Penis Reduction Seduction Ch. 08

The soft clink of cutlery being laid out echoed through the quiet kitchen, still dim with early morning light. Zoe moved like a woman rehearsing a ritual -- smooth, efficient, calm on the outside, though her insides fluttered with something far more urgent. She had already set the table, cracked the eggs, and plated a few extra slices of Barry's favourite bacon, but her eyes kept drifting to the clock above the stove. Her robe hugged her curves, tied loosely at the waist, and beneath it she wore only a pale slip of a nightdress -- something meant to look accidental. Something that said comfort, but invited notice.

When the doorbell rang, sharp and punctual, she didn't jump. Her body had been expecting it. The sound felt like an answer to a craving she hadn't yet dared voice aloud.

She padded barefoot across the tile, cool beneath her feet, and opened the back door to find Nate standing there -- hoodie zipped halfway, joggers loose on his hips, hair damp from a shower that clung to his skin in a way that made him look freshly unwrapped. He was holding a duffel bag, his mouth set in an easy smile, and something in his eyes -- sharp, playful, hungry -- made Zoe's breath catch before she even realised it.

"You're early," she said, though her smile said thank God.

"You told me to be," he replied, stepping inside. "Didn't want to miss my... treatment window."

Zoe let the door fall shut behind him with a gentle click, the sound intimate in the quiet house. She led him into the kitchen, the morning air laced with the scent of coffee, toast, and something far more charged. Her bare legs brushed against the edge of her robe as she moved, and she caught the way his eyes dipped, just briefly, to the flash of thigh revealed in motion.

As she turned back toward the stove, she reached for the coffee pot and poured a fresh mug, handing it to him without a word. He accepted it with a soft thanks, but neither of them sipped. The kitchen held a stillness that wasn't awkward -- it was electric.

"So," she said finally, her voice quieter now, a bit softer than it needed to be. "I got that message back from Dr. JJ last night."

Nate raised a brow, mug still in hand. "Yeah?"

She turned, leaning back against the counter, crossing her arms loosely under her chest -- which only served to press her breasts upward in a way she didn't bother to correct.

"He says we're more or less done. But... there was one suggestion. A final sample. Between 2 and 4 a. m." She paused, gauging his reaction, watching his eyes as they lingered on her mouth, her neckline, the hem of her robe. "Apparently that's when hormone production fluctuates. Circadian rhythms, deep rest cycles..."

"Uh huh," Nate said, smiling into his coffee. "That sounds... extremely clinical."

Zoe laughed, but the sound was low, intimate. "It's bullshit. I mean -- it's valid technically, but I've seen your samples, Nate. They don't change. You're... obscenely consistent."

He didn't respond, not with words, but his grin deepened and his eyes flashed with a kind of challenge that made her shift subtly against the counter. She felt her thighs draw together without meaning to.

"I was thinking," she continued, keeping her tone casual, "if you're willing... it might make sense for you to stay here tonight. So we can do the collection without interruption."

Before Nate could respond, there was a loud thump from the stairs above them -- followed by the familiar sounds of Barry in a morning rush: shuffling feet, a belt being fastened, the hurried slap of shoes hitting wood. Moments later, he appeared in the doorway, shirt only half-tucked, phone in hand, and a toothbrush still clutched between his teeth.

"Shit, I'm so late," Barry muttered, glancing at the clock and the untouched breakfast on the table. "Don't wait for me. I've got back-to-back consults starting at eight. I'll grab something at the hospital."

Zoe turned toward him smoothly, as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary.

"Hey," she said gently, "I was thinking... since Nate needs one more overnight diagnostic collection, maybe he should stay here tonight. That way I can monitor everything properly."

Barry, distracted, nodded vaguely as he spat the toothbrush into the sink behind him. "Yeah, sure, great -- makes sense. That work for you, man?"

Nate nodded. "Absolutely. Happy to help science."

Barry smirked and grabbed his bag, already halfway to the door. "You're a good sport. Zoe's tough, huh? I know what it's like being under her care."

He kissed Zoe quickly on the cheek, gave Nate a casual nod, and disappeared out the door without another word.

The moment the door latched shut, silence settled between them again -- not awkward, but charged.

Zoe turned slowly to face Nate, her eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker.

"Well," Zoe said, her voice light, almost playful, "now that he's taken care of... why don't you sit down and enjoy the breakfast he didn't have time for?"

She gestured to the plate -- Barry's plate -- perfectly arranged with steaming eggs, crisp bacon, and neatly buttered toast. Her tone was casual, but her eyes told a different story. There was a charge behind them now, something heavy with intention.

"And while you eat," she added, stepping closer, fingers already sliding toward the tie of her robe, "I'll take care of your 'Big Problem'." She teased.

Nate took his seat at the kitchen table, the chair creaking faintly beneath his weight. His skin still glowed from the shower, his broad shoulders pink with heat, his frame so much larger than the chair could reasonably hold -- so much more present than the man who was supposed to be sitting there. Zoe moved with quiet purpose, setting the plate down in front of him -- Barry's plate. His food. His seat. But it was her mouth that was about to feed Nate something far more indulgent.

She didn't speak. She didn't have to. She just stood behind him for a breath, watching the way his muscles shifted beneath the fabric of his T-shirt as he reached for his fork. He filled the space like he belonged there. And maybe he did. Because when she sank to her knees beside him, it wasn't with uncertainty. It was with intent.

This wasn't tentative. There was no trembling in her hands, no flutter of doubt. Just a slow, grounded hunger in her movements -- practiced now. Owned. She reached for the waistband of his joggers, tugging them down in one steady pull. His cock sprang free -- thick, flushed, leaking -- and Zoe's breath caught, her lips parting in a soft, involuntary gasp. He was just so ready. Still hard from earlier. Or maybe just hard for her.

She wrapped her fingers around the base, marvelling again at his sheer size. Her hand couldn't quite close around him, and the stretch only made her pulse harder. She leaned in, exhaling softly across the tip, her breath warming the already glistening crown. Then she kissed it. Once. Then again. Her tongue circled the ridge in slow, reverent strokes -- like she was reacquainting herself with something sacred. He tasted like salt and heat and something heady and male.

Her moan was quiet but unmistakable as she took him into her mouth -- just the head at first, swirling, teasing, dragging her tongue along every sensitive ridge. She stroked what she couldn't yet fit, her other hand braced on his thigh for balance. Nate's body tensed. His fork clinked softly against the plate as he tried, absurdly, to eat -- to pretend he wasn't being unraveled at the kitchen table while her husband's breakfast went cold beside him.

Zoe didn't ease up.

She slid deeper, her throat relaxing inch by inch as she coaxed more of him inside. Her jaw stretched wide, lips wrapped tight, wet and eager as she tried to take him all. Her eyes began to sting, her breath coming in short, muffled bursts through her nose. But she didn't stop. Not until she had to -- not until the pressure in her lungs forced her back with a wet gasp, strands of saliva catching on her lip as she pulled off with a soft choke.

"Fuck..." she whispered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the edge of her lips still glistening. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, wide and wild, not with innocence -- but hunger. "Your cock is so fucking huge, Nate..."

He smirked, his chest rising, but there was tension in his body now -- the kind that came from restraint, from barely holding on. Zoe grinned back at him, breathless, almost laughing with disbelief at her own arousal. But the flush in her cheeks, the tremble in her thighs, betrayed just how serious she was.

"I love the challenge of it," she whispered, almost reverent now. "I want to take all of you."

And then she did.

Her body leaned in with purpose, not hesitation. The spit she'd left along his shaft glistened in the kitchen light, making it easier, wetter, filthier. She let her lips stretch wide, slow and steady, sliding down his length inch by inch. The head bumped the back of her throat -- her breath hitched -- but she pushed through, swallowing him deeper, her muscles tightening as he filled her entirely. Her nose pressed close to the base, her throat flexing, pulsing around the thick crown. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her cunt clenched hard.

This wasn't just a blowjob. This wasn't just pleasure.

It was a conquest.

It was worship.

She moaned around him -- deep and guttural -- and the sound reverberated through her throat, sending a violent shiver up Nate's spine. His cock twitched in response, jerking against the back of her throat. She felt the weight of his hand settle in her hair -- not to force, but to anchor, like he needed the connection just to stay grounded.

"Fuck, Zoe..." he groaned, his voice fractured and thick. His hand tightened.

She began to move -- bobbing now, slowly at first, her lips sliding over him in long, wet strokes. Both hands twisted at the base, working in tandem with her mouth, milking him with devotion. Saliva spilled freely now, soaking him, dribbling down her chin as her hunger took over. She pulled off only once, just long enough to kiss the side of his shaft -- gentle, almost sweet -- before she whispered against his skin.

"You deserve this. You deserve to be fed. And to be drained."

And then she took him again -- deeper. Faster. Harder.

Her rhythm quickened, throat tightening and releasing in perfect sync with her hands. Her cheeks hollowed, her tongue moved with merciless precision along the underside, swirling just beneath the ridge where he was most sensitive. She let herself fall into it completely -- eyes closed, breath stolen, throat open, mouth flooded. Her head bobbed now with urgency, filth and finesse combining in a rhythm that was impossible to endure.

Nate's breathing broke. His other hand gripped the edge of the table now, knuckles white, hips twitching forward against her face. He was shaking -- thighs tight, abs flexed, his cock throbbing impossibly hard against her lips.

She didn't let up.

Instead, she went deeper. She sucked harder. She let her throat hum, a low, filthy vibration that rolled through him like a fuse being lit at the base of his spine. It wasn't a moan. It was a command.

"Mmmhhhmm..."

Nate choked out a breath, eyes rolling back, his voice shattered.

"Ohhh--fuck, Zoe... I'm gonna--"

But he didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't have to.

Zoe pressed her face down farther, burying him deep, her throat stretching open, swallowing inch after inch until he was lodged tight inside her. Her fingers gripped the base of his cock like she was holding onto a wild, thrashing thing -- like she needed to anchor it, or herself, or both. Her jaw ached. Her eyes watered. And still, she didn't let up.

Nate let out a sound then -- not a word, not a moan, but a growl, deep and primal, torn straight from his chest. It was the sound of a man unraveling. A man being ruined. His entire body jerked once, hard, and then he came.

Hot, pulsing jets surged into her mouth -- thick and relentless, one after another. She moaned around him as he spilled, her throat flexing, swallowing each salty wave like it was sacred. He poured into her, flooding her tongue, coating every inch of her mouth with the weight of him. And she took it. All of it. Her lips sealed tight, her throat fluttering around him while her hands coaxed out every last drop, stroking, milking, worshipping.

He grunted again -- louder this time, more animal, more broken -- his fingers tightening in her hair as his hips jerked uncontrollably. The final spasms wracked through his core, and then he slumped back into the chair with a shuddering gasp, trembling, boneless.

"Fucking hell..."

But Zoe didn't pull back. Not yet. She held him gently in her mouth, letting him soften there, her lips still locked around the head as she savoured the taste of what lingered. Only when the twitching stopped did she begin to retreat -- slow, deliberate -- letting him slip free with a wet, obscene pop that echoed in the stillness of the kitchen like punctuation.

She sat back on her heels, exhaling through parted lips, the air thick with heat and salt and silence. Her chin gleamed. Her lips glistened. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then brought her tongue to her lip, tasting what little remained, slow and unbothered.

"Your breakfast good?" she asked softly, voice husky, her throat stretched and satisfied.

Nate could only nod. Wide-eyed. Speechless. His chest still rising in shallow, uneven breaths as if he hadn't caught up to his own orgasm yet.

Zoe smiled -- calm, composed, in complete control -- and stood with feline grace, her body humming, her thighs still pulsing with unsatisfied ache. But that ache was hers to carry. For now.

"I'll pour you some coffee," she said, glancing back over her shoulder with a knowing smirk as she tied her robe again, casual as ever. "You're gonna need your strength tonight."

The late afternoon sun dipped low across the backyard, throwing long golden lines through the windows and across the polished hardwood floors. From the kitchen, Zoe stood at the sink pretending to rinse vegetables, but her eyes were locked on the scene just beyond the glass. Nate was shirtless -- again -- glistening with sweat as he pushed through a punishing round of bodyweight training. Pull-ups on the wooden beam, deep squats, push-ups so tight and slow they bordered on obscene. His muscles flexed and flowed with every movement, that dark sheen of exertion catching the light, casting his form in sharp, almost cinematic shadow.

She wasn't blinking. Not once.

Her thighs pressed together lightly beneath the hem of her dress, the soft fabric clinging to her skin from humidity -- and arousal. She watched the way Nate moved like he had something to prove. Like he knew she was watching.

Because he did.

The front door creaked open. Barry's voice called out casually, "Back in a sec, just grabbing the last bag."

Zoe composed herself instantly -- slid the tomato under the knife and began slicing with practiced ease. Her husband entered the kitchen moments later, looking flushed from the heat, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened.

"Smells amazing in here," he said, setting down a bag of wine and dessert. "What's Nate doing out there? He's like a damn Navy SEAL."

Zoe glanced out the window, just as Nate dropped from the pull-up beam and wiped his face with his shirt -- revealing the full cut of his abdomen in a single, dripping sweep.

Barry let out a short, impressed laugh. "Damn. Kid's a tank."

She smiled faintly, voice neutral. "He's dedicated."

Barry leaned against the counter, watching a little longer than he probably realised. "If he's staying the night, might as well invite him to dinner. Want me to grab him?"

Zoe nodded slowly. "That'd be lovely."

By the time Barry stepped out into the yard, Nate was finishing another brutal set of push-ups, sweat rolling down his back in long, clean lines. He pushed off the ground and stood, wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt, revealing a stomach that looked carved from stone. Barry paused mid-step, brows rising slightly.

"Jesus," he said with a chuckle, adjusting the grocery bag in his arms. "You training for something or just trying to make the rest of us look bad?"

Nate grinned, breathing steady despite the exertion. "Just keeping the engine running."

Barry gave a low, appreciative nod. "Well... it's working. Zoe and I were just saying -- if you're staying the night for this, uh, medical thing, might as well come by for dinner too. Make a night of it. She's already cooked up some kind of..." he trailed off, squinting. "Something with roasted potatoes, I think. She was slicing up tomatoes when I got in. It smelled like a damn magazine ad in there."

Nate smiled politely, towel slung over his shoulder. "Sounds amazing. Thanks, Barry."

"And after dinner we're putting on the game," Barry added, turning toward the house. "Hope you don't mind watching the Cowboys."

Nate smirked. "Cowboys suck, but I don't mind watching them get a beating."

Barry laughed. "Good man. Grab a shower, come by whenever. You're more than welcome."

"Appreciate it," Nate said. "I'll just swing home, clean up and grab a few things. Be over in twenty."

Barry gave him a nod before disappearing back into the house.

Nate stood in the fading light for a moment, eyes on the back door Zoe had stepped through minutes earlier. He was already hard again -- just from the memory of her mouth.

Dinner unfolded with a practiced elegance that made the tension beneath it feel all the more dangerous. Barry sat comfortably at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, spinning an animated tale about a printer disaster at the hospital. He gestured with his fork, oblivious to the slow-blooming storm building beneath his own roof. Nate laughed when expected, nodded in all the right places, but his attention wasn't on the story. Not really.

It kept drifting -- always drifting -- back to her.

Zoe was radiant tonight. Effortless and lethal. She wore a soft blush-toned dress, sleeveless and low in the front, the fabric hugging her hips like it had been tailored with wicked intent. She made no effort to conceal the shape of her breasts beneath it. There was no bra. The cling of the material made that abundantly clear the moment your eyes dropped. Her hair was half-pinned, strands tumbling loose around her collarbone in gentle waves that made her look delicate -- almost innocent -- if not for the fire flickering in her gaze.

Nate couldn't decide what was more unbearable: the sight of her like this at the table, casual and composed, or the image in his mind of her in that same dress, peeled back over her hips, draped across silk sheets with her thighs parted and her voice in a whisper.

He shifted in his seat, the pressure in his pants mounting with every brush of her voice, every accidental glance. She played it perfectly -- calm, sweet, a model of hostess grace. She refilled Barry's wine with a soft smile, cut into her steak with delicate precision, and leaned forward just a bit too far to pass the butter. It wasn't a mistake. Not remotely. The slow, unhurried dip of her torso gave Nate a clear, deliberate view down the front of her dress. The soft inner curve of her breasts, the shadow between them, the faint hint of warmth where fabric clung to skin.

She didn't look at him then.

But when she sat back, when she lifted her wine to her lips, she did. She met his gaze and held it -- steady, smouldering, and filled with dark promise. A single look. Enough to make his entire body tense.

Barry was still talking. Still gesturing. "So now I've got to pick up Benson's slack again," he groaned, completely unaware of the electricity pulsing between the other two bodies at the table. "The guy disappears every time things start piling up. Guess who gets called in last minute to fix it? Me."

Zoe tilted her head slightly, her fingers swirling the wine in her glass with slow, lazy grace. Her voice came soft and smooth -- razor-edged silk.

"Some people," she said, her eyes flicking to Barry for only a second before locking back on Nate with surgical precision, "are just better at handling the larger... meatier... projects."

She let it hang there, each word slow, sweet, and coated in implication. Her mouth curved into a smile that was nothing short of wicked. Catlike. I know exactly what you're thinking, that smile said. And I want you thinking it.

Nate's fork hovered in the air, forgotten. His throat moved as he swallowed hard. His fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass, the muscles in his forearm twitching.

Barry laughed, oblivious. "Exactly! Finally someone gets it."

But Zoe didn't look away. Not yet. Not until Nate looked like he might lose composure altogether.

And then her foot moved under the table.

Slow. Precise. Intentional.

She brushed his ankle. Then traced higher. The subtle glide of her toes up the inside of his calf, then his thigh. The contact was soft but undeniable -- and when she pressed in against him, firm and sure, she felt him tense.

Nate didn't flinch. But his jaw flexed hard. His knuckles whitened. His breathing shallowed by just a hair.

Zoe just took another bite of steak. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. And smiled.

When the meal wrapped, Barry stood and began collecting dishes. Zoe reached for the last scoop of potatoes, lifting the spoon, but Barry gestured casually.

"I might grab those--"

"No," she said gently, but firmly. "Nate should have them."

Barry blinked. "I thought you said--"

"He's earned it," Zoe said, eyes on Nate now, soft and sweet and utterly in control. "Big, strong guy like that needs his fuel. Don't you think?"

Nate didn't respond. He didn't have to.

Barry chuckled. "Fair enough. You're our guest of honour, man."

"Thanks," Nate said, his voice low, throat dry.

Zoe served the potatoes slowly, spooning them onto Nate's plate with care, her fingers brushing his hand for just a second too long.

--------

Barry stood at the sink, half-focused, rinsing plates in the dull rhythm of post-dinner cleanup. A wine glass balanced in one hand while the other tapped at his phone, flicking through reports and updates ahead of the game. His attention was already drifting toward kickoff.

Behind him, Zoe appeared -- her voice calm, smooth, perfectly casual.

"Nate and I are going to head upstairs," she said lightly, like it was nothing, like it was routine. "Just need to run a quick test before the game starts."

Barry didn't even glance over his shoulder. "Game kicks off in twenty," he said, sliding a plate into the rack. "Don't miss kickoff, Doc."

Zoe smirked, brushing past him, her fingers ghosting over the edge of the counter, the click of her heels soft but unmistakable. "I'll have him finished in fifteen."

Barry chuckled absently, still focused on his screen. "I'll time you." He joked, not really even sure what he would have been timing.

She didn't answer. She didn't need to. She was already climbing the stairs, her hips swaying with deliberate grace, Nate trailing behind her like a shadow pulled forward by heat. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The silence between them was electric -- thick with everything unspoken but deeply understood.

She didn't look back.

But her smile said everything.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Knew exactly what she wanted.

Inside the guest room, the air felt warmer -- more charged. Zoe stepped in with the same control she'd worn all night: steady eyes, graceful posture, voice soft as silk. The door clicked closed behind her, sealing them in. Beneath it all, the muffled clatter of dishes and distant sports commentary floated up from the kitchen below -- so far removed from the tension thickening in the space between her and Nate.

He stood near the bed, shirt already gone, his chest flushed and rising with restrained breath, his cock thickening visibly through the soft fabric of his joggers. He was ready. Hungry. Waiting.

Zoe approached slowly, lips parted in a soft smile, fingers already sliding the thin strap of her dress off one shoulder. "We don't have long," she murmured. "But I wanted to give you something before the game starts."

But before she could reach for him -- before she could decide how to begin -- he stepped forward and caught her at the waist. Not to undress her. Not to tease.

To stop her.

He pulled her in firmly, his voice low, rough with restraint.

"No," he said. "It's your turn, Doc."

Zoe blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

His hands were already guiding her backward, slow but insistent, until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the bed.

"You've been taking care of me," he said. "Feeding me. Milking me. Letting me use your mouth. Your hands. Those perfect fucking tits!" His gaze pinned her in place, dark and unwavering. "But now it's your turn. And I want to taste you."

Her breath stilled. A slow, quiet tension uncoiled in her chest -- not fear, not hesitation... but the sheer weight of being seen. Of being wanted that much.

She opened her mouth to speak -- to protest, to deflect, to pretend this wasn't something she'd craved since the beginning -- but the words vanished when his hands slid up her thighs, firm and sure. He pushed her dress higher, revealing skin, heat, want.

"No panties?" he asked, grinning as his fingers brushed bare flesh.

"Didn't think I'd need them," she whispered, breath catching.

"Good," he said, and then he dropped to his knees.

Right in front of her.

Like she was something to be worshipped.

She lay back, her dress bunched high around her waist, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other bent, trembling slightly, her heel digging into the edge of the mattress for balance she was already losing. Nate moved in slow, reverent. His hands gripped her thighs, firm and claiming, thumbs spreading her just enough to bare the slick, flushed heat of her sex.

He stared for a beat, drinking her in -- the shine of her arousal, the twitch of her clit, the way her folds opened for him without hesitation. Then he exhaled, soft and warm, and her entire body flinched, a shiver shooting straight through her core.

And then he licked her.

His first stroke was slow. Wide. Hot. A thick, deliberate drag from base to tip that ended in a featherlight flick against her swollen clit, and Zoe's hips jolted. Her gasp cracked the air before she could stop it, sharp and surprised, her hand flying to her mouth too late.

He didn't stop.

He devoured.

His tongue flattened and moved with unhurried precision, exploring her with patient hunger -- the kind that said he wasn't in a rush. He licked like he had something to prove. Like he wanted to memorise her. Every flick, every suck, every lap was focused, methodical. She tasted of heat and surrender, of something soft and soaked and feral. His grip on her thighs tightened as she began to move -- subtle at first, then desperate -- her hips rolling into his mouth, riding his tongue like it was the only anchor she had left.

Zoe clapped a hand over her mouth as another moan broke free, catching it in the crook of her elbow. She couldn't be loud. Barry was downstairs. But her body didn't give a damn about discretion. Her breath came fast and shallow, her belly tightening with every pass of his tongue, her clit aching with the effort of staying quiet. Nate kissed her like he was trying to crawl inside her. Like he wanted to stay there.

"Oh my god," she choked behind her hand, eyes squeezed shut. "Nate--fuck, don't stop--"

He didn't.

Instead, he changed pace -- and ruined her.

He focused on her clit, circling and flicking with maddening precision, then plunging his tongue inside her tight, fluttering entrance before sliding back up again. Over and over. Wet and filthy and perfect. Zoe's hand fisted in his hair, grinding his face harder into her cunt, needing more, giving up the pretence of control. Her other hand clutched the sheets, her thighs quaking on either side of his head.

She came like something being ripped open.

No warning. No grace. Just a sudden, helpless buck of her hips, a strangled cry bitten off behind her own hand as her orgasm slammed into her like a truck. Her body seized, legs locking tight around his head, back arching clean off the bed. Her cunt pulsed around nothing, twitching, soaking, and Nate didn't stop -- not for one second. He licked through it, into it, his mouth greedy and relentless, until she was gasping wordless sounds, begging without breath.

By the time she collapsed back, her chest was heaving, skin flushed, limbs heavy. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy still twitched. Her mind barely anchored.

Nate lifted his head slowly, mouth slick, chin soaked, eyes bright with something proud and dark and utterly male. He licked his lips, slow, savouring, and let out a soft, almost reverent groan.

"Jesus, Zoe," he murmured, voice low and rough. "You taste so fucking good. Like I could live between your legs."

Zoe stared at him, dazed and ruined, lips parted, no words left.

"You're eighteen?" she whispered, voice hoarse.

He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned in close.

"I know what I'm doing."

She pulled him up by the collar and kissed him hard -- no hesitation, no space. Their mouths crashed together with heat and hunger, her lips trembling from the aftermath still coursing through her. She tasted herself on his tongue and didn't care. If anything, it made her kiss him deeper, hungrier. It wasn't neat. It wasn't careful. It was claiming.

Their bodies pressed tight, skin to skin, her thigh brushing the length of his cock still straining through his joggers. She slid her hand down between them, fingers closing around him through the fabric -- thick, throbbing, impossible -- and stroked him once, slow, deliberate.

Her orgasm hadn't even fully passed when Nate moved.

Fluid. Controlled. Decisive.

He kissed his way up her trembling stomach, his fingers grazing the curve of her breast as he climbed. And then, suddenly, she was in motion -- a blur of limbs and breath and sheets -- as he lifted her, rolled her, placed her. Her back hit the mattress with a gasp, and then another gasp followed as he shifted again, pulling her up and over him, guiding her thighs until she was straddling his face once more -- but this time, in reverse.

Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened.

He had pulled his joggers half way down and was already hard -- always hard -- his cock jutting between his thighs, heavy and wet with anticipation, twitching with every pulse of his heart. From where she hovered above him, she had a perfect view: the swollen head, the dark ridge, the sheer size of him. It made her mouth water and her core clench, even as her body was still recovering.

"Nate--" she started, her voice ragged, barely formed.

"Shhh," he whispered, muffled beneath her, voice edged with reverence and demand. "Your turn again."

And then his mouth was on her.

His tongue found her again without hesitation, licking into her heat like he hadn't just been buried there minutes ago. He kissed her cunt like it was the first time all over again -- tongue slow, wide, deliberate, and she moaned, unable to stop the tremble in her thighs. Her hips twitched above him, instinctively grinding down into the rhythm he was building.

She couldn't think. Could barely breathe.

But her eyes were locked -- laser-focused on his cock. Proud. Leaking. Begging.

She leaned forward.

Opened her mouth.

And took him in.

There was no warm-up. No hesitation. She opened wide, eyes fluttering as she slid down his length. Inch by inch. Her throat stretched. Relaxed. Accepted him. And when she hit the edge of her limit, she swallowed -- taking just a little more.

He groaned into her cunt as she moaned around his cock -- a wet, obscene harmony of need and friction.

They moved in sync now, a rhythm as raw as it was intimate. Her mouth bobbed over him, slow at first, savouring the ridges of every vein, the heat, the fullness. Her hands gripped his thighs, holding herself steady as she took him deeper. Faster. Her jaw ached. Her throat burned. But it only made her hungrier.

Every time his tongue dragged across her clit, her whole body jerked, her throat tightening instinctively around him -- and he growled into her, deep and low, the sound vibrating through her pelvis. She moaned in return, muffled by the cock stretching her lips, the two of them locked in this spiralling feedback loop of sound and sex and surrender.

Zoe's body was shaking again. Her pussy, still raw and overstimulated, pulsed around his mouth as he devoured her without mercy. And still, she didn't stop. Didn't want to stop. Her tongue flicked beneath his crown, her cheeks hollowed, her spit running down the base of his cock in glossy rivulets as she took him in again and again, head bobbing now with growing desperation.

Sweat slid between her breasts in a slow, sticky trail. Her thighs quivered around Nate's face, muscles taut, pulsing with the second orgasm already rising from deep within her. She was close again. So close. Her breath came in fractured gasps, her mouth still stretched wide around his cock, spit coating his shaft, dripping to his thighs.

Then, from downstairs -- faint, muffled, utterly out of place -- Barry's voice floated up.

"Come on, you two!" he called, casual and unaware. "Game's kicking off!"

Zoe froze. Just for a second. Just long enough for the tension in her body to hesitate.

And then Nate flicked her clit again.

Just right. Just once.

She broke.

Her hips dropped, grinding hard against his mouth, her throat tightening again as she took him deeper, her hands clawing at his thighs. She sucked with urgency now -- messier, wetter -- the rhythm collapsing into something wild and desperate, obscene in its ferocity. Her moans were guttural and wet around his cock, the sounds of their bodies filling the room in raw, chaotic chorus.

He grabbed her ass. She squeezed his legs.

And they came.

Together.

Zoe's muffled scream vibrated through his length as her orgasm exploded -- thighs clamping around his head, cunt pulsing furiously against his tongue. Her whole body shook, every nerve ending on fire. Nate arched up into her mouth with a groan, cock twitching, then erupting -- thick, hot ropes of cum flooding her throat, each pulse stronger than the last. She swallowed without thinking, still sucking, still grinding, still moaning through the storm of it. His hands clutched at her hips, holding her down as if she might float away.

They stayed like that -- locked, shuddering, giving everything to each other -- until there was nothing left.

Finally, she let him slip from her lips with a soft pop, a long string of saliva stretching between her mouth and his slick, reddened tip. She exhaled hard, her body folding down beside him, chest heaving, skin flushed, hair a wild mess across the pillow. Her entire frame still hummed with afterglow.

Nate wiped his face on the back of his hand, eyes dazed and glassy, mouth swollen from how hard he'd worked her.

Zoe let out a breathless laugh -- low, warm, ragged.

"We're late for kickoff," she whispered.

Nate smiled, reaching lazily for her thigh. "I'll let you take the blame."

"You don't get to talk back," she murmured, rolling onto her side with a satisfied groan, "until I can feel my legs again."

Eventually, she rose, pulling herself together with the calm precision of a woman who knew how to make sin look seamless. In the hallway, she paused -- smoothed the hem of her dress down her thighs, adjusted the neckline just enough to conceal the flushed curve of her chest. But the sweat hadn't yet dried between her breasts. The ache between her legs still echoed. The taste of him lingered at the back of her throat. She felt like she was radiating sex -- glowing with it -- but she carried it well. She always had.

Downstairs, the low drone of the TV and the hiss of beer cans cracked open gave the house its usual hum. Barry's voice called out from the couch, light and distracted.

"You missed kickoff!"

Before Zoe could reply, Nate's voice cut in -- smooth, warm, just a hint too innocent.

"That was my fault," he said easily. "I needed... a little extra attention before I could focus."

Zoe smirked as she stepped into the room behind him, a fresh glass of wine in hand, her smile just wide enough to say everything she didn't need to speak.

Barry chuckled from the couch, never looking away from the game. "Well? Did you fix him?"

"There's nothing to fix," Zoe replied, her voice sweet and just a touch amused. She eased into her chair across from them, legs crossed elegantly. "He's in perfect shape. This was more... research. Clinical analysis. And yes, of course--" her eyes flicked to Nate, "--I took special care of him. As I always do."

Barry grinned, sipping his beer. "Doc always gets results, huh?"

Nate didn't look at Barry. His eyes were locked on Zoe's, his smile slow and steady. "Every time," he said. "She's really... dedicated to her patients."

Zoe took a slow sip of wine, letting her tongue swirl around the rim of the glass.

Barry, still oblivious, settled further into the cushions, his feet propped on the table.

The room grew easier after that -- looser. Relaxed. The wine helped. The football helped. Barry started asking Nate about sports, about his college goals, whether he was still considering trying for the combine next season. Nate, good-natured and open, answered every question with humble confidence. He talked about his routine, his coach's push for him to stay local, how he was weighing his options. Zoe watched Barry warm to him, not just as a guest, but as a man. A potential son-in-law type.

She wondered what Barry would think if he knew how many times she'd had Nate's cock in her throat this week.

When the first quarter wound down, Barry stood with a stretch and grabbed another beer.

Zoe rose as well, collecting the empty wine glasses. "Alright," she said, "I think that's it for me tonight."

Nate stood too, always polite. "Thanks again for dinner. Seriously."

"You're welcome any time," Barry said, then looked to Zoe. "You'll be waking him for that test, right?"

She nodded. "Around two."

"I'll set an alarm just in case," Nate said, smiling, eyes warm. "Wouldn't want to miss my treatment."

Zoe held his gaze for a moment too long.

"See you soon," she said, voice soft as silk.

Upstairs, the house finally quieted.

Zoe stepped into the ensuite bathroom and let the door close behind her. Her hands moved automatically -- lighting a candle, untying her dress, letting it fall in a whisper to the floor. She stepped under the hot spray of the shower, tilting her head back, letting the water rush over her skin. She washed slowly, thoroughly -- between her thighs, behind her ears, under her breasts -- every inch of her body given the same reverence she'd given Nate earlier.

Then came the blade -- slow, practiced passes along her calves, her inner thighs, her mound. She moved with sensual precision, shaving herself clean, then reaching for the cocoa butter and massaging it into her skin with long, slow strokes. Her body gleamed. She smelled warm, sweet, edible.

She was preparing herself like an offering.

She stepped into a fresh robe, thin and dark and tied loose at the waist. When she entered the bedroom, Barry was already under the covers, his eyes skimming his phone. He looked up as she moved to the vanity.

"You don't usually do all that at night," he said casually.

Zoe smiled into the mirror. "Just figured it'll save me time tomorrow morning."

Barry yawned. "Fair. You looked great tonight, by the way."

"Thanks," she said, standing.

She kissed him on the forehead. "Sleep well."

"You too."

But Zoe was too excited to sleep. Her mind occupied with what lay down the corridor... Waiting.

The house was silent.

The kind of silence that only comes in the middle of the night -- when even the walls seem to exhale. Zoe moved barefoot down the hallway, the robe wrapped loosely around her, tied in a knot that had already begun to loosen with every step. Her heart beat harder than it should have. Not from fear. From anticipation. Every creak of the floorboards underfoot felt louder than it should have. Every shadow, every closed door, carried the weight of secrecy.

Barry didn't stir as she left. She'd watched his chest rise and fall in that steady, peaceful rhythm. She'd kissed his cheek just before slipping out of the bed she no longer wanted to lie in.

She opened the guest room door without a sound.

Nate was asleep, the covers pushed halfway down his torso. The moonlight filtering through the blinds cut across his chest in soft, slatted silver -- each ridge of muscle carved in low relief. His chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths. The sheets had settled just below his navel, and even in sleep, his cock lay thick and heavy against his thigh, slowly stirring as if his body could already sense her presence.

Zoe stood for a long moment, just watching him. Everything about this felt dangerous. Beautiful. Real. She was no longer pretending. No longer performing. She wanted him -- all of him -- even if she couldn't have him.

Yet.

She moved to the side of the bed, her fingers slipping at the knot of her robe. It fell open, revealing the smooth glow of her freshly moisturised skin, the soft curves of her breasts, the gleam of her shaved thighs catching moonlight like polished marble. She didn't hesitate.

She eased the blanket down slowly, peeling it away from his hips. He shifted slightly but didn't wake. His cock twitched as the air touched it -- long, full, already thickening with sleep-laced arousal. Even in slumber, he was magnificent.

She climbed onto the bed with a reverence that bordered on spiritual. Straddled him with care. Her bare knees sank into the mattress on either side of his hips, and her hands settled on his chest -- warm and solid and perfect beneath her. She shifted her weight slowly, rolling her hips forward until her bare slit brushed the length of him.

Her breath caught.

He was already getting hard beneath her. The pressure of him nestled between her lips, slick and hot and growing thicker by the second. Her pussy was soaked, the heat between her thighs so intense it made her dizzy. She rocked gently against him, dragging her lips along the rigid length of his cock, her clit catching against his ridge again and again with slow, wet friction.

Still, he didn't wake.

She moaned -- quiet and desperate -- as she ground herself against him in slow, aching passes. His cock throbbed beneath her, sliding between her slick folds like it belonged there.

She wasn't collecting a sample.

She was feeding on him.

And when his breath finally hitched, and his eyes blinked open, she didn't stop.

She leaned down, her mouth inches from his ear, her voice nothing more than a breath.

Nate stirred beneath her, his breath shifting, chest rising with a new rhythm -- one that matched the slow, slick drag of her pussy along his cock. His eyes blinked open, disoriented for a split second before they landed on her face, her body, the wet friction of her cunt sliding across him in the moonlight. His brow furrowed in disbelief, then relaxed into something deeper -- desire, warmth, a stunned kind of awe.

"Zoe," he breathed, voice raw from sleep.

She didn't stop.

"Shhh," Zoe whispered, her palms pressed flat against Nate's chest, her hips rolling in a slow, liquid rhythm that glistened with heat. "Let me take care of you." Her voice was low, reverent -- not playful now, but purposeful. Worshipful. She moved with a steady grind, her slick folds coating every inch of his cock as it slid between her lips, thick and rigid, wet and aching.

She wasn't riding him to finish -- not yet. She rode him like she needed to feel every part of him. Every ridge, every pulse, every slick pass of flesh that teased her clit just enough to make her gasp. Her rhythm was controlled, hungry. The head of his cock dragged against her swollen clit with every roll of her hips, catching on just the right spot with the kind of maddening friction that didn't release pressure -- it built it.

Nate groaned, a low, guttural sound vibrating deep in his throat. His hands moved to her hips first, then lower -- to her ass, firm and possessive. He gripped her there, spreading her cheeks with intent, guiding her movements, urging her to grind harder, deeper. Their pace synced like breath. Like tide. His cock nestled perfectly against her, thick and hot and just shy of penetration, and it felt like torture. Blissful, unspeakable torture.

Then he rose, slow and sure, his arms wrapping around her back, his chest pressing to hers in one smooth, breath-stealing motion. Her breasts flattened against him, warm and bare, her nipples dragging against his skin as she rocked against his cock. Still not inside her -- but so close it made her dizzy.

Their foreheads touched. Then their mouths. The kiss was deep -- not desperate, not messy, but intimate. Their tongues met in slow, languid strokes, like lovers who had nowhere to be, no secrets to keep. His hand slid into her hair. Her fingers curled at the nape of his neck. They kissed like they belonged to each other.

"I missed this," he murmured into her mouth.

Zoe pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, her breath warm across his lips. "You never had this."

"I want it," he said, voice raw.

She moaned, hips grinding again, the thick length of him gliding up through her lips, catching just right. Her clit throbbed. Her whole body throbbed. "You've got it."

They moved together, not chasing climax but building it -- slowly, inevitably. Every pass of his cock stoked the ache between her thighs. Her pussy clenched around emptiness, wet and wanting, but this... this was enough. For now. The anticipation was exquisite. Torture turned art.

His hands found her again -- sliding up her sides with maddening patience, until they cupped her breasts. Full. Heavy. Flushed with arousal. He squeezed them with slow, firm pressure, just enough to make her breath catch. His thumbs grazed over her nipples, drawing soft gasps, then circled, then pinched. She cried out, quiet and aching, her body pulsing around his cock where it rested thick and soaked against her pussy.

Nate leaned forward and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking deep, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing. Zoe arched, clutching at his shoulders, her breath coming ragged. He moved to the other -- slower this time -- licking, biting down just enough to make her body tremble.

"Nate--fuck--don't stop--"

"You like that?" he growled softly against her skin, mouth hot and wet against her tit.

"God yes," she panted, rolling her hips with desperate friction. "Your mouth... your hands... I can't--"

"You will," he said, grabbing her ass again, his voice rough and certain. "You're going to come all over me, Doc."

Her moan was sharp, near feral -- her clit throbbing, her thighs beginning to shake as the pressure curled tighter inside her. Every stroke of his cock between her folds was a promise. Every breath, every suck of his lips, every low, filthy word from his mouth edged her closer to something inevitable. Not just orgasm -- but surrender.

And she was ready to give it.

The room was thick now -- heavy with heat, the kind that clung to skin and breath. The air was dense with sweat, with the scent of arousal, with the electric residue of everything unspoken. The sheets beneath them were a tangle of twisted fabric and effort, soaked with the friction of bodies and want. Each breath was shared. Each movement, answered. And Zoe's rhythm had changed.

What began as a controlled, almost worshipful grind had turned into something primal -- a rhythm born of instinct, not choreography. Her hips moved with purpose, forward and back, not chasing release anymore but commanding it. Her clit throbbed with every stroke. Her thighs ached from the grind. Nate's cock was drenched in her juices, sliding with ease through the swollen lips of her pussy, pressing perfectly against the place she needed him most. Not inside. Not yet. The pressure of holding back was unbearable -- but she clung to it, squeezing just one more moment from the tension before letting it snap.

Her body knew what to do before she did. It moved like it remembered something ancient. Something sacred. Like it needed to grind this man into the mattress until there was nothing left but the sound of her name on his lips.

Nate couldn't stop the sounds escaping him. His groans came low and rough, the kind that vibrated in his chest and rolled up into the back of his throat. His hands were bruising on her ass, pulling her down harder with each pass, guiding her along his cock like he needed her weight -- needed the pressure of her sex sliding over him to stay tethered to earth. Every stroke caught her clit just right, every grind pulled a breathless gasp from both of them.

"Zoe..." he choked, almost pleading. "I'm--fuck--I'm gonna--"

She didn't slow.

She didn't speak.

She drove.

Her hips rocked forward, hard and fast, slick heat grinding along the full length of his cock with a filthy, wet sound. Her clit was alight with sensation -- nerves crackling, legs trembling, her mouth falling open on a sharp gasp as her body seized. Her hands pressed to his chest, fingernails biting into his skin, and her head fell back, spine bowing as she came.

It wasn't a sweet climax. It was furious. Earned.

She ground herself through it with unrelenting force, hips twitching in erratic, hungry circles, locking around him as her body refused to let go. Her orgasm hit like lightning -- jagged and raw -- tearing through her until she could no longer hold back the sounds bursting from her throat. She was moaning openly now, shameless, undone. And even as her pussy clenched around nothing, it was like she'd taken everything from him.

Because that final grind, the way she trapped his cock between her soaked, fluttering lips, dragging her clit across the veined length of him as if to drain every ounce of power from his body -- that was what finished Nate.

He came with a shout, the kind pulled from deep inside, and his whole body locked beneath her. His cock jerked violently against her, then erupted -- hot, thick, everywhere -- streaking across his stomach, his abs, his chest in helpless, desperate ropes. It was messy. Relentless. He kept coming, every pulse forcing out more, his release spilling over him like it had no place else to go.

And still, Zoe moved -- slower now, milking him with the grind of her hips, coaxing the last shudders from his body. Her pussy still trembled from aftershocks, her breath raw, her skin glistening.

Eventually, she slowed.

Her hands slid down his chest, a wet beautiful mess mixed with sweat and cum. She looked down at him -- at what they'd done. His cock still twitching, his torso streaked and painted, her juices smeared across every inch of him. She smiled -- not a smirk, not satisfaction. Something deeper.

Then, with the same deliberate grace, she leaned down and licked a thick, glistening line of cum from his stomach, her tongue dragging slowly, deliberately. She sat back on her heels, savouring the taste, licking her lips with a low, satisfied hum.

"This sample..." she whispered, voice dark and velvety, "is just as impressive... and just as delicious... as all the others."

Nate let out a hoarse, broken laugh, chest still heaving. He was glassy-eyed, painted, utterly spent. Ruined in the most beautiful way. "You are Un. Fucking. Believable."

Zoe laughed back, rose slowly, like a goddess peeling herself out of mortal skin. Her thighs glistened in the moonlight, her skin glowing with heat and power. She moved with a grace that said nothing about modesty, and everything about possession. He was hers now. Her work. Her masterpiece.

She turned at the door, silhouetted by soft light, her voice low and smooth.

"Sleep well."

And then she was gone.

She padded to the ensuite bathroom just off the guest room, rinsing quickly -- careful not to remove the scent of him completely -- before slipping back into her robe and tiptoeing down the hall.

When she eased open the door to the master bedroom, Barry was stirring, shifting slightly beneath the covers.

"Everything alright?" he murmured sleepily. "I thought I heard Nate yell..."

Zoe slid beneath the sheets, curling into the space she'd left empty, her voice soft and sweet.

"He's fine," she whispered. "Stubbed his toe on the bedpost. Go back to sleep, darling."

Barry hummed something close to sympathy before rolling over and drifting back into unconsciousness.

Zoe lay beside him, her eyes open, the taste of Nate still on her tongue, her cunt still faintly pulsing from the mess they'd made together.

She smiled in the dark.

And slept like a woman content.

The kitchen was filled with morning light and the soft clatter of Barry moving around in boxers and a worn t-shirt, whistling tunelessly as he cracked eggs into a pan. Zoe stood nearby in a long robe, sipping her coffee, her expression calm, lips faintly parted, skin still glowing from everything the night had spilled onto her body.

Barry glanced over his shoulder, flipping the bacon. "I figured Nate might be sleeping in after that test you did. Poor kid sounded like he was in pain for a second there."

Zoe smiled into her coffee, the warmth of the mug seeping into her palms. "It's all part of the process," she said lightly. "I'll take breakfast up to him. Want to check how he's doing... make sure he's, you know--recovered."

Barry scraped eggs and bacon onto a plate, added a generous helping of toast, then handed it over without hesitation. "You're too good, honestly. Guy should be paying you overtime."

Zoe leaned in and kissed his cheek. "I love what I do."

She padded quietly up the stairs, the plate warm in her hands, her robe parting slightly with each step, brushing against her thighs like a secret. The morning air was soft and still, filtered with golden light -- but when she slipped into the guest room, the air changed. The scent lingered. Sex. Sweat. Salt. And something deeper. Something claimed.

Nate was sprawled across the sheets, one leg bent, the covers kicked down to his calves. He was completely bare, skin glowing in the morning light, his cock resting long and heavy against his thigh -- not hard, but full of promise, twitching gently like it already knew she was there.

Zoe set the plate down on the nightstand without a sound and moved to the bed with purpose. She pulled the sheet back all the way, revealing him fully, and then crawled between his legs on all fours. There were no words. No build-up. She simply took him into her mouth.

Nate groaned awake, the sound catching in his throat as his eyes opened to the sight of Zoe -- her hair loose, her mouth wrapped around his cock, her body still warm from sleep but her hunger already burning. She bobbed slowly, deliberately, her tongue tracing every ridge, every pulsing vein, her lips sealing tight around him with each descent.

"Morning," she murmured between licks, her voice hoarse with sleep, velvet-thick with want.

His hand found her hair, fingers sliding through it, gripping softly as she began to suck him deeper. There was no teasing this time, no show. Just need. Real. Raw. Unapologetic. She took him in to the base, her throat relaxing to receive every inch, until her nose brushed the flat of his stomach and she moaned around him like she'd missed the taste of him overnight.

Her lips glided. Her throat worked. Her fingers massaged the weight of his balls, coaxing him upward, drawing the heat from deep within his body. And when he came, he came hard -- thick, pulsing jets spilling onto her tongue. She didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. She swallowed it all, milking every last drop, her eyes fluttering closed as she drank him like it was the first thing she needed before the day could begin.

When it was done, she sat back on her heels, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and kissed the tip of his softening cock with one final hum of satisfaction.

"Breakfast in bed," she whispered, her lips still wet, her smile impossible to misread.

Back downstairs, Barry was standing at the counter, buttoning his shirt with one hand, coffee mug in the other. Zoe stepped into the kitchen behind him, her robe tied neatly again, hair smoothed, cheeks still faintly pink from warmth or effort -- or both.

"You're not eating?" he asked, glancing over.

She shook her head, reaching for her mug and lifting it to her lips. "No thanks. I'm already full. Had myself a delicious shake."

"Huh." He grinned as he sipped his coffee. "You haven't touched those in months. Said you'd gone off them."

Zoe smiled, slow and serene. "I've been having them all week, actually. Really got a taste for them again. They're just so thick. So creamy."

Barry walked over and set his mug down, reaching to brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "Well, whatever it is..." He leaned in, kissing her softly on the lips, the press of it gentle, lingering, warm. "... you're glowing."

He paused as he pulled back, his lips parting slightly, his brow creasing as he tasted something familiar, something he couldn't quite place. "Mmmm," he murmured, licking his lips lightly. "I think I can taste that shake."

His grin turned playful. "Not bad."

Zoe just smiled, serene and unreadable. "Have a great day, honey."

She watched him walk out the door, shirt still half-buttoned, the collar crooked, completely unaware. She sipped her coffee again, the taste suddenly richer. Fuller.

And as the door clicked shut behind him, Zoe turned back toward the kitchen window, sunlight warming her face.

Wondering, not idly -- but with anticipation -- what kind of adventures the rest of her day might bring...