Chapter 20: The Taste of Success
The bedroom was a cavern of shadows, the only light the cold blue glow of Andrew's phone. He lay propped against the headboard, the sheets twisted around his hips, his thumb frozen over the screen. The image stared back at him, a slick, swollen cunt, flushed and glistening, her fingers spreading herself open for the camera. 'Thinking of you while I close the Thorne deal.'
His cock stirred against his thigh, thick and aching, a dull pulse that had been throbbing since he'd left her office. Since he'd watched her take Marcus. Since she'd pressed his face between her legs and made him taste what she'd become.
The bedroom door clicked open. He didn't look up, didn't need to. Her scent reached him first, jasmine and sex, the musk of another man's spend clinging to her skin. She crossed the room in silence, bare feet padding over the hardwood, and stopped at the edge of the bed.
"You're still awake," she said. Not a question.
"Couldn't sleep."
She smiled, a slow dangerous curve of her lips that caught the blue light. Her silk robe hung open, and beneath it she wore nothing but a thin film of sweat and the evidence of her evening. Her thighs were slick, streaked with the unmistakable sheen of Marcus's release, the pale strands drying against her skin.
"Good," she said. "I didn't want you sleeping anyway."
She climbed onto the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. The robe slid off her shoulders, pooling behind her on the sheets, and she was bare above him, her huge silicone breasts swaying with the movement, nipples hard and dark. She took the phone from his hand without asking, glanced at the image, and chuckled.
"Like what you see?"
He opened his mouth, but the words tangled in his throat.
She reached down, her fingers wrapping around his cock, stroking him once, twice, spreading the bead of moisture that had gathered at his tip. He gasped, hips bucking into her grip, and she held him steady, guiding him to her entrance.
She was soaking. Soaking with Marcus's cum and her own slick, the heat of her cunt welcoming him as she sank down, inch by inch, her walls gripping him tight. She sighed, a long low exhale, and her eyes fluttered half closed.
"That's it," she breathed. "That's my good husband."
She rode him slowly at first, a languid roll of her hips that made him see stars. Her hands pressed flat against his chest, nails digging crescents into his skin, and she watched him with an expression that was part fondness, part cruelty.
"You watched me today," she said. "You watched me take him in my mouth. You watched me swallow every last drop while your cock was straining in your pants behind that fern."
He groaned, fingers digging into her thighs, slick with her moisture and his.
"You liked it, didn't you? You liked watching me work."
"Yes," he rasped. "God, yes."
She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips brushing his ear. "That's Marcus's cum inside me right now. Can you feel it? The heat of it? Another man's seed sloshing around in your wife's cunt while you fill me up on top of it."
His balls tightened, a sharp jolt of possessiveness and shame and raw, filthy need. He thrust up into her, and she laughed, a low dirty sound that vibrated against his skin.
"Eager boy. You want to fuck it deeper. You want to mix your own cum with his so you can't tell where he ends and you begin."
She sat up, her pace quickening, her hips snapping against his. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, wet and obscene. Her breasts bounced with every stroke, and he reached up to grip them, heavy and firm, the silicone weight of them a constant reminder of how far she'd come.
"Touch yourself," she commanded. "I want you to feel how tight I am when I come."
His hands moved to her hips, then lower, finding her clit, swollen and slick. She gasped, her rhythm faltering, and he pressed his thumb against it, circling in time with her thrusts.
"That's right," she moaned. "Make me come. Make me come all over you and Marcus's cum."
She threw her head back, her throat exposed, a vein pulsing in her neck. Her inner walls clamped down, rippling around him, and she cried out, a sharp broken sound that dissolved into a string of filth.
"Fuck, yes, just like that, fill me up, every last drop, I want to feel you come inside me."
He was close, so close, the pressure building at the base of his spine, his balls drawn up tight. She bore down on him, grinding her clit against his pubic bone, and the sight of her, this beautiful filthy creature riding him in the dark, tipped him over.
He came with a groan, his release surging into her, and she moaned approval, rocking through it, milking him for every pulse. When he finally stilled, she collapsed against his chest, her breath hot and ragged against his skin.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The phone screen flickered on the nightstand, casting their tangled bodies in cold blue light. She lifted her head, her eyes dark and satisfied.
"If you want to keep me," she whispered, "you'll have to learn to love the taste of my success."
She slid off him, a slick trail of their mixed release running down her thigh. She picked up the phone, glanced at the screen, and smiled at whatever she saw there.
"Go to sleep, Andrew. I have an early meeting."
She padded out of the room, leaving him in the dark, shaking and spent and more hers than he had ever been.
The bedroom door clicked shut, and Andrew lay there in the dark, his cock still twitching with the last aftershocks of release. He could smell her on the sheets, Marcus's cum and his own, a heady cocktail that made his head spin. He stared at the ceiling, his heart hammering, and for a long time he didn't move.
Sleep came in fits and starts, dreams tangled with images of Ellie's slick thighs and the sound of her laughter. When he finally woke, gray morning light was filtering through the curtains, and the bed beside him was empty.
He found her in the bathroom, standing at the vanity in nothing but a silk robe, her hair still damp from the shower. She was rummaging through a drawer, her back to him, and when she heard his footsteps she didn't turn.
"Good morning, husband." Her voice was light, almost cheerful. "I need your help."
She stepped aside, and he saw what she'd been doing. The drawer was open, and it was a treasure trove of depravity. Lace thongs in every color, sheer cheeky briefs, a red latex corset, a set of silk stockings with garters attached. And there, nestled among the fabric, a small velvet box. He recognized the items inside before she even opened it: a glass plug, a silver kegel ball set, a black vibrating egg with a remote.
Ellie turned to face him, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, the robe gaping to reveal the curve of her cleavage. "I have a big meeting today," she said. "And I want you to pick what I wear underneath."
Andrew's mouth went dry. "You want me to... choose?"
"That's right." She gestured at the drawer. "Go on. Look."
He stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he touched the fabric. A black lace thong with a tiny bow at the waist. A pair of sheer nude stockings. The red latex corset gleamed in the light. And the velvet box lay open, the glass plug catching the light, its curved tip glistening.
His cock stirred against his boxers. He could feel the heat rising in his face.
"The plug," he said, his voice rough. "And the lace thong."
Ellie smiled, a slow satisfied curve of her lips. She reached into the drawer and withdrew the plug, holding it up so he could see it clearly. It was slender, teasing, with a flared base.
"And what do you imagine I'll do wearing this?" she asked. "Tell me."
Andrew swallowed. His heart was racing, and he felt a flush spreading down his neck. "I imagine you... in the meeting. Sitting at the table. Feeling it inside you, moving when you shift."
"Go on."
He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the plug. "I imagine you closing the deal. Standing up to shake hands, and the plug pressing against your ass, reminding you it's there. Reminding everyone you're mine."
"Mmm." Ellie turned the plug over in her fingers. "That's good. What else?"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "I imagine you taking it out in the bathroom. Watching your own reflection as you slide it back in, getting wet thinking about how you'll come home and let me fuck you while it's still inside you."
Ellie's laugh was a low, smoky thing that curled through the bathroom air. She stepped closer, crowding him against the counter, the glass plug pressed flat against his chest. The coolness of it seeped through his thin t-shirt, and he could feel her breath on his chin.
"Me first," she said, tilting her head. "What do you think, Andrew? Be honest." Her free hand slid down his stomach, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers. "Do you think you'll be the first one to get this inside me today?"
His throat worked. The image hit him like a physical blow, her bent over some boardroom table, some other man's fingers sliding the plug home while she moaned his name. His cock twitched violently, and she felt it, because her hand had found its way inside his boxers and wrapped around his shaft.
"That's what I thought." She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You're honest when you're hard. I like that about you."
She pulled back, turning to the counter, her bare ass brushing against him as she rifled through a toiletry bag. She produced a small bottle of lubricant and set it beside the sink. She looked at him in the mirror, catching his eyes.
"Your fantasy, your rules. You picked the plug. You pick who puts it in."
Andrew's mouth was dry. I want to."
"Good." She bent over the counter, planting her palms flat on the marble, her ass presented to him in the mirror's reflection. The robe pooled around her elbows, leaving her entire back and the curve of her hips bare. She spread her legs slightly.
"Then do it. But make it count, because I'm leaving in twenty minutes, and when I come home tonight, I want to tell you how the meeting went." She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark and playful. "And I want it to be true."
His hands were shaking as he picked up the bottle. He spilled a little, slicking his fingers, then touched the plug, coating it in the clear gel. Her cunt was already glistening, a mix of his cum and Marcus's still seeping from her. He swallowed at the sight, that primal possessiveness and perverse thrill twisting in his gut.
"Slow," she instructed. "Make me feel every inch of it going in."
He pressed the tip against her asshole, and she sighed, a long low exhale as he pushed. The resistance gave way slowly, her muscles relaxing around him, and he watched in the mirror as the glass disappeared inch by inch. Her eyes were closed, lips parted, a flush spreading up her chest.
"That's it. Fuck, that's good." Her voice was throaty. "Deeper."
He pushed until the flared base was snug against her, and she let out a shaky breath, her body trembling slightly. She straightened up, testing the feel of it inside her, and he watched it shift with a subtle clench of her muscles.
"Perfect." She pulled her robe closed, hiding the treasure from view. "Now help me pick out the rest."
She turned back to the drawer, rummaging through the lace and silk. She held up the black thong, then a pair of seamed stockings, appraising them with a practiced eye.
"Stockings," she decided. "But no thong. I want the plug to be the only thing between me and that dress. Every time I sit down, I'll feel the base against my skin." She slipped the stockings on, rolling them up her thighs with a slow deliberateness that made him ache. Then she stepped into the little black dress she'd draped over the shower rod, a sleeveless shift that ended mid-thigh and hugged her curves like a second skin.
Andrew watched, his cock still straining against his boxers, a wet spot blooming where his arousal had seeped through. He was useless, completely undone by her, and she knew it. She glanced at him in the mirror, a smug smile playing on her lips.
"Poor thing. You're a mess, and I haven't even left yet." She walked over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then whispered in his ear. "I'll text you when I'm ready to close the deal. You keep that phone close."
She pulled back, grabbing her purse and heels, and paused at the bathroom door. She looked at him, her eyes glinting.
"And Andrew? When I come home tonight, I expect you to have your mouth ready. Because I'm going to want you to taste exactly what I mean by 'closing the deal.'"