Chapter 39: His Favourite Dish
The scent of Sharon’s arousal was a thick, sweet musk in Alexey’s nostrils, familiar now as the cedar soap in their shower. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate circles over her swollen clit, the rhythm honed over days of relentless worship. Above him, Sharon shifted her weight slightly, the soft flesh of her thighs pressing against his ears, muffling the world. The only sounds were his own ragged breaths through his nose and the tinny laughter emanating from the phone propped against her knees.
"Mmhmm," Sharon murmured, her voice distant, distracted. Her fingers absently traced patterns on his scalp, tangled in his damp hair. "No, seriously, Priya, the client actually said that? 'My chakras are misaligned because my cat judges my life choices'?" A soft chuckle vibrated through her body, down into Alexey’s jaw. Her hips lifted fractionally, granting his tongue a different angle. He seized it, pressing harder, flattening the muscle against her sensitive bud.
She gasped, a sharp intake of breath interrupting her phone call. "Oh! Sorry, Priya… just… stubbed my toe. Yeah, ridiculous, right?" Her hand pressed down on his head, urging him deeper. He obeyed, burying his face further, his nose pressed firmly against her perineum, tongue delving lower to lap at her entrance before swirling back up. Salty slickness coated his lips, chin. He could taste her exhaustion, her sustained pleasure, the sheer volume of orgasms he’d wrung from her body since Monday. Four days. Ninety-six hours of denial for him. Dozens of peaks for her.
He’d woken her each morning like this, peeling back the sheets to find her warm and sleep-soft, guiding her thighs over his shoulders before her eyes were fully open. He’d arrive home from the sterile, clanging world of the factory, drop his bag, and find her waiting, sometimes already naked from the waist down, perched expectantly on the edge of the bed or the armchair. Before sleep, it was a ritual: her settling back against the pillows, him diving between her legs, losing himself in the heat and scent and the rhythmic clenching of her inner muscles as she came against his mouth. She’d taken to multitasking – phone calls with friends, reviewing therapy session notes on her tablet, scrolling through absurd animal videos, giggling at memes – all while his world narrowed to the intimate landscape beneath her.
And she loved it. Loved the constant, simmering attention. Loved the power thrumming through her, the effortless way she could command his focus, his tongue, his straining cock trapped uselessly in his briefs or sweatpants. Loved the flush of satisfaction that followed each release, leaving her boneless and glowing.
It showed in her wardrobe choices. Gone were the baggy sweats. Katya, hanging out on Wednesday afternoon with Sharon, they sipped coffee while Alexey knelt between Sharon’s legs under the kitchen table (a new, thrillingly risky variation), had mirrored Sharon’s attire: tiny silk shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass and a flimsy camisole with no bra, her nipples visibly pebbled beneath the thin fabric. Sharon wore similar – a lavender lace teddy one evening, sheer boy shorts and a cropped tank top another. Constant, tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin, the heavy sway of her breasts, the ripe curve of her ass. A visual torture designed to keep Alexey perpetually hard, aching, a low throb of need that never subsided, only intensified with each passing hour of denial. His cock felt heavy, thick, a persistent, uncomfortable presence against his zipper or the soft cotton of his lounge pants. Pre-cum stained the fabric constantly.
Thursday evening. The air in the bedroom hung thick with jasmine and sex. Sharon leaned back against a mountain of pillows, her phone angled so Alexey could just see the flickering screen of a baking competition show. Contestants frantically piped frosting. Her thighs rested heavily on his shoulders, her calves hooked loosely over his back. One hand held the phone, the other idly played with her own nipple through the thin silk of her emerald green chemise – the same color as the dress destined for tomorrow.
Alexey focused. Tongue flat, broad strokes over her clit. Then pointed, rapid flicks. Then deep, probing licks inside her, feeling her inner walls flutter in response. He listened to her breathing, felt the subtle tensing of her thighs, the tiny shifts in her hips. He knew her tells now, better than ever. He was an expert in Sharon Lin’s pleasure.
A soft moan escaped her lips, unrelated to the TV chefs. Her hips lifted slightly, seeking more pressure. He gave it, sucking gently on her clit, then lashing it with the tip of his tongue. Her hand tightened on her breast.
"Mmm, yes, just like that, kotik," she murmured, her voice thick, eyes still half on the screen. "Keep going… oh, that contestant just dropped her entire tiered cake. Disaster." A breathy laugh mixed with another moan.
He drove her steadily towards the edge. He felt it building – the increased wetness, the trembling in her thighs, the shallower, faster breaths. He increased his pace, his jaw aching but the ache secondary to the need to push her over. To feel her come apart on his tongue. Again.
Her breathing hitched. Her legs tensed around his head. "Oh god, Alexey…" she gasped, the phone tilting forgotten in her hand. "Right there… don’t stop…"
He didn’t. He focused entirely, relentlessly, on that swollen peak. Her back arched off the pillows. A high, keening cry tore from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her. Her thighs clamped hard around his ears, her hips bucked wildly against his face, grinding herself onto his mouth. He rode the wave, tongue still working, drawing out every pulse, every shuddering contraction. She tasted like heaven and desperation.
Slowly, the tremors subsided. Her legs loosened, falling slack against his shoulders. She slumped back against the pillows, breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat glistening on her chest. The phone had fallen onto the comforter, the baking show still cheerfully oblivious.
Alexey lifted his head slowly. His face was slick, shining. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his own breathing labored. His cock throbbed violently, trapped in his grey sweatpants, a damp spot spreading at the tip. The ache was profound, a deep, hollow yearning.
Sharon’s eyes fluttered open. She looked down at him, her gaze hazy with satisfaction, a lazy smile playing on her lips. Her dimples were deep wells in her flushed cheeks. She reached down, her fingers gently tracing the wetness on his cheekbone, then trailing down to his jaw.
"Good boy," she whispered, her voice husky. Her thumb brushed his lower lip. "So good for me." Her smile widened, turning playful, knowing. "I’m coming over to Mark’s tomorrow around six. Straight after work." She paused, letting the information hang in the jasmine-scented air. Her fingers drifted lower, ghosting over the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. She gave it a gentle, teasing squeeze. Alexey hissed, hips jerking involuntarily. "Think you can last one more night, Leshka?" she asked, her tone light, almost conversational, but her eyes held a challenge. "Be a good boy and hold it all in? For me?"
He looked up at her, his grey-blue eyes dark with a tumultuous mix of arousal, submission, and the sharp, sweet sting of impending humiliation. The denial wasn't just physical now; it was woven into the fabric of tomorrow night. His cock pulsed under her hand, a traitorous affirmation. He swallowed, the sound thick in his throat. His voice, when it came, was rough, scraped raw.
"Yes," he rasped. "For you."
Sharon’s smile softened into something tender. She leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his damp forehead. "My sweet, complicated man," she murmured against his skin. She shifted, rolling onto her side facing him, her curves illuminated by the soft lamp glow. She patted the space beside her. "Come here. Hold me."
He moved stiffly, the ache in his groin a constant companion. He slid under the covers beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her warm, soft body against his own tense one. Her scent enveloped him – jasmine, sleep, and her own intimate musk. She nestled her head against his chest with a contented sigh, her hand resting possessively on his hip, dangerously close to the straining heat trapped in his sweatpants.
"Sleep, kotik," she murmured, her voice already slurring with exhaustion. "Big day tomorrow."
Alexey lay rigid in the dim light, holding the woman he loved, the woman who held his desperate need hostage. Sharon’s breathing quickly evened out into the soft rhythm of sleep. He stared at the dark outline of the curtains. The phantom weight of Mark’s presence pressed down on him. Six o'clock. Tomorrow. The ache in his balls was a deep, insistent throb, a counterpoint to the frantic drumming of his heart. One more night. The longest night. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her hair, the promise and the torment indistinguishable. Sleep felt impossible. The denial was a live wire under his skin, humming with anticipation and dread. He held her tighter, anchoring himself in her warmth, waiting for dawn.
Grey predawn light seeped around the heavy bedroom curtains when Alexey finally slipped into a shallow, restless sleep. It felt like mere minutes before a familiar, delicious weight settled over his face. Sharon’s warm, sleep-soft thighs pressed against his temples, the clean, musky scent of her filling his nostrils even before he fully woke. Her hand pushed firmly down on his forehead, guiding his mouth exactly where she wanted it. No preamble. No gentle waking. She ground herself down onto his face, the slick heat of her already coating his lips.
His tongue responded instinctively, seeking her clit through the wet folds, but she was relentless. She rode him with sharp, demanding thrusts, using his mouth purely for her own friction. Air became scarce. He gasped through his nose, pinned. Her movements were urgent, selfish, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room. He heard her breath hitch, felt her inner muscles flutter against his probing tongue, then clamp down hard as the first orgasm shuddered through her. She didn’t slow. She chased the next one immediately, grinding harder, ignoring his muffled grunts, the way his hands scrabbled weakly at her hips. His cock strained painfully against the sheets, a separate, throbbing agony.
She came again, a choked gasp escaping her, her whole body tensing before collapsing slightly. She lifted her weight just enough for him to draw a ragged, desperate breath. Her sweat-slicked skin glowed faintly in the grey light. "You okay down there, Leshka?" she panted, her voice thick with satisfaction and sleep, her fingers idly tracing the wetness she’d left on his cheeks and chin. "Didn’t squish you too much?"
He managed a hoarse, "M'fine," the words garbled. He loved the suffocating weight, the complete disregard. Loved it desperately. "Perfect."
Sharon giggled, a low, throaty sound. She shifted her hips, still resting firmly on his mouth. "Oh, Katya was right," she mused, her tone suddenly bright, conversational, as if discussing the weather. "She totally called it. Said cuckolds get off on being ignored like furniture during playtime." She patted his cheek, a condescending little tap. "Said it’s the key to keeping you needy." Another giggle bubbled up. "She has the best advice, you know! Gonna have to thank her later." Her hand abruptly snaked down, fingers wrapping with shocking speed around the rock-hard bulge tenting the sheet. Before he could react, she slapped it. Hard. A sharp, stinging crack echoed in the room.
"FUCK!" Alexey roared, arching off the bed, the pain a white-hot brand on his already tortured cock. Tears sprang to his eyes.
Sharon simply burst into fresh peals of laughter, the sound bright and utterly unconcerned. She sprang off him, landing lightly on the balls of her feet beside the bed. "No cumming!" she chirped, wagging a finger at his agonized expression. "Big day! Be good!" Still giggling, she danced towards the en suite bathroom, the silky fabric of her tiny shorts clinging to the perfect curve of her ass as she moved. The shower hissed to life.
Alexey lay frozen for a second, gasping, the sharp sting radiating from his groin, mixing perversely with the molten ache of days of denial. His cock pulsed angrily against the cool air, throbbing in time with the fading echo of her laugh. That laugh. That slap. Katya’s knowing words echoing through Sharon's lips. Humiliation, sharp as the slap itself, warred with the ferocious arousal coiling tighter in his gut. He stared at the bathroom door, steam already curling around its edges.
Oh, that perfect ass.
He was definitely going to slap it in that shower. Hard.
The sharp sting radiating from his groin melded with the deeper ache of days-long denial, a volatile cocktail that left Alexey momentarily paralyzed on the rumpled sheets. Steam billowed from the ensuite bathroom, carrying the fresh scent of Sharon’s floral body wash, a stark contrast to the intimate musk still clinging to his face. He pushed himself up, the throbbing in his cock insistent as a drumbeat, and stalked towards the steam-filled room.
Inside, Sharon stood beneath the spray, water sluicing down her curves, her vibrant dark hair slick against her shoulders. He moved silently behind her, hands gripping her wide hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks. He raised his palm, bringing it down hard on the perfect, rounded globe. The sharp crack echoed off the tiles, mingling with her startled yelp-turned-laugh.
"Ow!Brat!" she yelped, twisting to look at him, eyes sparkling with mischief despite the reddening mark. Water plastered strands of hair to her flushed cheeks. He landed another sharp slap on the other cheek, the sound satisfyingly loud. "Mmm, that's more like it," she purred, arching her back, pressing her ass firmly against his groin. The hard ridge of his cock pressed against her lower back, separated only by his thin sleep pants, now soaked through. "Still pent up, Leshka? Poor thing." She reached back, fingers tracing the soaked outline of his erection through the wet fabric. "Just think, tonight… Mark." Her voice dropped, low and promising. "He won’t be pent up." She turned fully, pressing her wet, slick body against his, F-cup breasts flattening against his chest, and kissed him deeply, her tongue probing, tasting herself faintly on his lips. "Now shoo," she breathed against his mouth, pushing him playfully towards the door. "I need to get ready. Big day." She winked, turning back under the spray.
Alexey stumbled out, dripping, cock throbbing painfully. He toweled off mechanically, the ache a constant, heavy presence as he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, the denim uncomfortably tight. Downstairs, the air smelled of coffee and toasted bread. Katya sat at the kitchen island, already nursing a large mug, dressed in impossibly tiny denim shorts and a cropped tank top. Her gaze raked over him as he entered, lingering pointedly on the prominent bulge straining his zipper. A knowing smirk played on her lips. Sharon bustled near the stove, humming, radiant in a soft yellow sundress that hugged her curves, her damp hair piled loosely atop her head, exposing the delicate line of her neck.
"Damn, Sharon," Katya said, taking a slow sip of coffee, her eyes appreciatively tracing Sharon’s form. "You are glowing this morning. Seriously. Skin’s luminous. What’s your secret? Expensive serum?" She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, clearly expecting some skincare regimen.
Sharon turned from the sizzling eggs, spatula in hand, and flashed her dimpled smile. "Nah," she chuckled, waving the spatula dismissively. Her eyes flicked towards Alexey leaning against the counter. "It’s all thanks to this guy’s commitment." She gestured towards him with the spatula. "Relentless cunnilingus, Katya. Every time I want it. Morning, noon, night." She grinned wider. "And he gets absolutely nothing in return. Total denial. It’s… transformative."
Alexey felt heat flood his neck and ears, a familiar cocktail of embarrassment and arousal tightening his chest. Yet, beneath it, a startling surge of pride blossomed. Katya’s eyebrows shot up. She whistled low, turning her assessing gaze fully on Alexey now. "Damn," she breathed, shaking her head slowly. "That’s… fucking rare. A guy who loves going down that much? And is actually good at it?" She leaned back on the stool, crossing her long legs. "Color me fucking jealous, Sharon."
Sharon giggled, the sound bright and teasing. She slid perfectly scrambled eggs onto two plates. "Well," she said, her voice laced with playful mischief, turning fully to face Alexey. Her dark eyes sparkled with dangerous amusement. "Maybe I could lend him out? Loan you his talented tongue sometime?" She tilted her head, dimples deepening. "If that’s okay with you, Leshka? 😜" She held his gaze, the playful question hanging brightly, dangerously, in the breakfast-scented air. Just a tease. Right?
The silence hit Alexey like a physical blow after Sharon’s casually devastating question. Katya’s mug hung suspended halfway to her lips, her eyes wide with shock, then narrowing into sharp, predatory interest. She swiveled on the stool to face him fully. "Is that… an option?" she asked Alexey directly, her voice suddenly low, smoky. "Seriously?"
Alexey felt the kitchen walls press in. Sharon’s dimpled smile was bright, almost innocent, but her dark eyes held that unnerving therapist’s focus, watching his reaction. The egg in his stomach turned to lead. His cock, trapped in denim, gave a hard, traitorous throb. He managed a choked noise, part cough, part protest. "Sharon…" he started, his voice rough.
Sharon just laughed, light and breezy, waving her spatula again. "Kidding, Katya! Mostly." She winked at Alexey, the gesture loaded. "Wouldn’t loan him out without serious negotiation. He’s my dedicated tongue technician." She slid a plate of eggs towards him. "Eat up, kotik. You need your strength for… well, for whatever I decide."
Alexey pushed the eggs around his plate, the familiar ache in his groin a constant counterpoint to the low thrum of anxiety about the day ahead. Sharon chatted easily with Katya, the conversation drifting to weekend plans Katya was cancelling to dog-sit Mochi. Alexey barely registered it. He kept replaying Sharon’s words: "Relentless cunnilingus... He gets absolutely nothing in return. Total denial." Spoken so casually over breakfast. Pride warred with profound vulnerability.
He stood, the scrape of his chair loud. "Gotta go," he muttered, grabbing his work bag. Sharon caught his arm as he passed, pulling him down for a kiss. It was soft, lingering, her hand cupping his cheek. "Have a good day, my sweet, pent-up engineer," she murmured. Her eyes, inches from his, held a complex mix of affection and amusement. "Think of me."
Katya watched them, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Bye, Leshka," she drawled. "Try not to spontaneously combust at your desk." Her smirk was sharp.
The drive to the industrial park felt longer than usual. The sterile air of the engineering firm’s open-plan office offered no relief. His desk was a fortress of schematics and stress balls, but it couldn’t shield him. His phone buzzed relentlessly on the laminated surface.
> (10:03 AM) Sharon: Morning meeting DRAGGING. Bored. Wish I had my personal stress reliever under the desk right now. 😉 Remembering how good you made me cum this morning. Mmm. Four days… you’re doing so well holding it in for me. <3
> Attachment: 1 Image
> The image showed Sharon’s desk, from her lap looking down. Her skirt was hitched up just enough to reveal the tops of her stockings, the smooth skin of her inner thighs. No panties. The caption overlay: Think you could find your way?
Alexey shifted in his ergonomic chair, trying to subtly adjust himself. He typed a quick, strained reply.
> (10:05 AM) Alexey: Trying to work. Stop distracting me.
> (10:06 AM) Sharon: Distracting you is my favorite hobby this week. 😘 Is it working? Tell me how hard you are right now. Scale of 1 to diamond-cutting.
He didn’t reply, setting the phone face down. It buzzed again instantly. And again. Images flooded in, a relentless barrage.
> (10:15 AM) Katya: Bored at your place. Sharon left this on the nightstand. Thinking of you. 😏
> Attachment: 1 Image
> Katya, lying back on his bed, wearing only one of Sharon’s silk robes, gaping open. Her hand was cupping her own breast, thumb brushing a nipple. The robe was emerald green.
Alexey’s knuckles whitened on his mouse. He cursed under his breath. Another buzz.
> (10:17 AM) Sharon: Katya just sent me that pic! She’s a menace! 😂 But… fair play. Did it get you harder? Be honest. Maybe I should loan you out. She looks lonely.
> Attachment: 1 Image
> Sharon, this time in the bathroom mirror at her clinic. Professional blouse unbuttoned one more button than strictly professional, revealing a hint of lacy black bra. Her tongue touched her upper lip. Text overlay: Wondering if Mark likes lace. Or if he’ll just rip it.
Alexey shoved his chair back, needing air, needing to escape the glowing rectangle of torture on his desk. He walked stiffly towards the break room, painfully aware of his own body. The fluorescent lights hummed. He got water, avoiding eye contact with Brenda from Accounts who was microwaving fish.
He was stirring a coffee he didn’t want back at his desk when a ripple went through the open office. A sudden drop in the usual clatter of keyboards, a collective shift in attention. Alexey looked up.
Katya stood at the entrance to the engineering bay. She was a bolt of lightning in the drab environment. Skin-tight, ripped black jeans, heeled ankle boots that clicked on the concrete floor, a cropped crimson sweater that showcased a flat stomach and the dangerous swell of her breasts. Her vibrant hair was down, a blonde cascade. Every male head within a twenty-foot radius swiveled. Conversations died mid-sentence. Eyes widened. Dave from Fabrication actually dropped a socket wrench with a loud clang that echoed in the sudden silence.
Alexey froze, coffee spoon suspended. Katya scanned the room, her gaze locking onto him. A brilliant, knowing smile spread across her face. She started walking towards his desk, hips swaying, completely at ease in the spotlight she’d commandeered. Whispers ignited like dry grass.
“Who the hell is that?”
“Volkov? Seriously?”
“I thought he was with that Asian therapist?”
“Damn. How?”
“She looks like she walked off a damn runway.”
Alexey felt the heat crawl up his neck, burning his ears. The stares were physical things, pricking his skin. Katya reached his desk, ignoring the gawking faces. "Hey, you," she said, her voice warm, carrying easily in the quiet. She leaned in, planting a deliberate, smacking kiss on his cheek. Her perfume – something expensive and musky – enveloped him. "Surprise! Brought you lunch. This place is brutal. Let's get out of here."
Her hand rested possessively on his arm. The whispers crescendoed. Alexey saw his supervisor, Carl, staring open-mouthed from his glass office. He stood, grabbing his jacket, the need to escape the suffocating attention overwhelming. "Okay. Yeah. Cafe down the street?"
"Perfect," Katya beamed, hooking her arm through his. She turned, sweeping the stunned room with another dazzling smile. "Bye, everyone! Don't work too hard!" she called out cheerfully. She steered Alexey towards the exit, her stride confident, leaving a wake of stunned silence and burning envy.
The cold air outside was a relief, though the pressure of her arm through his was its own kind of intensity. The cafe was a block away, bustling but anonymous. They found a small table by the window. Katya slid into the booth, still radiating vibrant energy. Alexey sat opposite, feeling rumpled and exposed.
"So," Katya said, leaning forward conspiratorially the moment the waitress took their coffee order. Her eyes danced with mischief. "How many of your coworkers just had a full-blown existential crisis seeing me with you?" She laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "The looks! Priceless."
Alexey stirred sugar into his coffee he didn't need. "It was noticeable," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. The phantom stares still prickled.
"Oh, come on, Leshka," Katya teased, reaching across the small table to pat his hand. Her touch was electric. "Lighten up. It was fun! Besides," she lowered her voice, her expression shifting to something more calculating, "consider it practice." Her eyes held his, unblinking. "For tonight. When Sharon walks into that bar looking absolutely edible in that green dress. When Mark sees her. When everyone sees her with him." She paused, letting the image sink in. "Think you can handle those looks times a hundred? When it's her everyone wants, and she's choosing him?" She leaned back, taking a slow sip of her cappuccino, leaving the question hanging, sharp and dangerous, in the cafe's warm, coffee-scented air. Her gaze never wavered, watching him, waiting for the crack.