Home for Dinner 02

WARNINGS

: This is (the second part of) a request for a lovely reader, who chose the dynamic of the story. It is a House Husband x CEO femdomme wife, a reversed 1950 kinda of couple, where the husband bears with his wife's cheating, thinking of it as something that comes with the territory of being married to a powerful woman.

This is a work of pure fantasy; in no way it wants to romanticize a toxic relationship.

Mention of: cheating, power dynamics, power imbalance, male objectification, reversed gender roles, monster dildo, golden shower, potentially dangerous sexual activities (sex inon vehicles).

I know nothing about motorbikes, so excuse any mistake about any technicality. I just know about pegging.

If you are not ok with it,

stop here

. Any feedback is appreciated!

Red

Venora Hart loved three things without apology: her husband, her empire, and sweet bubble-shaped male asses, preferably young, preferably trembling, always desperate for her approval.

She wasn't naive. Michael knew about her hobbies. The way she needed to sink her fingers into firm flesh after a meeting, the way her cunt throbbed when some blushing twink's thighs quivered around her grip. A lesser man would've filed for divorce. Hers? Looked the other way.

Women have needs men will never understand.

Like the chemical scream of estrogen-laced lust that could resurrect her libido five minutes after an orgasm. Like the primal itch in her palms that only faded when they were full of jiggling ass.

She adored Michael to the goddamn moon and back. But she also adored the way Keir's peach-soft ass dimpled under her nails, the snap of his collar when she yanked him closer, those fire-engine-red strands she fisted to keep his mouth exactly where she wanted it.

Keir had become her favorite model within weeks. Two campaigns as the face of

Hush

. Countless

private fittings

in her personal office. Today, he was being particularly persuasive.

Naked except for a slut-thin crimson collar, he straddled her lap, his thighs squeezing her clothed hips as his mouth worked along her neck. Little kitten licks behind her ear. Teeth grazing her clothed shoulder. A wet, open-mouthed kiss to her pulse point that made her attention to the documents in front of her slightly slip.

"Ma'am," he murmured against her jaw, his hips pressing just enough to remind her how hard he was. "Don't you need a break?"

Her free hand slid down the dip of his spine, nails scraping the perfect swell of his ass.

"I need to finish to revise this contract," she said, her eyes scanning the legal document on her desk.

But her hand had other priorities.

The tip of her middle finger pressed against his fluttering hole, circling once, twice, just to feel the way his body clenched in anticipation. Then, with just enough pressure to make him gasp, she sank in to the first knuckle.

"

Mmmh--f-fuck--

" he whined, hips jerking forward, his cock rubbing shamelessly against the crisp fabric of her tailored slacks. But she didn't give him more. Not yet.

Instead, she kept her finger right there, shallow and teasing, while her other hand flipped a page.

"You're working so hard lately," he panted, his voice trembling as he rocked back onto her finger, trying to take her deeper. "You do need a break-"

She rewarded his boldness by sinking in to the second knuckle, hard. "

Ahh-

" And his moan punched out of him, loud and wrecked. One of his hands flew to grip the arm of her office chair.

"That's because I'm going on vacation next week, sweet cheeks," she said dryly, her gaze still on the contract as she highlighted a clause.

And fuck, she was good at this, multitasking like a machine. Reading while her finger worked him open, slow and filthy, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office. His hole clung to her, greedy, his body begging for more even as she kept her strokes lazy, just enough to keep him writhing.

"One more reason to fuck me right today,

please

," he moaned in her ear, his voice cracking with desperation. His hips rolled shamelessly against her. "I want to feel you. I need it."

Venora smiled, dark and satisfied. A lapful of a begging, perfect model was all it took to make her clench with want. She crooked the finger buried inside him, relishing the way his body clenched around her in response.

"And what if I don't have time for a proper fuck?" Venora mused, her voice a velvet-coated blade. Documents forgotten, her free hand gripped the back of his neck, forcing him to arch deeper, presenting himself like an offering.

"What if I made you come here just because your ass is my new favorite anti-stress-ball? What if I just like feeling your sweet hole clench around my fingers?" A cruel smirk curled her lips as she added a second finger without warning, the stretch pulling a ragged gasp from his throat. "What if all you get is this?" she scissored them slowly, the drag of her skin against his inner walls obscenely wet. "Just my fingers stretching you open, hmm?"

His breath hitched, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Then it'll be enough. I'll take whatever you give me." So, he moved.

With a sinuous shift of his hips, he repositioned himself, arching his back to push himself deeper onto her finger. His body became a desperate, hungry thing, fucking himself on her hand with slow, rolling thrusts.

"Ah- h!"

Up, then down, each movement dragging a broken sound from his throat. His long red hair spilled over one shoulder, swaying with every languid bounce of his body, the strands clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.

His pleading eyes never left hers as he whimpered, his cock leaking against his stomach with every downward grind. "

F-Fuck

, Ma'am," His voice shattered as her fingers pressed deeper, hitting that spot inside him that made his thighs tremble.

"There it is," she cooed, circling his prostate with sadistic precision.

He met her fingers with shameless greed, and she watched, rapt, as his breath come in ragged, punched-out gasps. Every roll of his hips was a filthy plea, every downward grind a silent beg for more.

"So, two fingers are really enough for you..."

He whimpered again, his hips stuttering as he chased that sweet stretch. And God, did she enjoy it.

"You gonna cum just like this, sweet cheeks?" she taunted. Her wrist twisted sharply, fingers curling just so inside him, the heel of her palm grinding against his ass in slow, filthy circles. The office chair creaked under their combined weight as he bounced on her lap, his thighs trembling with the effort of riding her hand.

"Nnnh--f-fuck--"

A string of spit connected his lips as he gasped. "I'll

--hhhn--

I'll dirty your suit-"

She laughed, low and throaty, her free hand sliding up to pinch his nipple hard. "Good thing I've got another one."

His breath hitched, his hips stuttering as he tried to keep up the rhythm, up, down, clench, but she wasn't making it easy. Every time he rose, she crooked her fingers, dragging over his prostate.

He whimpered, high and broken, his thighs shaking as his hole fluttered around her fingers. "

Please! Please! P-please...

"

Something in him made her

snap

.

It wasn't the way his cock bobbed between them, flushed and leaking pre-cum untouched against his stomach. It wasn't the damp patch he'd already smeared across her slacks, his thighs trembling as he ground down on her lap like a desperate thing. Not even the sheer perfection of his body, all smooth planes and delicate angles, sweat-slick and trembling under her hands, could explain the primal hunger clawing up her throat.

And God, his pitched cries should've been enough to undo her. Those broken moans, the high, reedy whimpers that spilled from his lips. But no. It was his eyes.

Locked onto hers, wide and wet with unshed tears, pupils blown black with pleasure. Pleading.

Begging

. His brows furrowed in that perfect mix of scrunched-up desperation and helpless arousal; his gaze never wavered, not even when she dug the nails of her free hand into the soft flesh of his hips.

Venora had been content to watch him fuck himself on her fingers. She'd almost let him finish like that.

But those fucking eyes. They made her

ravenous

.

"N-noo, please-" His protest cracked as she yanked her fingers out, leaving him clenching around nothing.

She didn't let go of his hip, hauling him up with her as she rose from the chair. He stumbled, his knees buckling, but she maneuvered him easily, belly down on the couch, face shoved into a cushion, ass propped high on the armrest. His back arched beautifully, the curve of his spine begging for her touch.

"Stay."

She left him trembling there just long enough to select the smallest strap-on dildo in her office, a deep purple 6-inch one. Keir couldn't take the bigger ones and despite the hunger gnawing at her, she was still mindful.

The lube bottle clicked open. A cold drizzle down his cleft, over his already-slick hole. He whined into the cushion as she rubbed it in with her thumb, circling lazily before sinking the first inch into him.

"Fuck-!" His hands fisted in the couch, his back bowing deeper. He was so fucking sensitive.

The freckles scattered across his shoulders taunted her.

Bite me

, they seemed to whisper. But no, bites and bruises were reserved for her husband. Her models couldn't wear her marks, not like that.

But drilling his ass? This, she could do.

The second thrust buried her strap to the hilt, his body yielding with a wet, choked gasp.

"

F-fuckfuckfuck

!" His voice was muffled, strained, his thighs trembling as she set a brutal pace.

She leaned over him, her breath hot against the shell of his ear. "Didn't you want a proper fuck?" she mocked him, her hips pistoning relentlessly. The slap of skin on skin, the creak of the couch, his ragged, punched-out moans, every sound fed the fire coiling low in her gut.

His ass clenched around her, tight and desperate, his back bowing deeper. "

P- please

!"

"Please what?" She snapped her hips harder, grinding deep, savoring the way his breath hitched. "You want more?"

A sob. A nod.

She gave it to him.

Faster now, harder, each thrust driving him further into the cushions, his cock trapped between his stomach and the leather.

She could feel him unraveling. "I-I'm gonna-!"

Venora didn't let up. Not when his voice broke. Not when his thighs shook. Not even when he came untouched, his release painting the couch beneath him in sticky stripes, his body seizing around her in helpless, oversensitive spasms.

Only then did she slow her thrusts. But she didn't pull out.

She left the silicone buried deep in his hole, letting him feel every inch of it. "Fuck, you look pretty like this," she mused, dragging a fingernail down his trembling spine.

A knock interrupted them.

The door cracked open just enough to reveal William's mortified face, his gaze locked firmly on the ceiling. "I- I'm really sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Hart," he stammered, voice strangled. "But your husband has called twenty-five times--"

Venora didn't even glance over. Her fingers reached the red hair fanned across Keir's shoulder, yanking just hard enough to make the man beneath her whine. "And?"

William audibly gulped. "He, uh. He wants to know what flavor you want for your birthday cake. He's

very

insistent."

Keir's hair was sinfully soft, a blazing red. Her mouth watered with something far deeper than hunger.

He wasn't just beautiful; he was edible. And she wanted to devour him whole.

"Red velvet," she decided.

Another pause. William shifted awkwardly. "...Should I tell him you'll be home for dinner?" Venora's grip tightened. The man under her moaned.

"No."

The door clicked shut.

***

Blue

"V-Venora-" Michael's voice cracked, his palms smothering a broken moan as his hips jerked helplessly against the butter-soft leather of the Mercedes-Maybach's seat. The vibrations of the engine purred beneath them, a cruel contrast to the way his body burned, every nerve alight with need. Tears streaked his flushed face, his cock straining painfully against his jeans.

Venora didn't even glance over; her hands rested lightly on the steering wheel. The car's ambient lighting painted her sharp profile in cool blues, her expression as composed as if she were listening to a mildly interesting podcast, and not her husband unraveling beside her.

"Why-" he gasped, thighs trembling as another wave of sensation wracked him, "-do you have to torture me this way?"

Venora let out a low, wicked laugh, her fingers lazily tapping the remote against the steering wheel. "Torture?" she mused, her voice dripping with amusement. "How is it torture when this was your idea, darling? Or did you forget?"

Michael's fingers clawed into the leather seat, his back arching as the vibrations spiked again, sending

a fresh wave of pleasure-pain radiating from his stuffed hole. "Y-yes, but-"

"But what?" she interrupted. "Before we even loaded the luggage, you handed me this remote-" She held it up, the sleek blue device glinting. "-and begged me to play with that beautiful, thick, vibrating dildo buried so deep inside you.

To have some fun

, you said."

A flick of the remote sent the toy humming again to life, and Michael choked on a moan, his hips bucked uselessly against the seatbelt.

"I'm having a lot of fun," she smiled.

The highway stretched endlessly ahead, and Venora had hours left to play.

For her birthday this year, she'd decided on something different, no grand ballroom dripping in champagne, no performative toasts from investors angling for favor. Just a week of relaxation at Eleonor's secluded beach house, where the salt-stained windows faced an untamed stretch of ocean, and the guest list was... select. Eleonor's husband would be there, of course. A few of Venora's closest friends. And Michael, her ever-dutiful husband, who had spent the last month fussing over preparations like she'd demanded a coronation instead of a vacation.

He'd packed meticulously, as if he wouldn't spend half the trip naked.

"

Ah!

" Michael gasped, his thighs trembling violently as another brutal pulse of the vibrator shot through him.

"P-please! Venora, please let me touch my dick!" His voice cracked.

Her finger tapped the steering wheel in a slow rhythm.

"Tsk tsk,"

she chided, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "If those pretty fingers so much as graze that twitching adorable thing between your legs, the play's over." She let the words hang in the air before adding, "do you really want to stop, baby? Hmm?"

The dildo inside him pulsed like a living thing, the sleek toy buried deep in his ass humming with renewed intensity as she casually pressed the '+' button on the remote. Michael's back arched violently, his cock leaked a desperate bead of pre-cum, wetting his jeans.

"N-no! No but

I- ah! AH

!" His protest dissolved into a guttural moan as the pattern shifted to short, sharp bursts against his prostate. His fingers clawed at the seatbelt cutting across his chest, his body writhing like a speared fish on the expensive leather.

Venora finally glanced over, drinking in the sight of her husband reduced to a drooling, squirming mess. "Good boy," she murmured, pressing the '+' button twice more in quick succession.

The pleasure was maddening.

The vibrating dildo pulsed relentlessly, each thrum sending electric shocks up his spine, just enough to keep him teetering on the edge, never enough to tip him over. His dick strained against the confines of his jeans, the denim punishingly tight, the fabric rough where it trapped his throbbing length against his stomach.

He was desperate for friction.

He could almost rub himself against the seam of his pants if he shifted just right- "Please," Michael gasped, his voice ragged. "Just- just one stroke. I'll be quick-"

"Do I need to pull over," she mused, her tone lethally calm, "and tie your hands to the headrest? Make you hump the air until we get to Eleonor's?"

The vibrations stopped.

For one blissful, torturous second, the pressure eased. Michael sucked in a shuddering breath, his thighs trembling. "N-no, no-" he stammered. "C-can I at least unfasten my jeans? It's painful-"

She glared at him. "You are not going to soil my car with your cum, Michael."

The vibrations inside his ass roared back to life, higher this time, the intensity cranked up until his vision blurred. His back arched off the seat again, a broken whimper tearing from his throat as his fingers clawed at the leather beneath him.

It was so good.

Not the kind of good that crashes over you in a single wave, but the kind that drags, slow, relentless, just shy of enough. And maybe, that was the best part.

The way his hips stuttered in useless little circles, his balls drawn up tight and aching. The way his brain short-circuited, torn between

stop

and

more

. The way Venora watched him unravel with those heavy- lidded eyes, her smile a razor's edge between cruelty and adoration.

She owned every desperate twitch of his neglected cock.

His fingers scrabbled uselessly against the door handle, the center console, anywhere to ground himself as the vibrations intensified. The seatbelt cut across his heaving chest, keeping him upright.

Venora watched his frantic movements with amusement. "I'll give your flailing limbs some purpose." The vibration inside him stopped.

She undid his and her seatbelt with one hand while the other guided the luxury car into the slow lane. Her pants unfastened with a whisper of silk against skin, revealing the barest hint of lace beneath. "Put that desperate energy into something useful, darling."

Her hand found the back of Michael's neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. She guided him downward, her thighs parting slightly in invitation.

His fingers trembled against her hips as he tried to protest. "Ven, it's dangerous, we could-"

"Nonsense," she cut him off, pressing his face firmly against the heat radiating through the wet lace. The scent of her arousal mixed with expensive perfume filled his senses. "Don't you trust me?"

The heady musk of her arousal flooded his senses as she arched into his face and every protest died against her pussy.

"Oh god," Michael groaned.

His tongue dragged over the lace first, slow, savoring the way the fabric clung to her. The taste of her seeped through it was musky, sweet, addicting and he groaned again against her, the vibration earning him a sharp gasp.

His tongue dove beneath the lace, hooking it aside to get at her bare, swollen flesh. The second he licked a hot, wet stripe from her entrance to her clit, her hips jerked.

He ate her like a man starved, with broad, flat strokes to soak his tongue in her, then sharp flicks over her clit, teasing the tight little bud until her breath came in ragged pants. Every suck, every nip of his teeth, made her thighs tremble. Her grip on his hair turned vicious, holding him in place as she rolled her hips against his mouth, fucking herself on his tongue.

Every gasp and moan went straight to his hard cock and the car's interior suddenly felt too small, too hot.

He buried his face deeper, coating his chin with her slick.

"That's it... right there, just like that," she cooed, her voice breathy.

He obeyed, his tongue working her in desperate, hungry circles, lapping up every drop of her arousal. He fought for every inch of space just to keep his mouth glued to her dripping pussy. The position was awkward as hell, back bent at an unnatural angle, neck craned to keep his tongue working her folds, but discomfort was the last thing on his mind.