.

Venora sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze raking over him like she was deciding where to start.

"It's tradition," he broke the silence in the room, picking up the fork and a piece of cake, "for the birthday girl to taste her cake first."

He moved, swinging one leg over her lap until he straddled her, his thighs caging hers, the open-back latex briefs doing nothing to hide the heat of him.

The first bite was almost polite, just a morsel on the fork, lifted to her lips. She opened her mouth slowly, her tongue swiping the tines clean as she held his gaze, daring him to look away.

He didn't.

The second bite, he aimed for her mouth again, but this time, her hand shot out, catching his wrist mid-air. The cake tumbled onto his chest, leaving a smear of crimson frosting just above his nipple.

Venora's smile turned ravenous.

Her fingers fisted his hair. Her grip was vicious, yanking his head back until his throat arched, exposed and vulnerable. A soft moan spilled from his lips as she leaned in, her tongue dragging a slow, torturous path up his chest, collecting cream and edible glitter along the way.

His breath hitched; it was such a sweet, shuddering sound.

Her tongue flicked over his left nipple, sticky with cream. She took her time, savoring the sugar on his skin, while his breath stuttered when her teeth grazed him, just once before she sucked the sweetness clean.

"Mmmh--!" His whimper was muffled, his hips jerking involuntarily.

Venora smirked, plucking a chunk of red velvet from the cake beside them. She dragged it slowly across his other nipple, smearing the frosting in thick circles.

Her teeth sank in, sharp, sudden, and he trembled with a broken cry. His fingers digging into her thighs for balance as the sharp sting melted into throbbing heat.

"Ahh! F-fuck--!"

She soothed the bite with her tongue, lapping up the last traces of sugar before pulling back to admire her handiwork.

"You taste even better than the cake," she mused. She licked her lips, humming in approval. "So fucking good."

"And I want to taste more." Venora's voice was dark, her hunger teased but nowhere near satisfied. The boy, still glistening with glitter, his skin sticky-sweet with frosting, let out a breathy whimper as she gripped his hips, her nails biting into his flesh before she flipped him onto his belly with one smooth, commanding motion.

The mattress dipped under him, his long dark hair fanning across the sheets as he arched instinctively, presenting himself.

Venora reached for what remained of the cake. The red velvet crumbed under her touch, the cream thick and decadent as she dragged a handful across his exposed skin, smearing it over the swell of his ass, letting it drip down the curve of his open-back latex briefs, the material straining against his flesh.

So, she licked.

A slow, indulgent lick up the crease of his asscheek, collecting frosting, glitter and the salt of his skin. A moan tore from his throat, his fingers twisted into the nearest pillow as she bit down, not hard enough to mark, just enough to make him jerk, before soothing the sting with another lick.

She palmed his ass cheeks and spread them open. A tiny glass dildo, nestled snug inside him, catching the light like a jewel.

It glistened, slick with lube, the delicate curve of it stretching him just enough to make his thighs tremble when she tapped it with one fingertip.

Venora's fingers had just curled around it, when he suddenly twisted away with a gasp, his body rolling fluidly out of her grasp.

"Ah-ah, Mrs. Hart," he teased, his voice a playful chastisement as he sat up on his knees. The glitter clung to his skin like a second layer, catching the light with every shift of his body. "You still have to unwrap your present."

Venora arched a brow, her lips curling into a smirk. "I'm very much trying to."

The boy's blush deepened, spreading down his chest in a delicious flush, but he didn't relent. Instead, he reached for the forgotten red box and placing it in her lap.

With a slow pull, she undid the bow, letting the ribbon slither to the floor like a discarded snake. The lid came off next, revealing nestled black silk and beneath it, her real gift.

A dildo. But not just any dildo.

This one was a violet monstrosity, its silicone surface rippling with undulating ridges. The sheer size of it was absurd, sixteen inches of thick, veined silicone, as wide as Venora's forearm. It was almost comically excessive.

A beat of silence.

Then, laughter, rich and dark, bubbled up from Venora's throat as she lifted it. "What should I do with this one?" she mused, dragging a fingertip along its length, feeling the textured ridges catch against her skin. "Use it for decoration?"

But the boy didn't laugh.

He watched her, unblinking, his lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling just a fraction too fast before moving towards her.

The boy crawled like liquid sin across the bed. The space between them was minimal, but he took his time closing it, his fingers brushing the loose sleeve of her shirt with featherlight reverence.

And God, the way he looked at her, eyes dark with promises that defied reality, as if he could deliver every forbidden fantasy she'd ever entertained.

Venora arched a brow, her voice dripping with amused skepticism. "It can't be. You can't take that, sweet boy."

He didn't answer. Not with words.

Instead, he pressed forward, his glitter-streaked body sliding against hers, smearing red across her clothes and skin.

When his lips finally found her ear, his breath was hot, uneven, his whisper a velvet scrape against her senses:

"It's your birthday gift... and I... I can take it."

Venora's pulse stuttered.

It was not humanly possible.

But before she could voice the thought, he continued, his teeth grazing her earlobe.

"I'm trained for it." His hand slid down, guiding hers to the monstrous toy beside them, forcing her fingers to curl around its girth. "I like it big." A pause. A hitch in his breath. "So. So. Big."

Disbelief evaporated from Venora's expression in an instant, replaced by something darker.

Before the boy could process the change, she had him flipped onto his back, his legs shoved apart with her knee. The mini dildo inside him now lay discarded on the sheets, still glistening.

Venora loomed over him, her loose white shirt parted to reveal a black lace bra that barely contained her full breasts, the strap harness already buckled tight over her hips. A thick bottle of lube sat uncapped beside her, its contents slicking her fingers as she coated the monstrous violet tentacle with measured strokes.

Her free hand gripped his chin, forcing his gaze up to hers.

"Listen carefully," she commanded. "Red means stop immediately. Yellow means okay, but no harder. Green means fuck me like you mean it." Her thumb brushed his lower lip, a mockery of tenderness. "I want to wreck that pretty asshole of yours, but I won't hurt you beyond what you can take. Understood?"

The boy's breath hitched, his pupils blown wide. He nodded, quick and eager. Venora's smile was sharp. "Words, sweet thing."

"Yes," he gasped. "Understood. I- I'll safeword if I need to."

She released his chin, trailing her fingers down his throat, his chest, his trembling stomach, but her touch was not soothing, she was teasing, testing.

"Good boy."

She peeled the latex brief down. The material clung momentarily before snapping free, revealing him fully, his cock already hard and leaking against his stomach, but her focus was lower.

The violet tentacle glistened with lube as she aligned its tapered tip against him, pressing just enough to dimple his flesh. His breath hitched, but he held her gaze, those dark eyes burning with challenge even as his body tensed in anticipation.

"Eyes on me," she commanded, and he obeyed as she began pushing forward.

The initial penetration came easy - too easy. His body swallowed the first few inches with barely a protest, just a soft "ah" escaping his parted lips. Venora could see the way his muscles fluttered around the intrusion, hot and greedy.

But then came the real challenge.

As she worked the thicker middle section past his rim, his thighs began to tremble. A fine sheen of sweat broke out across his glitter-dusted chest as his hole stretched obscenely around the monstrous girth. Venora watched, enthralled, as his pink flesh parted like some exotic flower blooming just for her.

"Color?" she demanded, her voice rough.

"Green," he gasped immediately, though his knuckles were white where they gripped the sheets. "So green."

Venora smirked and pushed deeper, marveling at how his body yielded yet resisted in equal measure. Each ridge of the tentacle dragged against his inner walls, pulling another ragged breath from his lungs. When she twisted it slightly, his cock jerked against his stomach, a pearl of precum beading at the tip.

The boy was made for this. His hungry hole sucking in inch after inch, his body accepting what should have been impossible.

Venora's hips started rolling in a merciless rhythm, each thrust burying the violet monstrosity deeper into the boy's glistening entrance. His hole clung to the thick silicone like a velvet vise, flushed red from the brutal stretch, the ridges catching deliciously on his swollen rim with every withdrawal.

"God," she groaned, her own body trembling not from effort but from the obscene sight before her. His body wasn't just accepting the intrusion, it was devouring it, the puffy muscles of his passage fluttering as if trying to suck her toy even deeper when she pulled back.

The boy's back arched off the mattress, every tendon standing in sharp relief as a broken "Nngh-!" tore from his throat. His toes curled violently against the sheets, then splayed wide as another inch disappeared inside him.

His fingers scrambled at the silk beneath him before finding purchase in the pillows. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, his lips forming silent pleas between gasped "M-more... s'good... fuck..."

When she angled the toy just right, his entire body seized. A strangled scream caught between a moan and a sob as his cock jerked untouched.

"That's it," Venora purred, watching his hole desperately clutch at the toy as she slowed to a torturous grind.

His response was a garbled mess of syllables, his eyes rolling back as another inch disappeared inside him, the stretch bordering on cruel but his body accepting it with perverse enthusiasm. The wet sounds of their joining filled the room, a lewd counterpoint to his shattered breathing.

Still, the toy wasn't fully inside him yet. But his body was already a masterpiece of debauched tension. A mewling mess being pounded into the mattress. Veins stood out along his neck, his thighs trembled violently where she held them, and his cock flushed an angry red.

Venora couldn't believe it.

She shouldn't have been able to fit the entire length inside him, sixteen inches of violet monstrosity, each undulating ridge designed to stretch and ruin, but between his broken moans and the way his hole fluttered around the silicone, she was starting to think nothing about this boy obeyed human limits.

"M-more-!" he sobbed, his back arching off the bed, fingers clawing at the sheets. "Please, please more-I want it all, gimme it all-!"

His voice cracked on the last word, and Venora felt her own body clench in response, her clit throbbing against the damp lace of her panties. Fuck.

With a growl, she grabbed him under his knees, yanking his legs up until his ankles nearly brushed his ears. The position spread him obscenely wide, his entrance stretched so taut she could see every ridge outlined in his flesh.

"If you want it all, you'll be a good boy and hold yourself open for me."

He whined, high and desperate, but his hands immediately flew to the backs of his thighs, pulling himself wider, his hole gaping around the toy.

Venora smirked and withdrew a few inches, just to hear him scream.

"AH! Nghhhh!" His back bowed, his cock jerking against his stomach. "Yes yes YES! Please-! Please, I-I can take it, I can-!"

She believed him.

So, she shoved forward in one brutal thrust.

A single, punishing drive forward that stole the breath from his lungs. For a heartbeat, there was silence.

The boy's mouth formed a perfect O, his back arching off the bed as his eyes bulged, veins standing out in his throat. A silent scream. Then, she moved.

Her hands locked under his knees, forcing them back toward his chest, forcing him wider as she buried herself to the hilt.

When she gave an experimental roll of her hips, his body jerked like a live wire. "AHHHHH--!"

The scream tore out of him, half-pleasure, half-agony, raw and unfiltered. She didn't let him recover. Withdrawing just enough to make him whimper, she slammed back in, her hips snapping forward with a wet, filthy thwap. His head thrashed, voice breaking into staccato cries "Ah! Ah! AH!" each one punched out of him in time with her thrusts.

She was relentless and had him panting like a dog.

Sweat gleamed on her skin, muscles coiling with every merciless drive. The bedframe screeched in protest, wood grinding against wood as she fucked him like an animal, turning him into a bucking brainless desperate slut.

The tentacle went so deep inside him, and the stretch burned, but the pleasure was worse, a molten coil tightening in his gut with every brutal stroke.

"Color," she demanded, voice rough.

His reply was a garbled mess. "Gh- ghhk-!" Spit dripped down his chin. She didn't stop. If anything, she pounded harder, the slap of silicone-on-skin drowning out his choked noises. "Color, dear," she repeated.

"G-Guh--AHHHH--!"

Words were beyond him. His vision whited out, body reduced to a quivering, overstimulated thing, just a sleeve for her to use, a trembling vessel taking every inch, every snap of her hips. Each thrust was a calculated assault on his prostate.

His body jerked beneath her, his cock twitching unceasingly.

"I said, color!" she snarled, her voice a whip-crack of dominance.

For the third time, her command sliced through the haze of his pleasure, sharp and unyielding. His mouth floundered, lips trembling around half-formed words, his brain too melted to obey.

She angled herself better, grinding down and pulverizing his sweet spot.

A broken cry tearing from his throat. "G-Green! Greeeen! Greeee--! Fuck, green! GREEN!"

The word spilled out of him in a desperate, sobbing chant, his voice cracking under the weight of sensation. Green, green, green. Like a prayer, like a plea.

She smirked, slowing just enough to watch him shudder, to savor the way his cock leaked helplessly, the way his stomach quivered with each shallow breath. The sight alone was almost enough to make her cream her panties. Almost.

But then, Venora's gaze dropped to his abdomen.

There it was. A bulge.

The thick, sinuous shape of the tentacle pressed up from inside him, distorting the smooth plane of his belly. Her breath caught. Fuck. It was so deep she could trace its outline beneath his skin, could see the way it stretched him to the limit.

A dark thrill shot through her.

Before she could stop herself, her hand was on him, pressing down, fingers splayed over the raised contour of the toy inside him.

"Oh, fuuuck!"

His scream was a guttural, sobbing wail that dissolved into choked whimpers, his hips jerking wildly. Tears streaked his cheeks, his mouth hanging open as his cock spurted hot white cum.

She grinned, grinding her palm against the bulge, watching his face twist in overwhelmed ecstasy.

"So good... Taking it all. So fucking good." Her voice was a dark, velvety murmur, thick with satisfaction as she watched him unravel beneath her.

His body was a shaking, sweat-slicked mess, his thighs twitching as the last waves of his orgasm were mercilessly drawn out, long, torturous, exquisite. She hadn't let up, not for a second, her grip on under his knees was ironclad.

His rim was puffy, swollen, a vivid red from the relentless stretch, clenching and fluttering around the thick intrusion. Her own pants were soaked and ruined, not that she cared. Not when the sight before her was this intoxicating.

Venora didn't pull out, didn't let him escape the overwhelming pleasure. She deliberately dragged out his orgasm until it tipped into overstimulation. His cock was still throbbing, oversensitive and spent, but she didn't let up, rocking slowly just to watch him squirm.

"I'm not done yet," she murmured. Pleasure snaked up her spine, like liquid fire in her veins. She felt drunk on the way his body yielded to hers, the way his muscles clenched helplessly around the silicone tentacle buried deep into his asshole.

He couldn't see it, hadn't noticed the clit sucker nestled beside her, its soft, insistent mouth already humming to life. She slid it into place beneath her pants, angling it just right so the vibrations teased her swollen clit with every tiny thrust.

The dual sensation was maddening: the stretch of the thrusting strap filling him, the relentless pulse between her own legs, the slick heat of her own arousal soaking through fabric.

The boy whimpered, she didn't let him escape the slow, torturous rhythm, didn't let him catch his breath. His body arched, taut as a bowstring, as she fucked him until his cock gave one last weak twitch as he spilled again, just a thin, desperate trickle this time. His orgasm wrung dry.

And then she was coming too, the clit sucker pushed her over the edge, waves of ecstasy crashing hard.

She smirked down at him, watching his dazed, fucked-out expression. "Now," she said, dragging a finger through the mess on his stomach, "we're done."

***

Golden

Venora woke with a faint ache in her muscles from last night's activities and too many red glitters clinging stubbornly to her skin.

She stretched before striding toward the ensuite bathroom of her room, only to find steam curling in the air and her husband already there, naked and poised under the shower's spray.

She let her silk robe slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet as she approached the shower. Behind the fogged glass, his body tensed the moment she slid the door open.

"Ven-" His voice was rough, still thick with sleep, and the way his dark eyes flickered over her, devotion and bashfulness tangled together, sent a thrill through her. "Good morning."

"After all these years," she murmured, stepping into the shower's spray, "you still blush for me."

The water sluiced over her, heat sinking into her skin as she reached for him. Her fingers circled his wrist, tugging him closer until his chest brushed against hers. His breath hitched.

"Did you enjoy your present?" He asked.

"Yes. But now I have red glitters everywhere," she sighed, "and they won't come off. Help me, darling."

A shudder ran through him, but his hands settled on her hips without hesitation, warm, reverent. His calloused palms dragged over her skin, scrubbing away the glitter in slow, worshipful strokes.

The red dust of glitter didn't stop at her waist. It cascaded lower, over the dip of her belly, the curve of her hips, down to the apex of her thighs.

His knees hit the shower floor with a soft thud, water sluicing over his shoulders as he bent into her. His lips found her belly first, a slow, open-mouthed kiss over the glitter clinging there. Then lower, his breath hot against her inner thigh as he nuzzled the tender skin.

His tongue flicked out, a tentative stroke over her clit, just enough to make her thighs tense. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and he took it as a sign to go on.

He lapped at her, broad strokes now, savoring her like something sacred. The shower's steam thickened, water running in rivulets between her legs, over his tongue, his chin. She braced one hand against the tile, the other tangling in his hair, guiding him deeper.

He groaned against her, the vibration sending a shiver up her spine. His lips sealed around her, sucking gently before dragging his tongue upward in a languid, filthy sweep. "That's it," she murmured, voice thick.

His fingers spread her wider, deeper, to taste her better.

Venora's back arched, her fingers knotting in his hair. Pleasure coiled tight in her belly, molten and inevitable, until her pelvic floor clenched in a sudden, radiant spasm. A gasp tore from her throat as the orgasm crested.

Her muscles, still tender from last night's exertions, slackened just beyond her control. A hot, golden release escaped her in a shimmering rush, mingling with the shower's spray. Michael pulled back, his lips glistening, eyes dark with adoration as the warm pee spilled over his chest, his abdomen, swirling in honeyed rivulets down the shower.

For a suspended moment, there was only the sound of water and their ragged breaths.

Michael's lips brushed the inside of her thigh in slow, worshipful kisses.

"Come here," she murmured, voice thick with affection.

He obeyed instantly, rising to his feet as she pulled him up by his jaw. The moment his face was level with hers, she claimed his mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. Her tongue slid against his, tasting her own essence on his tongue and he moaned softly into her, his hands hovering at her waist.

She smirked against his lips. "You're so good for me," she breathed, her hand slipping between them, fingers curling around his hardening length. He shuddered, hips jerking instinctively into her touch.

His forehead rested against hers as she stroked him slowly, teasingly. She squeezed just enough to make him tremble, her thumb swiping over the slick head before palming the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them in her grasp.

"Tell me," she murmured, lips brushing his as her grip tightened. "Have you touched yourself while we were here?" Her other hand traced the tense line of his abdomen, nails grazing skin. "Mm, have you come without permission?"

He shuddered, swallowing hard. "N-no, I-" His voice fractured as she tugged lightly on his sac. "I wouldn't... not without you."

The raw need in his voice sent a thrill through her. She could feel the truth of it, the tightness in his balls, the way his cock twitched in her hand, desperate and leaking. "Good," she purred, releasing him abruptly only to grip his hips and spin him toward the shower wall.

His palms hit the tiles with a soft thud, shoulders tensing as she pressed flush against him, her breasts against his back, her thigh sliding between his. She nipped at his shoulder, one hand splaying possessively over his stomach while the other found his cock again, stroking him firmly this time, her thumb circling his frenulum with every upward drag.

"You've been so patient," she breathed, lips trailing up his neck. "So perfect for me." Her rhythm quickened, her grip just shy of rough, the way he liked it, the way that made his knees weaken.

"I really ought to thank you properly... my loving, devoted husband." There was no sarcasm in her voice, only warmth and something darker, hungrier. Her hand twisted on his upstroke, her teeth sinking into his earlobe.

The shower's steam wrapped around them like a second skin, the water hot and heavy as it cascaded over their bodies. Her hand moved over him with knowing strokes, each twist of her wrist pulling another broken sound from his lips.

"Mhmm- ah! Nngh-" His hips jerked helplessly, his breath coming in ragged bursts. The tiles were slick under his palms where he braced himself, his thighs trembling.

She tutted softly, her free hand rising to his parted lips. "So loud, darling," she murmured, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. Two fingers pressed into his mouth, sliding over his tongue. "What if someone hears you?"

His lips closed around her fingers, sucking gently. A shiver ran through him as his tongue curled, coating them in warm, wet heat. "M-hmmh..." he moaned around her, the vibration humming against her skin.

She crooked her fingers just slightly, dragging them along the roof of his mouth, and his knees nearly buckled. Her other hand never slowed its rhythm.

When she was satisfied with her fingers coated in his saliva, she left his mouth.

Her hand trailed lower and her middle finger pressed against his puckered hole, circling slowly, teasing, before pushing in. A gasp tore from his throat, his hips jerking forward into her other hand.

"There you go," she murmured, her tongue liked his ear as her finger sank deeper. "Take it, darling. Just like that."

The wet slap of her palm against his ass echoed lewdly under the shower's spray. She quickened her rhythm, her middle finger driving into him with strong, precise thrusts while her other hand worked his cock in perfect synchronization, a maddening push and pull, stretching him open, pulling pleasure from him in ragged waves.

Every deep stroke forced him up onto his toes, his body arching, his back pressing harder against her as if she were lifting him with nothing but the force of her touch. The more she fucked into him, the higher he rose, each thrust, each smack of her hand sending him further onto the balls of his feet, until he was suspended between her hands, between pleasure and surrender.

"Ven-" His voice was raw, wrecked, his fingers scrambling for purchase against the slick wall.

Venora kissed his shoulder, her rhythm never faltering. She pressed closer, her lips sucked bruises into his skin, one under his ear, another where his shoulder met his neck, each mark a dark bloom of possession.

She bit the shell of his ear with her teeth claiming him. "All mine," she murmured against his pulse, feeling it jump under her mouth.

"Mmh- AH!"

She kissed lower, down the slope of his shoulder, tasting the water on his skin. "I know, darling. Cum for me. Show me how much you love this."

And he did.

A broken groan tore from his throat as he came, his release spilling hot and thick. She held him through it, while the shower rained down, washing everything away.

"You're always so beautiful when you fall apart for me." His body trembled from the aftershocks of her touch.

Slowly, he turned to face her, his dark eyes glazed with adoration, and kissed her softly, and deeply.

They finished their shower in comfortable silence. Venora stepped out first, wrapping herself in a plush towel before going into their room and selecting a sleek black swimsuit with gold accents.

Michael reached for his own trunks, but her voice stopped him.

"No, baby, don't bother." She smirked, running a possessive hand down his bare chest. "I want you naked on the beach. The only thing you need to wear are my bruises."

His cheeks flushed, but he didn't protest. Instead, he leaned into her touch, his voice low. "But... what if Eleonor and Chris--?"

She laughed, the sound rich and knowing. "Remember Chris's little cherry trick yesterday? If I know Eleonor half as well as I do, he'll be too busy sucking her clit like a lollipop the whole day to even glance your way."

Michael's blush deepened, but his lips curled into a small smile.

Hand in hand, they stepped onto the beach, the sun high in the sky, painting everything in a golden haze. The sand was warm beneath their feet, the ocean breeze teasing at their skin.

Chris was right.

He was perfect like this, slutty, devoted and unmistakenly hers.

© Aeaea