Chapter 5: Golden Submission
The steam from the bath clung to the black marble, softening the edges of the room. Eleanor’s hands were on him, possessive and urgent, pulling at the waistband of his skirt. Her lips were on his throat, her teeth a sharp promise. The air was thick with lavender and her own scent, something musky and desperately hungry.
“I need to see you,” she growled, her voice rough against his skin. “All of you. Now.”
A new stillness settled over Matt. The frantic buzz of his nerves, the constant hum of awe he felt in her presence, quieted. He looked at her—at the fierce, beautiful want etched on her face—and something in him clicked into place. He gently, but firmly, took her wrists and moved her hands from his body.
Eleanor froze, her breath catching. A flicker of uncertainty, then raw devotion, crossed her features.
Matt didn’t speak. He held her gaze as he reached for the clasp of his skirt. It gave way with a quiet sigh, the fabric pooling around his fishnet-covered ankles. He stepped out of it. His hands went to the waistband of the lace thong, and he hooked his thumbs, drawing it down slowly over the thick curve of his cock, letting it spring free. He let the thong fall.
He was naked now, bathed in the golden candlelight and the city’s glow from the window behind her. His own size was a profound, quiet fact in the room.
Eleanor watched, her lips parted, her own thick cock jerking against her stomach. A thin strand of precum beaded at the tip. She started to reach for him again.
Matt shook his head, just once. A gentle command.
He then, with a deliberate slowness that felt like a ritual, sank to his knees on the cool, polished floor before her. He looked up, his long blonde hair falling over his shoulders, his face a portrait of earnest intent.
A shuddering sigh escaped Eleanor. She understood. Her hands, which had been reaching for his hair, stopped. Instead, she brought them behind her back, clasping them there obediently. She stood before him, a statue of willing surrender, her massive fake tits rising with her rapid breaths, her cock thrusting forward, an offering.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “My god. Please.”
Matt leaned forward. He didn’t grab her, didn’t force her. He simply pressed his lips to the wet, glossy head of her cock. He tasted her—salt and musk and pure, uncut need. A soft moan vibrated from her above him.
He opened his mouth, taking just the swollen head inside. His tongue swirled around it, licking away the bitter precum. Then, with a patience that bordered on cruelty, he began to sink down, taking more of her incredible girth into his mouth. It was a slow, wet, deliberate conquest. His lips stretched around her, his throat working to accommodate her. He used his tongue to press along the thick vein underneath, earning a sharp, gasping cry from Eleanor.
“Oh, fuck… Matt… your mouth…” Her hips gave a tiny, helpless jerk.
He took it. He took her deeper, his nose pressing into the trimmed hair at her base. He held her there, full and throbbing in his throat, until his eyes watered. Then he pulled back, almost all the way off, before sliding down again, establishing a slow, deep, punishing rhythm. Each descent was a wet, sloppy slide. Each withdrawal a pop of air and saliva.
Eleanor trembled, her hands clenching tighter behind her back. “You’re going to make me… I can’t… I’m gonna…”
Her warning was a broken thread. His pace didn’t change, didn’t hasten. He sucked her with a focused, consuming hunger, one hand coming up to cradle her heavy balls, rolling them gently in his palm. The other hand stayed on his own thigh, knuckles white.
It was too much. The surrender, the worship, the exquisite skill of his mouth. Eleanor’s restraint shattered. “I’m coming!” she cried out, her body bowing forward. “Oh god, drink it, please drink it all!”
Her thick cock pulsed violently in his mouth. The first spurt hit the back of his throat, hot and bitter. He swallowed instinctively, eagerly. The second shot coated his tongue. The third was a weaker ooze that he sucked from her, milking her with tight draws of his cheeks until she was whimpering, overstimulated and shaking. He kept sucking gently until she was completely soft, until every drop was gone and he’d licked her clean.
He released her with a final, soft kiss to her tip. She looked down at him, utterly wrecked, tears of bliss streaking her mascara.
Without a word, Matt stood. He took her hand, her unresisting hand, and guided her toward the sunken tub. The water was hot and clouded with lavender-scented bubbles. He stepped in first, sinking into the liquid heat with a groan, his enormous cock floating, half-submerged, a pale Leviathan in the steamy water.
Eleanor followed, her movements liquid with devotion. She straddled him, her knees on the smooth porcelain on either side of his hips. She reached between them, her hand finding his cock under the water. She guided the broad, slick head to her entrance—that same stretched, used hole he had claimed days before.
“It’s yours,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. “It’s always been yours.”
And she sank down. There was no resistance, no tight clench. Her body, permanently shaped by him, accepted his full, impossible length in one smooth, continuous slide until his hips were pressed flush against her massive, augmented ass. A sigh of perfect completion left her lips as she bottomed out.
She didn’t ride him. She just sat there, fully impaled, letting her body adjust to the profound fullness. The water lapped around them. Her own cock, trapped between their stomachs, began to stiffen again from the overwhelming sensation.
“I can feel you,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. “In my guts. You’re so deep, Matt. You own this cunt. You own this ass. You own me.”
Her own cock, pressed between their bodies, began to jerk. She didn’t touch it. The sensation of him inside her, the pressure, the sheer possession of it, was enough. Her breath hitched, became ragged. “I’m coming again,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Just from you being inside me… fuck…”
Her body clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, not of tightness, but of deep, internal quakes. Her trapped cock twitched and released another, smaller burst of cum into the water between them, a hot cloud dissipating in the bath. She rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed, whispering into the space between their mouths.
“My god. My beautiful, perfect god. This is where I live now. Right here. Full of you. Nothing else matters. I am yours. Permanently.”
Permanently.”
The word hung in the steam, a vow sealed by the water’s heat and the profound stillness of their bodies joined beneath it. Minutes passed, or maybe hours, measured only by the slowing of their breath and the gradual cooling of the bath around them. Finally, Matt shifted, his massive length softening inside her with a slow, wet retreat that made Eleanor whimper at the loss.
“We’re prunes,” he said softly, his voice a rasp from her cock earlier.
She laughed, a shaky, watery sound. “We’re ruined. Beautifully ruined.”
He helped her stand, water sluicing off their bodies in heavy streams. She grabbed a thick, black towel from a heated rail and turned to him, her movements reverent. She patted his pale skin dry with a tenderness that bordered on worship, lingering on the sharp angles of his hips, the soft swell of his belly.
“My turn,” he murmured, taking a second towel. He blotted the droplets from the dramatic curve of her augmented breasts, the stark indent of her surgical waist, the impossible swell of her ass. His touch was careful, like she was something precious and fragile. When he kneeled to dry her legs, his face was level with her softened cock. He pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to it before standing.
“Come to bed,” she whispered, taking his hand.
Her bedroom was a cavern of shadow and silk. She led him to the edge of the massive bed, the sheets cool and slick against their warmed skin. They faced each other, kneeling. The city’s lights painted silver lines across her body. Matt’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum suddenly loud in the quiet room.
He reached out, his fingers tracing her jaw. “Eleanor?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
He looked down at the sheets, gathering his courage. “I… I want you to fuck me.” He looked up, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “But I’m a… I’ve never…”
Her expression softened, all the predatory hunger melting into something unbearably warm. She cupped his face. “Oh, baby. Yes. However you want it.”
“I want to feel it,” he whispered. “But gentle? At first?”
“Anything,” she breathed, pulling him into a kiss that was all promise, no demand. “Just tell me. Always tell me.”
She guided him to lie on his back, arranging pillows under his hips. She kissed down his stomach, her hands spreading his thighs. Her breath was hot against his entrance. “I need to taste you first,” she said, her voice low. “I need to open you up for me.”
Her tongue was flat and wet, circling him with a patient, relentless pressure. It was an intimate violation that made him gasp and clutch the sheets. She worked him slowly, methodically, until his body was pliant and trembling, until he was begging into the dark, wordless pleas falling from his lips.
When she rose, she was slick with his taste and her own spit. She positioned herself between his legs, her thick cock nudging insistently against him. She reached for a bottle on the nightstand, coating herself with more lube until she shone in the low light.
“Look at me,” she commanded softly.
He did. His eyes were terrified, trusting, brilliantly blue.
“Just relax,” she whispered, leaning over him, her weight braced on her arms. “Let it happen. I’ve got you.”
She pushed forward, a slow, inexorable pressure. The stretch was immense, breathtaking. He cried out, a sharp, cut-off sound. She stopped immediately, her body trembling with the effort of holding still. “Breathe, Matt. Breathe for me.”
He sucked in a ragged gasp. She pressed forward another inch, filling him in a way that was fundamentally, electrically new. His vision sparkled. She was inside him, a burning, stretching presence that rewired his sense of self.
“Oh fuck,” she choked out, her eyes squeezing shut. Her control shattered. “Oh my god, you’re so tight, I can’t…”
Her hips gave one shallow, helpless thrust, seating herself fully inside him. A ragged moan tore from her throat. Her entire body locked, shuddering violently. Hot, wet pulses erupted inside him as she came, her cock throbbing against his deepest walls. She collapsed onto his chest, sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s too good, you feel too fucking good…”
He held her, stroking her hair as she trembled through the aftershocks. “It’s okay,” he whispered, amazed. “It’s okay.”
After a moment, she raised her head, her cheeks wet. She began to move. Slow, tentative withdrawals and careful, rocking re-entries. The overwhelming stretch softened into a deep, full ache, a rhythmic claiming that set his nerves alight. He watched her face, saw the agony of bliss there, and something in his own body began to coil tight.
“Yeah,” she murmured, her pace steadying. “There you go. Let it feel good. Take it.”
His own cock, ignored and painfully hard against his stomach, began to weep. The sensations merged—the deep, internal friction, the sight of her above him lost in pleasure, the filthy, wet sound of their joining. His breath hitched.
“I’m close,” he panted. “El… I’m gonna…”
“Come with me,” she gasped, her thrusts becoming more urgent, shallower, focused perfectly inside him. “Fill me up. Do it.”
The coil snapped. His orgysm ripped through him, silent at first, then a guttural cry as his cock jerked against his belly, shooting thick, pearlescent ropes that streaked his chest and stomach. The convulsions of his body clenched around her, and she followed him over with a broken shout, her second release a hot flood inside him that mixed with the first.
She slipped out of him with a soft, wet sound and immediately ducked her head between his legs. Her tongue lapped at his stretched, leaking hole, sucking and cleaning her own spend from him with hungry, worshipful noises. “Mine,” she mumbled against his skin. “All mine.”
She flipped him onto his stomach with surprising strength. “Now,” she said, her voice raw. “Now I need to feel you split me open again.”
She straddled his hips, guiding the head of his re-hardened cock to her well-used entrance. She sank down in one slow, deliberate motion, a hissed breath escaping her as her body accepted him all over again. She rode him with a deep, rolling grind, her head thrown back, her hands braced on his back.
“You’re stretching me so wide,” she moaned. “I can feel every fucking inch. Give it to me. Give me everything.”
He thrust upward, meeting her grind. The sensation was overwhelming—her heat, her tightness despite the stretch, the slick slap of their bodies. His climax built faster this time, a towering wave.
“I’m coming,” he warned, his voice choked.
“Do it,” she demanded, slamming down on him. “Fill my ass. I want to feel you pulse inside me. I want to count them.”
The orgysm claimed him violently. Thick spurts erupted from him, jetting deep into her clasping heat. He lost count, his world narrowed to the blinding pleasure and her voice gasping numbers above him. “…fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine… oh god…”
As his last shudders subsided, she collapsed forward, her own cock jerking against his back. She came with a choked cry, her release painting hot stripes across his shoulder blades and the back of his neck.
She rolled off him, breathing hard. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their panting in the dark. Then she leaned over him again. Her tongue, slow and deliberate, licked the drying spend from his chest and neck. She cleaned him with a devoted, silent thoroughness, swallowing every trace.
Finished, she curled against his side, her head on his chest, her leg thrown over his. Within minutes, her breathing evened out into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. Exhaustion pulled at him, a heavy velvet curtain. He closed his eyes, her weight a perfect anchor, and followed her down.