Rebecca ccarrived at 8:02 p.m.—black dress hugging her curves, red lace visible at the neckline and hem, heels clicking softly as she stepped inside. The moment the door closed she let the dress fall to the floor, standing there in the red lace bra and thong, garters clipped to sheer stockings, freckles flushed with anticipation, a playful little smirk on her lips.
"Paul just texted me ’Having a great round, be home late,’" she said, voice dripping with dry amusement as she walked straight to him. "I replied ’Have fun, honey’ while I was literally in the Uber on my way here to get absolutely wrecked by the man who’s about to own the condo I’m buying with his golf money. The irony is so thick I could use it as lube."
David chuckled low, pulling her close by the waist. "You’re getting dangerously good at the sarcasm. Keep that up and I’ll make you say it out loud while I’m balls deep."
Rebecca’s eyes sparkled with challenge. "Promise? Because I’ve been workshopping lines in the mirror. ’Paul, your golf swing is improving... but David’s swing is legendary.’"
He kissed her then—slow and deep at first, then hungrier, his hands sliding down to grip her ass through the thin lace. She moaned into his mouth, the sound turning into a soft laugh when he nipped her bottom lip.
"God, I needed that," she murmured against his lips. "Paul tried to kiss me goodbye this morning and I almost laughed in his face. His ’good luck on the course’ peck feels like a corporate memo compared to this."
David walked her backward toward the bedroom, the black dress already long forgotten on the floor. He pulled the red lace bra off slowly, letting it drop, then hooked his fingers in the thong and slid it down her legs. She stood naked before him—full breasts rising and falling with each quick breath, dark nipples hard and begging, flat stomach quivering, hips curved, thighs already slick with arousal.
"Show me how wet you are for a real man," he said, voice low.
Rebecca bit her lip with a playful smirk, sat on the edge of the bed, and spread her thighs wide. Her pussy glistened—swollen, slick, clit peeking out, dark folds flushed and wet.
"Been like this since your voice note," she confessed, voice teasing. "Paul called during his golf round. I answered while fingering myself in the car. He had no idea I was moaning because I was thinking about you stretching me on the kitchen island of our new condo."
David knelt between her legs. He kissed her inner thigh slowly, deliberately, then the other. Blew a cool breath over her clit. She shivered, hips twitching.
He licked once—long, flat stroke from entrance all the way to her clit. She gasped, back arching.
"Better than Paul?"
"Fuck—yes," she laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a moan. "He’s small, quick, and finishes faster than a bad golf joke. I fake every orgasm so convincingly I deserve an Oscar. You? You make me squirt like a broken sprinkler system. Paul never even gets a drip."
He ate her ravenously—tongue circling her clit in tight, deliberate spirals, sucking gently then harder, two fingers sliding inside her, curling against her front wall with steady, rhythmic pressure. She rocked against his face, moaning brokenly, one hand fisting the sheets while the other tangled in his hair.
"Keep going," he murmured against her, voice vibrating through her.
"He never eats me—says it’s ’too much effort’ like I’m asking him to fix the sprinkler system he can’t even swing a club properly. I lie there afterward staring at the ceiling, frustrated, touching myself while he snores about his birdies. I’ve been fantasizing about you for weeks—imagining you bending me over his golf bag while he’s on the course."
He sucked her clit hard, fingers pumping faster. She shattered—sudden and violent. Squirting across his chin and chest, thighs trembling uncontrollably, a sharp, laughing cry tearing from her throat. "Oh my god—yes—fuck—see? Sprinkler system!"
He didn’t stop—kept licking through the aftershocks, fingers stroking slow and deep until she was whining, oversensitive, weakly pushing at his head.
"David—please—too much—I can’t—"
He rose, unzipped, and freed his cock—thick, hard, veins standing out, pre-cum beading at the tip. He rubbed the head through her soaked folds, coating himself, teasing her entrance with shallow dips.
"Beg properly," he said, voice rough. "Like the wife who knows her husband’s golf money is about to fund the condo I’m going to fuck her in."
Rebecca’s eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed, a wicked little grin breaking through. "Please—fuck me—fill me—ruin me for that boring, small-dicked, golf-obsessed husband of mine. Breed me while he’s putting balls in holes. Make me yours so completely that every time he kisses me goodnight I’m still leaking you."
He slammed in—one brutal, deep thrust. Buried to the hilt. She screamed—pleasure-pain mixing with laughter, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Fuck—yes—so full—so deep—Paul could never stretch me like this. He feels like a polite handshake. You feel like a hostile takeover of my entire marriage."
He pounded—deep, rhythmic strokes that made the bed creak. Her breasts bounced freely. He grabbed one, squeezed hard, rolled the nipple between his fingers while thrusting.
"Keep going," he growled.
"He’s nothing—small—quick—I fake every moan so convincingly I should get a bonus. You? You make me squirt like a broken fire hydrant. I’m ruined. Completely ruined for his sad little putter."
He angled deeper, hitting her spot over and over. She came a second time—violent, whole body convulsing, pussy clamping and squirting hard down his shaft and onto the sheets. She laughed through the orgasm, breathless and wrecked. "See? Fire hydrant. Paul never even gets a drip."
He flipped her onto her stomach—ass up, face pressed to the sheets. Slammed back in from behind. Spanked her ass hard—red handprint blooming on freckled skin.
"Beg for my cum."
"Please—fill me—breed me—make me carry your baby while Paul raises it thinking it’s his. Make me walk around his house leaking you every day while he brags about his birdies."
He pounded faster—deep, punishing strokes, balls slapping her clit wetly. She reached back, rubbed her clit furiously while he railed her.
Came again—screaming into the pillow, pussy clamping like a vice, squirting hard onto the mattress.
He buried deep—groaned loud. Came hard—thick, endless pulses flooding her. She whimpered—clenching, drawing out every drop, body shaking with aftershocks.
He stayed inside her—twitching, leaking—then pulled out slow. Watched his cum drip from her swollen pussy—thick white trails running down her thighs.
She rolled over—breathless, wrecked, a satisfied, slightly dazed grin on her face. Pulled him down for a slow, filthy kiss—tasting herself on his tongue.
"Again?" she whispered, voice hoarse but still carrying that sharp wit. "Because I have a whole list of Paul insults saved up. I’ve been workshopping them in the shower. ’Paul, your golf swing is improving... but David’s swing is legendary.’"
He laughed low. "All night. Start with the sprinkler one."
They fucked for hours.
Second round: her riding him—slow, grinding rolls at first, then frantic bouncing, tits in his face. He sucked her nipples while she rode—moaning how Paul never lasted long enough for her to come on top. She shattered twice—squirting across his stomach—before he flipped her, finished in missionary—flooding her again.
Third: prone-bone on the rug—face down, ass up. Slow, deep thrusts. Whispering in her ear how she’d never go back to Paul’s bed. She begged—sobbing with pleasure and laughter—came so hard she squirted onto the floor. He pulled out at the last second—came across her ass, watched it run down her skin while she joked breathlessly, "That’s going to be hard to explain in the dry cleaning."
Fourth: shower. Bent her over—fucked her against the tile. Water cascading. She came quietly at first, then louder—whispering his name like prayer mixed with sarcastic commentary about Paul’s "corporate stamina." He filled her one last time—slow pulses—then held her as she trembled, both of them laughing softly under the spray.
Fifth: back on the bed. Missionary again—slow, eye-locked, deep. She came hard—squirting, begging to be bred. He flooded her—deep, claiming—while she murmured between moans, "Paul’s going to raise your kid and thank me for the ’family planning.’"
Sixth: against the wall near the balcony doors. He lifted her, legs wrapped around his waist, and fucked her standing—deep, relentless thrusts. The city lights painted stripes across her skin as she came again, laughing breathlessly, "If Paul could see me now, he’d think I was practicing my swing."
Seventh: on the balcony chaise—outdoor risk, the cool night air on their skin. Missionary under the stars. Slow, eye-locked. She came hard—squirting, begging to be bred. He flooded her—deep, claiming—while she murmured between moans, "Paul’s going to raise your kid and thank me for the ’family planning.’"
They collapsed—sweaty, tangled, breathing ragged, both grinning. She curled against his chest—hand tracing lazy circles on his stomach.
"I’m yours," she whispered, voice hoarse but still carrying that sharp wit. "Paul is nothing but a walking golf scorecard. The condo is ours because of you. And I can’t wait to watch you take the rest of it."
David stroked her hair. "Good girl. We’ll take everything. The empire takes care of its own."
Codex pinged softly in the dark:
[Rebecca – Loyalty: 100%. Full Claim Reinforced.]
[Cash Deposit: $145,000 – "Condo Closing + Solo Maintenance Bonus."]
[Liquid Net Worth: $2,074,342]
[Harem Loyalty Average: 100%. All Seven Fully Locked.]
[New Passive: "Locked Circle (Lv.1)" – All seven wives grant permanent 25% reduction in husband suspicion growth rate.]
Group chat lit up as they lay there, the women checking in with their usual mix of updates and teasing:
Elena 🔥: How was she? Did she compare Paul to a bad golf joke again?
Sophia: Brian’s mediation fallout ongoing. Shields holding. More referrals coming.
Victoria: Caleb’s pitch follow-up went well. One investor wants a private consult.
Nadia: Ethan’s asking questions. Mediator tomorrow.
Priya: Raj distracted. Fee posted.
Lauren: Derek’s texts increasing. Hedge fee posted.
David smiled into Rebecca’s hair, typing a quick reply to the group:
David: She workshopped some excellent material. Victoria—schedule the consult. The rest—alibis tight. Tomorrow we plan the next wave.