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Jenna’s eyes sparkled with something between curiosity and command. She held James’ cock in both hands now, marveling like it was some rare, precious artifact.
“Mark,” she said gently, “I want you to feel it. Really feel it. The weight of it.”
Mark froze, unsure if his legs would carry him closer.
“James,” she asked, turning slightly, “can he touch it?”
James gave a calm nod. “Of course. If he wants to.”
And Mark did. Or at least, something inside him did. He wasn’t sure if it was hunger, humiliation, arousal, or submission. Maybe all of them at once. He kneeled in front of them—his own pants still at his ankles—and reached out. His fingers wrapped around the thick shaft Jenna had been holding moments before.
It was warm. Heavy. Solid in a way his own had never felt. Mostly hard now, pulsing with life and power. He gave a tentative tug, more to test the reality of it than to arouse. The feeling was surreal. He’d never touched another man’s cock before. And yet, this didn’t feel gay. It felt… instructed. It felt like service.
He wasn’t exploring desire in the traditional sense. He was obeying a woman he adored, touching a man who clearly understood what he represented in this moment.
“How does it feel,” Jenna asked, her voice like silk and steel, “to hold a real big dick?”
Her words were not cruel—they were simply true. It was obvious. To deny it would have been the lie. This was a big cock. His was not.
He looked up at her, still holding James, and saw admiration in her eyes. Not for James, or not just for him—but for Mark, too. For doing this. For showing up fully. For being brave enough to feel small in service of her pleasure.
“Now suck it,” she said, her voice low and firm. There was no question in it. Just direction.
Mark blinked, heart hammering. He looked from her to James.
James held his gaze and gave a calm, approving nod. “Go ahead. Suck it.”
The air shifted. Something passed between the four of them—an unspoken acknowledgment that this moment would change everything. This wasn’t just play. This was real power exchange. Real hierarchy.
Mark leaned forward, lips parting.
And the room watched.
Jenna felt her heart swell—not with lust alone, but with pride. This was her husband. The man who trusted her enough to open himself completely. She saw him kneel not out of defeat, but out of devotion. She felt powerful, radiant. Like she had orchestrated something that would echo far beyond this night.
James looked down with a quiet pride of his own—not ego-driven, but clear. He had been here before, but this was different. This was respectful. Erotic. Real. The man kneeling before him was offering something rare: vulnerability wrapped in erotic surrender. James didn’t gloat. He accepted it like a man used to being in the position of more.
Alyssa watched from the armchair, biting her lip. This wasn’t just sex. It was dynamic. This kind of power play didn’t happen often in first-time meetups. She’d seen women direct men before, but not with this level of emotional clarity. She admired Jenna’s confidence, envied it a little, and made a mental note: this woman knows how to lead.
Mark, for his part, was in a blur of emotion. The taste, the weight, the act itself—it all faded into the background. What stuck was the feeling: he was smaller. He was submitting. And it wasn’t a failure—it was a choice. His wife was thrilled. The man he was serving was calm, strong, and present. And he was no longer pretending to be the center.
He was offering something deeper: his humility. His obedience. His reverence for her pleasure and her authority.
It felt like a release—not of control, but of ego. Like letting go of a story he’d clung to about what a man should be. And what he found in that surrender was something unexpectedly profound.
He didn’t need to be the biggest.
He just needed to be hers.
Continue to Part 3
