She Demanded I Fuck Her Throat While My Wife Was Home

I remember the moment vividly, the cool tiles beneath my knees, the steam from the shower enveloping us. She was there, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder, her pink swimsuit barely concealing her curves. I was helpless, completely at her mercy. She had me strip, her eyes never leaving mine, and I complied without a second thought. Her lips, so close to my cock, whispered instructions that sent shivers down my spine. ‘Toss your wedding ring down the shower drain,’ she commanded, her voice a mix of dominance and desire. I did it, feeling the weight of my decision as the ring clattered into the drain. Then, with a wicked smile, she took me in her mouth, her lips wrapping around my shaft, her tongue teasing the sensitive tip. I was lost, drowning in the sensation, her head bobbing up and down, her hands gripping my ass, pulling me deeper. The sound of my wife’s car pulling up outside barely registered. She pulled back, her eyes locked on mine, and whispered, ‘Cum all over my face as she comes upstairs.’ I was a puppet, and she was the master, pulling my strings, making me dance to her tune. And I did, I came hard, my cock pulsing as I painted her face with my release. She smiled, her lips glistening, and I knew I was hers, completely and utterly hers.

The Power of Submission

The power in that moment was intoxicating. She held all the cards, and I was just a pawn in her game. But it was a game I willingly played, a game where I found a strange sense of freedom in my submission. Her commands were clear, her desires unmistakable, and I was more than happy to oblige. The shower drain became a symbol of my surrender, a physical act that sealed my fate. I was hers, completely, and she knew it. Her confidence was palpable, her control absolute. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she took it without hesitation. And I, I was just along for the ride, a willing participant in my own downfall. It was a strange mix of humiliation and exhilaration, a cocktail of emotions that left me reeling. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. She was my queen, and I was her loyal subject, ready to serve at her pleasure.But it wasn’t just about the physical act. It was about the power dynamic, the shift in control. She was the one in charge, and I was just a tool for her pleasure. And I loved it, I loved every second of it. Her commands were my commands, her desires my desires. I was a reflection of her will, a mirror to her wants. And in that moment, as I stood there, my cock still throbbing, my wife’s footsteps echoing up the stairs, I knew I was hers. Completely, utterly, and irrevocably hers. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.The memory of that day still haunts me, still excites me. The way she took control, the way she used me, the way she made me feel. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated submission, a moment where I gave up all control and let her take the reins. And she did, she took them and rode me hard, leaving me breathless and spent. It was a moment of truth, a moment of realization. I was hers, and she was mine. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Just her, just me, and the power of our connection. A connection forged in the heat of the shower, sealed with the weight of a wedding ring, and strengthened by the taste of my release on her lips.