A Fragile Wife(6)

By: Cynthia Dane

Her eyes bore into his. Determined, almost spiteful. Ken was the only man who would not flinch under such a gaze. He held it with his own, pushing back in his chair and taking the first drag of his relaxing smoke. Cherries. It would be cherries.

“And my wife should do many things.”

Lana pulled open the top of her robe, exposing her hardened nipples to the warm air of her husband’s office. It turned on the part of her brain that told her to serve him.

There were women who lived that life. Every day, their Doms and Masters came home, expecting to be waited on, to be served. The women got off on it. Everyone in the situation got off on it. Lana was not one of those women. When she chose to serve her husband – for he was the only person in the world she would serve – it was with nothing but love. Foolhardy love, perhaps, but love nonetheless.

She thought she felt love inside her as she eased down onto her knees and ran the palm of her hand over his stiffening cock. His pants obscured it, but Lana knew which lines to look for. It also helped that her touch hardened him enough to make him groan on his cigarette.

“Tell me what you like,” Ken grumbled on his device. “Know your place, but tell me what you like.”

“Yes, sir.” Lana unzipped him, letting her fingers dance over the soft cotton of his briefs before finding the skin of his cock. She had felt and seen this thing a million times in her life, but now, more than usual, she had to make Ken think it was as good as the first time.

She also had to give herself completely over to the headspace of servitude. She wasn’t just Ken’s wife. She was his trophy. The hot, sharp woman he plucked from some promising company and made his. The first time they had sex, he slammed her into the bed and drove himself into her so hard that tears fell from her eyes. Not tears of pain or fear. Tears of relief that she had finally found a man who could satiate her hunger more than the usual.

To many, Ken was an average man by himself. He was handsome, but didn’t stand out in a room of other handsome men, especially since he fell on the shorter side and didn’t do much with his look. He was sharp, smart, and witty, but kept to himself unless otherwise provoked or if with very close friends. Even his cock was average. Lana certainly had much bigger in her days. The difference? Men with big cocks had a tendency to rely solely on that. They knew they could get away with women being amazed with only that. Men like Ken had skill. They knew how to use their cocks to bring a woman to such pleasure that she didn’t know where she was or what her name was. Lana would take that over a big cock for the sake of it any day.

Plus, she had a secret. Well, not so much a secret as biology.

She was small from every angle but her stature. Small as in those men with big dicks often struggled to get them in her, whether her pussy, her ass, or her mouth. Of course, Kenny loves watching that. They went through a phase three years ago where they rounded up every hot man with a dick over nine inches and gave them a go while Ken watched in great amusement. He said the faces I made as I struggled to take them were the hottest thing he had ever seen. She wished she could say she enjoyed it as much as he did.

So even though Ken Andrews didn’t boast the biggest dick around, it was big enough for her, and that was all that mattered.

I know every inch of it. She gazed at his flesh, at the hair curling around his base and creeping up the sides. His uncut head enticed her lips, but she held back, opting to push her thumbs into his folds and watch the precum emerge. She knew exactly what that would taste like, too. She had sucked her husband so many times that she could deep-throat him in her sleep.

“I like the way you smell,” she whispered, running both hands through his hair and along his shaft. “It’s so… animalistic.”

“Is it? I don’t smell nearly as good as you, though. I’m sure.”

Who knew if that was true? The way Ken acted when he shoved his face in her pussy sure made it seem like she was the headiest woman in the universe. All it took was one second, and Ken was devouring her, tasting whatever he could. For Lana, it was subtler. She liked to build up her arousal with her husband’s natural scent. Let it take control. Take over. Take her to a place where the only thing that mattered was their mutual pleasure.

“And I love how hard you get for me.” Ken was a man. He got hard for any hot woman – and occasional man – crossing his path. Lana fell into that category, didn’t she? Her husband was still attracted to her. He still desired her, even after their numerous rounds in bed and knowing her deepest, darkest parts of her heart. If that wasn’t love, then what was?