Annie had said it once—casually, almost in passing—on the third night after James had proposed to her. She said it, tucked against her husband’s chest after a long, slow, intimate lovemaking session.
“Baby,” she murmured, tracing a lazy circle around his nipple, “I love the way you make love to me. You’re perfect for me. But I need you to understand something… every now and then, I might need a little more. Not love. Not connection. Just… a little more cock. And by ‘more,’ I mean bigger.”
James had smiled sleepily and kissed her forehead. “If that’s what you need, I can handle that.” Her timing was curious, they had just made love, had she been thinking about wanting more the entire time? He was in his head about it but he meant what he said to her. After all, they were new, infatuated, invincible. But a year passed and they got married, Annie never brought it up again. He started to think maybe it was just pillow talk. A little fantasy whispered into the dark. Forgotten. Buried.
Until tonight.
Annie was standing in front of the mirror in their bedroom, her reflection glowing in the soft light. Her blonde hair was pulled into a loose, sexy updo that left a few playful strands falling around her cheekbones. Her body was a work of art—tall, toned, and confident. Her white halter top clung to her figure like a promise, and her little black skirt flirted with the top of her thighs as she leaned forward to touch up her lip gloss.
James sat on the edge of the bed, his throat dry, his heart anxious.
“Annie… you going out with the girls again?”
She smiled at him in the mirror, then turned, smoothing her hands down her hips. “Mmhmm. Kind of. Girls first. Then… we’ll see.”
He tried not to let the silence stretch too long before speaking again.
“Is this… one of those nights?”
She walked over and sat next to him, her perfume washing over him like a slow, erotic fog. Then she cupped his face, gently but firmly.
“Baby,” she said sweetly. “You remember when I told you I need to feel a big cock every once in a while… and you said okay?”
He swallowed hard and nodded.
“Well, tonight’s one of those nights.”
Her voice was calm. Certain. Not unkind—just honest.
“Yours is fine. Five inches is fine. You’re my husband, my love, my every day. We have a wonderfully intimate sexual connection and I love it. But sometimes I need something that you just can’t give me. And that’s okay. We agreed it would be okay. Right?”
His stomach twisted. But he nodded again, even as a flush of helpless arousal crept up his neck.
She smiled and kissed his forehead, then stood and pulled her heels from the closet.
“I’ll be home late. And when I get back, I want you in the bedroom. On your knees. Ready to help me relax.” To show me with actions what you told me with words. She didn’t need to say what that meant. They both knew.
The Wait
He sat in the quiet, barely breathing.
Annie was out. With someone else. Bigger.
He said yes. He’d meant it—or at least, he thought he had. But now, with the house still and the minutes dragging, the weight of it hit him full force.
“Five inches is fine.”
Fine. Not thrilling. Not thick. Just… safe. Daily. Lovable. But not enough. Those words repeated over and over in his head. What if he never was?
What if her moans tonight were for someone who stretched her in ways he never could? What if this wasn’t just about size—but satisfaction? What if he was her everyday… but not her ecstasy?
The thought made his chest tighten. And yet, beneath the ache, his cock throbbed inside its cage. Helpless. Turned on by the very thing that cut deepest.
She wasn’t cruel. She was honest. Always had been.
And he was the one who said yes.
So he would wait. Naked. Kneeling. Aching.
Because he was hers. Even if it meant swallowing his pride—and someone else’s cum.
That’s what love looked like now.
And somehow… he still wanted it.
He still wanted her.
Hours Later…
It was nearly 3 a.m. when the sound of the front door woke James from his fitful sleep. The bedroom was dark, but he heard her heels on the hardwood floor. Heard the rustle of her clothes as she made her way toward the bed.
The door creaked open.
The hallway light framed her silhouette like something out of a dream. Her hair was messy now, her makeup just a little smeared. Her skin glistened faintly under the light. There was something about the way she walked, the way she moved—like her body had been thoroughly used, thoroughly pleased.
James sat up slowly.
Annie stepped inside and kicked the door closed behind her.
“I told you I’d be back,” she said, slipping out of her skirt and halter, leaving only her heels. Her body was stunning—glistening, flushed, thighs slightly trembling. From between her legs, James could already see it: the glistening mess of fresh cum clinging to her lips, slowly making its way down her thighs.
Her eyes locked on his.
“You ready to clean your wife?”
He didn’t speak. Just nodded, throat dry despite his mouth watering from nervous anxiety.
She climbed onto the bed, straddling his chest, her thighs framing his face. Her scent hit him first—thick, heady, soaked with sex. Then the warmth. Then the taste.
She held her lips open with two fingers, and the first drop of another man’s cum rolled down, finding its way onto his lips.
“This is what love looks like when you mean it,” she whispered.
James opened his mouth.
“Good boy.”
The flood was slow at first, then steady. He tasted her. Him. Her juices mixed with the unfamiliar tang of another man. She tilted her hips, letting gravity—and dominance—do the rest.
“Eight inches,” she said dreamily. “And thick, she bragged.”
James moaned into her as he licked and swallowed, his cock throbbing untouched and aching between his legs. He’d never felt so close to her and yet so thoroughly owned. She was radiant. Powerful. Divine. He was basking in the shame of his own shortcoming. Sexualizing those words. “Five inches is fine.” Over and over in his head.
Her hips rocked slowly, using his face like a tool for pleasure. Her hands tangled in his hair.
“You remember saying it was okay?” she whispered again.
“Yes,” he gasped between licks.
“Say it again.”
“It’s okay. You need it. You deserve it. You deserve a real cock.”
“And what do you deserve?” she teased, grinding her soaked slit over his lips and chin.
“Whatever you leave for me.”
She laughed softly and came again, her thighs trembling, her juices mixing with the last of the night’s cream inside her. He swallowed it all.
His Release
Annie lay back, legs sprawled, fingers tracing lazy circles across her belly. Her eyes were half-lidded, dreamy.
“You did so good, baby,” she murmured. “You made it real for me. You gave me this. And you didn’t just tolerate it. You fed from it.”
He lay beside her, dazed and full, lips sticky, heart swelling with submission and strange, euphoric pride.
She turned toward him and wrapped a leg over his, her hand resting lightly on his soft cock.
“Do you want to come?”
He nodded.
“Then beg.”
And he did.
“Ok. Stroke it for me. Tell me you love me. Think about your beautiful wife getting fucked by 8 thick inches.”
She teased him, and made him promise her everything all over again. His orgasm hit in waves, she placed her mouth over him while he came. Intensifying the feeling. She took it all in her mouth, like a pro. And afterward, when he was spent and soft again, she kissed him with a mouth full of his own release.
“There,” she whispered. “Now you’ve tasted what it feels like to truly be mine. And tomorrow? We’ll wake up and go to brunch like any other couple. No one will know. But you will. And I will. And that’s what makes it hot. Until the next time I get an itch for a big dick and we will do it all over again.”
“Just like tonight, you will show me how much you love me.” She said.
“Right honey?” she asked.
“Yes sweetheart.” He said with a newly found glowing reverence for her sexuality.
The Afterglow
James sat in the dark, the hum of silence wrapping around him like a second skin, and a quiet thought settled in his chest:
She knows exactly what she wants sexually… and sometimes, it isn’t me. But she still comes home to me. She still chooses me.
There was something beautiful in that truth—painful, yes—but honest and intimate. Her desire wasn’t a betrayal. It was a declaration of who she was. And loving her meant honoring that, even when it left him aching.
She knew that she needed more. And somehow, she trusted him to hold that need.
