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After she came on my tongue—shuddering, gasping, her thighs quivering against my cheeks—she curled up beside me on the couch and kissed me deeply. The kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness. Like ownership. Like love.
“I love how you take care of me,” she whispered against my lips. “Every inch of me. Even the messy parts.”
I could still taste the residue of her night with Ray on my lips, my chin slick from our ritual. But it didn’t feel like defeat. It felt like devotion. My heart was full. My cock? Aching. Straining.
I hadn’t even touched myself.
She smiled knowingly, one hand slipping over my crotch. Her fingers pressed down and I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. It was almost painful, how badly I wanted to be inside her.
“I want you,” I whispered, barely able to breathe the words.
She tilted her head, amused. “You want to fuck me?”
I nodded, eyes glazed with need.
“But you know I’m still full of him, right?” she said, almost teasing, but her voice was warm, loving.
“I know,” I said, swallowing. “But I still want to be inside you. Please.”
She kissed me again, longer this time. Then stood up, tugged my hand gently and guided me toward the bedroom like a goddess leading her worshiper to the altar.
In the warm dim light, she undressed slowly—her skirt slipping down her hips, her shirt peeled off like a second skin. She stood naked before me, soft curves still flushed from our earlier intimacy. I could see faint traces of Ray’s cum glistening between her thighs again. My stomach twisted. My cock twitched.
She lay back on the bed, legs open, arms reaching. “Condom,” she whispered, voice low and calm.
That word alone sent a thrill down my spine.
It wasn’t about protection. It was about erotic separation. About sexual boundaries. About reminding me: this pussy isn’t exclusively anymore. The confident twinkle in her eye as she saw me reach this realization on my own was both agonizing and delicious.
I fumbled with the condom, my hands shaking from equal parts desire and submission. When I slid it on, she smiled, reaching out to guide me between her legs.
“Slow,” she whispered. “He was big and I’m still a little bit sore, but I want to feel you, just enough. Just enough to remember.”
Her pussy was warm. Slick. And still impossibly wet. When I eased inside her, I felt her tighten slightly and let out a soft hum.
“There he is,” she said, voice laced with affection. “My good little boy. My sweet cuck.”
The word “little” made me throb inside the condom.
I moved slowly, reverently. I wasn’t just having sex—I was seeking something deeper. Reassurance. A sense of being wanted, even if I wasn’t the one she gave herself to first.
She wrapped her legs around me loosely and let me move in her, cradling my head to her chest, fingers playing through my hair. She slowed me when I started to go too fast, there was no rush. No demand. Just connection.
“You’re doing so well,” she whispered. “I know none of this is easy. But I love how you love me. How you take me back even when I’m messy. Even when I’m full.”
I moaned, my whole body tingling. “I love you,” I gasped.
“I know,” she smiled.
I started to move faster, my body climbing toward that edge, the condom dulling just enough sensation to keep me there a little longer.
But then—she stilled me with a firm hand on my chest.
“Stop.”
I froze. Confused.
She kissed my cheek sweetly. “Not tonight.”
“What?” My voice broke.
She giggled softly, wicked and sweet. “Oh honey. You did so well tonight. You honored my pleasure. You tasted my lover. And you even got to be inside me. That’s your reward. Cumming is a whole different privilege.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she said, kissing the tip of my nose. “Except yours.”
She giggled again and nudged me off her, gently guiding me to the edge of the bed.
She slipped a hand into the drawer and pulled out my chastity cage. Pink. Soft plastic. Cute. My heart pounded.
“Come here.”
I obeyed, my cock twitching, still leaking inside the condom.
She removed the condom slowly, wiping the head tenderly with a cold baby wipe that she produced from bedside table, stroking it twice—the cold was enough to make me whimper and for my cock to respond from the cold, shrinking as she gently guiding the cage over my aching penis.
Click.
Lock.
I was hers again.
“Oh, look at you,” she cooed, kissing my forehead. “You’re such a good little cuck. You did your duty so sweetly. I’m proud of you.”
She sat behind me on the bed and pulled me into her lap, her arms around me like a mother calming a fussy child. Her fingers stroked my chest. My shoulders. My thighs.
“I know it’s hard,” she whispered, her voice low and tender. “You want to cum so badly. But that need? That ache? That’s part of your love for me. That’s your devotion. Your fire. You hold that feeling inside you… and you bring it to me next time I want to feel worshipped.”
I nodded, head bowed.
She tilted my chin up. “Say it.”
“I’m your cuck,” I whispered.
She smiled. “That’s right. Say it again, cutie.”
“I’m your cuck.”
She laughed softly, cradling me tighter. “Good boy. You’re my good, loving, devoted cuck… and I adore you.”
And there, in her arms, locked and empty—but full of love—I let myself fall completely into the role I was made for.
Her husband.
Her cuck.
Her everything.
