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Chapter 82: Fantasizing my Boss 5
publish date:
2026-06-06 07:25:20
Latest chapter
The Taste of Submission Chapter 196: Well Spent Bestfriend Husband 6
I woke up sore in all the right places. The storm had passed sometime before dawn, leaving the world a grey and washed-out landscape outside the window. Joey's side of the bed was cold, the sheet twisted and smelling like sex. For one stupid second, my stomach dropped. Like he had taken what he wanted and disappeared into the night. Then, I heard the low hum of a generator outside. The coffee maker gurgling in the kitchen. And the soft clink of a mug on marble. Power was back. He didn't leave. He was just letting me sleep. I rolled out of bed in shaking legs, my skin marked everywhere his mouth and hands had been. Fingerprints bruising my hips, love bites on my breasts, a fresh red mark on my shoulder. I walked into the bathroom and stared at my reflection. I looked like a crime scene. But I looked gorgeous. I reached for the shower, the hot water stinging my skin as I washed away the evidence, but the phantom sensation of him lingered. I pulled out one of Joey's shirts from t
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He didn't stop. He didn't give me a second to breathe. He kept on licking and fingering me through it, drawing it out until I was trembling so hard I thought I would shatter. I tried to crawl away from it, but he held me fast, his arms around my thighs, his tongue merciless. He stood up, spun me around, and lifted me back onto the dresser like I was weightless. The wood hit my lower back, but I didn't care. "Open," he ordered, his voice rough and commanding. I dropped to my knees without even thinking. I was his. I was completely and utterly his. He fed himself into my mouth without hesitation, inch by inch, stretching my lips open, the head pushing against the back of my throat. I choked slightly, tears stinging my eyes, but I took it. I took as much as I could. I moaned around him, hollowing my cheeks, bobbing my head up and down. I was moaning like a pornstar, sloppy and wet, my spit dripping down my chin. He threaded his fingers through my hair, guiding me, fucking my mo
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I was now standing frozen in the kitchen doorway, the glass of wine forgotten in my hand. Rain lashed against the window so hard it sounded like a drum solo, the storm outside mirroring the chaos tearing through my chest. My blouse was soaked through from the sudden dash inside, clinging to my skin like a second layer, outlining my ribs and the curve of my breast. I lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then I was moving, my bare feet slapping against the cold tile. My heart was slamming so loud against my ribs, I could barely hear the thunder outside. I needed him. I needed to feel that rough, calloused hand on my skin, to taste that whiskey on his tongue. I pushed open the master bedroom door. A thin blade of gold light from the hallway cut across the floorboards, and I pushed it wide. Joey stood at the foot of the king-size bed, back to me. He had already kicked off those sweatpants. He stood there completely naked in the candlelight from the bedside lamps, the deep V of his torso e
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The only thing I could remember was the slam of the bedroom door and the sudden, sharp click of the lock. It felt pointed, like a needle piercing my resolve. I leaned back against the wood of the door, my chest heaving with ragged breaths. My skirt was twisted so high on my thigh it bunched up at my hips. My skin felt too tight, stretched over the frantic pulse of my veins. Joey’s words kept looping in my head, low and rough, taunting me. I've been real good for a long time, and I'm getting really tired of it. I couldn't breathe right. I couldn't even think. My mind was a complete and utter blank, filled only with the image of him. All I could do was just slide down the door until my ass hit the thick carpet. My knees fell open like they had a mind of their own, giving him an unobstructed view of everything I was doing to myself. I was soaked. Absolutely dripping. The fabric of my panties was clinging to my skin, dark and translucent against my heat. I reached down, my fingers
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I spent the entire day at work, my mind wandering to Joey. I couldn't concentrate. Every time I sat at my desk, I’d think about him. I’d think about the way his hands would feel on me. I’d think about the way his mouth would taste. I’d think about the way he would fuck the hell out of me. I counted the hours until I could come home and finally touch myself without pretending it was Storm. I planned it out meticulously. I bought a new dildo, a cup-shaped one that was perfect for the bathtub. I hid it in the Tupperware box in the pantry, just in case Joey showed up early. I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be prepared for whatever he had in store for me. I walked into my house at 7 PM, my heart pounding in my chest. I was nervous, excited, and terrified all at once. I took a deep breath, and my fantasy was instantly diverted. Joey was in the kitchen. And he was shirtless. He was wearing only low-slung grey sweatpants, barefoot, his chest covered in a sheen of sweat. One thick arm
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The ceiling fan above my bed spun lazily, a hypnotic blur of white plastic against the blue of the sky outside my window. I lay there, staring at the swirl of dust motes dancing in the stale air, listening to the rhythmic, guttural sound of my husband's breathing next to me. It was the same sound he made every single night for the last three years. It was a sound of exhaustion, of surrender, and worst of all, of indifference. Three years. Three long, dry, unsatisfying years of Storm. I tried to tell myself it was normal. I tried to be the good wife, the patient one. But beneath the surface, beneath the polite smiles and the whispered "good nights," a fire was dying. A fire that needed fuel, needed intensity, needed a man who knew how to ignite it. I shifted, and the movement made his arm tighten around my waist. He groaned, a low, complaining rumble, and burrowed his face into the crook of my neck. He smelled like Old Spice and stale beer, a combination that used to make me swoon
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