The porch light flicked on and spilled a circle of gold down the steps and onto gravel walk. Gloria stepped out of the her bull’s house, pausing a moment to pull her hair free. Mark saw her silhouette through the windshield, the sway of her hips as she walked out into the night. She looked peaceful, satisfied, entirely sure of herself.
In the car, Mark’s chest tightened. He’d been sitting there long enough to hear the radio cycle through two talk shows and a weather report. His heart kicked harder when she turned the latch on the screen door, the tiny clink echoing through the quiet street.
Gloria opened the passenger door and leaned in, smiling like she’d just returned from a long afternoon in the sun. “Hey baby,” she said.
His hand twitched anxiously on the steering wheel. “Hi, Gloria.”
She slid into her seat, perfume brushing the air between them, layered now with a deeper scent, something unmistakable. Musky. She buckled her seat belt, exhaled deeply, and looked over at him. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he answered, forcing a smile.
“That’s my good man. Always steady.” She reached down to turn the radio down. “Thank you for waiting for me and driving me.”
“Of course,” he murmured.
Her fingers found the small silver key hanging from her necklace. It caught the light as she twirled it absently. “You remember why I have a bull, don’t you?”
“Yes, love,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not enough for you and not big enough for you.”
Gloria smiled, calm, deliberate. “That’s right. And because you love me enough to let me have what I need.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the road. “Yes, Gloria.”
She looked out the window as he pulled away from the curb. “You know, he asked about you tonight.”
Mark blinked. “He did?”
“Mmhmm. Said something about how sweet it is, a husband waiting outside while another man fucks his wife. I told him you’re devoted. That you actually enjoy being my cuck. That you’d do anything to make me happy.”
He swallowed hard but managed a nod. “I would.”
“I know,” Gloria said softly. “It makes me smile knowing you’re mine.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, the hum of the tires mixing with the faint rush of air through the vents. Gloria stretched, settling into the seat, and her skirt slid up just enough for her knee to touch his thigh.
She noticed his grip tighten on the wheel. “You get quiet when I talk about him.”
He kept his eyes on the road. “I just… like hearing you talk. Like knowing you had a good time.”
Her lips curved. “Do you? Or does it make you ache?”
“A little of both.”
“That’s honest. I like that.” Her voice softened, almost affectionate, but laced with that power that always undid him. She let a pause stretch, her fingers again brushing the key. “That’s why I keep you locked. Because when you’re denied, you tell the truth.”
Mark glanced at her. The weight of the cage beneath his clothes pressed against him, a constant reminder of her control. “Yes, love.”
“You know,” she continued, eyes still on the road ahead, “he doesn’t really talk during. He just… takes what he wants. There’s a confidence in that. But you, you give something different. You give me peace.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “I like being that for you.”
“I know. You give so beautifully when you surrender.”
As they turned into their neighborhood, Gloria reached across, resting her hand lightly on his thigh. The warmth of her skin buzzed through his muscles.
“You were so patient tonight,” she said softly. “It’s not easy, waiting like that.”
“I wanted to,” he said. “It’s part of loving you.”
Her expression softened, eyes almost tender. “And that’s what makes you the real thing, Mark. Not size. Not stamina. Just devotion. I love your heart so much.”
She turned her gaze back to the windshield. “When we get home, I need you to help me clean up. Will you?”
“Yes, love,” he said instantly.
Her smile deepened. “Good. And maybe we can be close and cuddle, continue watching our show together.”
The car turned onto their street, headlights washing over their driveway. When they stopped, she unbuckled her seat belt and looked at him closely. Her voice dropped low and quiet, a confident and almost commanding tone. “When we go inside, I’m going to the bedroom and you’re going to clean his cum out of my naughty pussy. Am I clear?”
He nodded, heartbeat pounding in his chest. Both eagerly and reluctantly he responded “Yes, I understand.”
She smiled, voice barely a whisper. “I want you to know what a real man tastes like.”
Inside, Gloria went straight upstairs, humming under her breath. Mark followed behind, every step carrying that mix of anticipation and reverence.
In their bedroom, she unclasped her necklace and placed it on the dresser and turned back toward him, waiting. “Come here,” she said gently.
The moment that followed wasn’t about lust, it was about surrender. She touched his hair and guided him downward until the space between them disappeared into warmth and trust. Her hand lingered in his hair, and her voice came quiet and calm. “How does he taste?”
He met her gaze and stuttered. “It, it, it tastes like him.”
Her smile was slow and affectionate. “Good boy. You know what he tastes like by now don’t you”
“Yes, my love.” He admitted. She couldn’t tell if the tone of his voice was ashamed or proud, or perhaps a bit of both.
She lay back and thought of the events of the night, the passion of her lover but mostly the loving dedication of her beautiful husband. Her mind wandered to appreciation of her husband’s love as she enjoyed his dutiful, tender kisses on her legs, thighs and her messy pussy.
When she drew him up again, she pressed her lips to his forehead, then pulled him into bed beside her. “Now we watch our show.”
The glow of the television sparked to life, spilling soft blue light across the room. The familiar theme music of their favorite murder‑mystery series drifted around them.
Gloria tucked herself into his side, her head against his shoulder. Her hand found his thigh, fingertips tracing idle patterns through the fabric of his pants. There was no command in the gesture now—just closeness, grounding them both.
Mark exhaled slowly, feeling the tightness in his chest fade. The house felt peaceful, cocooned in their shared silence. He could still smell her, still smell everything she carried back from her night. That scent burned him and soothed him in equal measure. His cage was tight with arousal but something about it made him feel supported and loved.
Gloria sighed softly. “You know what I love most about us?”
He turned his head. “What?”
“That we don’t pretend. You don’t hide what you are; I don’t hide what I want. Most couples spend their lives chasing honesty. We already have it.”
He smiled faintly. “I just love you, that’s all.”
“I know you do,” she whispered. “Now hush. The detective’s about to figure it out.”
She focused back on the television, her thumb still drawing lazy circles on his leg. Within minutes, her breathing deepened with a slow rhythm that told him she was content.
Mark stayed awake a little longer, watching the flickering blue light play across her skin. She still smelled faintly of her evening, still warm and sure beside him. The taste of her naughty pussy still lingering on his lips as his wife lay beside him, exhausted and asleep. Like an angel.
It was agony. It was perfection. It was exactly what he’d chosen.
And as he finally closed his eyes, he thought of her last question repeating in his mind—how does he taste—and felt only peace in his answer.
