07-11-2025, 12:16 PM
(This post was last modified: 07-11-2025, 12:18 PM by Dida. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
MARRIED LIFE
The week after our thrilling hotel escapades, my wife, her father, and I boarded an overnight train to the city, bound for the newly rented flat where my parents awaited to welcome us as the newlywed couple. The train’s gentle sway was a brief respite, my mind buzzing with the exhilarating memories of her insatiable dominance—her naked glory, her vibrant laughter, the loads of cum I’d eagerly lapped from her thighs and tight asshole. I drifted to sleep, my caged cock twitching with cheerful anticipation for our new life in the city, where her desires would reign supreme.
She had other plans, as always. While the train hummed through the night, she rose early, transforming herself into a vision of seductive power. She slipped into a sheer chiffon saree, its transparent fabric clinging to her curves, dipping provocatively below her waist, just above her pubic hair. Her tight, sleeveless blouse hugged her full breasts, accentuating every contour, her nipples faintly visible. Jewels glittered on her—bangles, a necklace nestling in her cleavage, earrings catching the light. Her loose hair cascaded wildly, and a heady scent filled the compartment. She was a goddess, her every move deliberate, radiating a nympho-like hunger that thrilled me to my core.
As the train pulled into the city platform, a group of her new city friends—her latest lovers, no doubt—waited, their eyes blazing with desire. She stepped off, her saree swaying, and threw herself into their arms, hugging them with passionate abandon that turned heads. Some were strangers, introduced by a mutual friend, but she embraced them as if they’d claimed her body for years, her laughter bright, her hands lingering on their chests, their shoulders. The public display sent a jolt of exhilarating pride through me, my caged cock aching as I watched her claim her freedom.
She turned to her father, flashing a charming smile. “Papa,” she said, her voice sweet but commanding, “these are my colleagues. There’s an emergency project at the office, and they’ve come to pick me up. My darling husband will handle everything.” Without a glance my way, she sauntered off with her entourage, their hands brushing her hips, her waist, as they vanished into the crowd. Her father shot me a look, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation, and I grinned, the thrill of her dominance fueling me as I took on the pile of luggage—hers, mine, and our household goods.
At the flat, my parents greeted me warmly, oblivious to her absence. “Where’s your bride?” they asked, excited. Her father jumped in with a convincing excuse, his voice steady. “She’s been called for an urgent work project—she’s very ambitious, you know, a dedicated employee.” I nodded, backing him up with a cheerful grin. “She’ll join us soon,” I said, my caged cock twitching with the secret I held. They bought it, charmed by the lie, while I reveled in the truth: she was indulging her insatiable desires, her body claimed by her new lovers.
For two days, I kept to myself, setting up the flat with care, my heart soaring with pride at serving her, even from afar. But my parents grew restless, pestering me about her whereabouts. “Where’s your wife? When’s she coming?” they pressed, their voices tinged with concern. I tried calling her, but her phone rang unanswered, each silence a delicious reminder of her control. I grinned through their questions, deflecting with vague assurances. “She’s caught up with work,” I’d say, loving the thrill of protecting our secret.
Her father stayed two more days, his patience thinning, before he left, saying, “I’ll be back when my daughter returns.” I nodded, my excitement undimmed, happy to hold the fort alone. A week and two days later, at midnight, my phone buzzed—a call from her, her voice bright and teasing, dripping with that loving warmth that made my pulse race. “Darling, I need you,” she purred. “Bring condoms to the location I’m sending on WhatsApp. Don’t keep me waiting, my love.” The call ended, a map pin dropping with an address across the city.
I rushed out, my heart pounding with exhilaration, grabbing condoms from a 24-hour store. At the address—a sleek apartment building—I tried calling her to get the flat number, but her phone went unanswered, each silence amplifying my thrill. Clueless but buzzing with anticipation, I parked and waited in the car, eventually dozing off, the caged ache in my groin a constant reminder of her reign. The morning sun hit me at 8 a.m., jolting me awake. I tried calling again—no response. My mind raced: should I head to my office, start my day, or wait for her next command? The uncertainty was intoxicating, a testament to her power. I grinned, deciding to wait, my body alive with the joy of being hers, ready to serve whenever she called, eager for the next humiliating, exhilarating moment in our life ruled by her insatiable desire.
I stayed parked, my phone clutched tightly, knowing she was somewhere in that building, her body being claimed by her new friends, her laughter echoing with nympho-like hunger. The thought of her, radiant and untouchable, sent a rush of pride through me, my caged cock throbbing with cheerful submission as I awaited her next move, thrilled to be part of her glorious, dominant world.
At noon, my phone jolted me awake in the car, the sun blazing through the windshield after my restless night parked outside her mystery apartment. Her voice, sharp and stern, cut through the line like a whip, laced with that commanding tone that made my caged cock twitch with exhilarating pride. “Where the hell have you been, darling?” she snapped, her words dripping with humiliating disdain, yet cloaked in the veneer of loving concern. “We waited for you all night! How utterly irresponsible can you be? My sweet husband, letting me down like this?” Her voice was a blade, slicing through my excuses, and I mumbled an apology, my heart racing with the thrill of her dominance, too enthralled to muster the guts to ask for the flat number.
She sighed, her tone shifting to exasperated mockery. “Honestly, my love, you’re hopeless,” she scolded, each word a deliberate jab that fueled my submissive joy. “It’s Flat 12B, top floor. Get here now, and don’t make me wait again.” I scrambled out of the car, condoms in hand, my stomach growling—I hadn’t eaten since the previous morning—but the hunger only amplified my excitement, my role as her devoted cuck more nourishing than any meal.
I reached the sleek apartment building and rang the bell for 12B, my pulse pounding with anticipation. A guy opened the door, his shirt unbuttoned, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wait here, cuck,” he said curtly, slamming the door in my face. I stood in the hallway, grinning despite the hunger gnawing at me, thrilled by the dismissal, my caged cock aching with the joy of being hers. Hours dragged on, the afternoon fading into evening, and she didn’t bother to see me, didn’t acknowledge my presence. The neglect was intoxicating, a testament to her absolute control.
Around evening, the door swung open, and she emerged, stark naked, her body a radiant masterpiece of insatiable desire. Her skin glistened with sweat, her thighs slick from her latest conquests, her breasts heaving as she fixed me with a stern, humiliating glare. “Where are the condoms, darling?” she demanded, her voice low and biting, each word a lash that sent a thrill through me. I handed them over, my hands trembling with excitement, but she called one of her friends over—a lean, smug man who inspected the pack. “Wrong flavor,” he sneered, tossing them back at her. She caught them and threw them at my face, her eyes blazing with mock fury. “You idiot,” she hissed, her tone stern and cutting, yet still wrapped in that deceptive sweetness. “If I get pregnant, it’s because of your pathetic delay. Such a useless husband you are.”
Her words stung deliciously, and I grinned, reveling in the humiliation as my caged cock throbbed. Just then, her phone rang—her father. She answered, her voice shifting to a breezy, confident tone, but still laced with that commanding edge. “Papa, I’m busy,” she said, dismissing him curtly. I could hear his muffled voice asking if everything was okay. “Don’t worry, Dad,” she replied, her tone stern but reassuring, “we’re trying to get pregnant. Mom’s always after me, isn’t she? Tell her good news will come soon.” She hung up, her eyes flicking to me with a wicked glint, knowing I’d heard her lie, knowing I’d revel in the secret: her “trying” was a parade of lovers, their cum filling her while I served, locked and denied.
She turned back to her friend, her naked body swaying as she resumed their game, leaving me standing there, ignored but electrified. I learned later she planned to stay in that flat for the next three months, a playground for her insatiable hunger. No one knew how many men she’d fuck—her flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends, an endless network of lovers spiraling out in a web of desire. Her appetite was boundless, a nympho-like force that would make legends pale, and I was thrilled to be her cuck, caught in her orbit.
She began calling me at random, odd hours—midnight, 2 a.m., sometimes in the middle of my office day—demanding condoms with that stern, humiliating tone. “Darling, don’t dawdle,” she’d snap, her voice cutting through my work calls or sleepless nights. “Bring them now, or you’ll regret it.” I’d rush to her, heart pounding with joy, only to find she never bothered with the condoms, her thighs and ass dripping with fresh loads as she beckoned me to clean her. “My sweet,” she’d purr, her voice stern yet loving, “lick me clean—my thighs, my ass, make me perfect for the next.” I’d drop to my knees, my tongue lapping up the thick, salty cum, my tummy filling with their essence as I served, my caged cock aching with pride. She was insatiable, her laughter vibrant, her energy a wildfire, and I loved every humiliating, exhilarating moment of being hers.
Back at the flat, my parents kept pestering me about her absence, but I deflected with a cheerful grin, echoing her father’s excuse: “She’s swamped with an urgent project—very ambitious, you know.” They nodded, oblivious, while I waited for her next call, my body buzzing with unspent desire, my mind alive with her radiant, dominant glory, eager for every thrilling second of our life shaped by her unending desires.
The city life pulsed with the thrilling rhythm of her dominance, my caged cock a constant reminder of my role as her devoted cuck, my heart soaring with cheerful pride at every humiliating, exhilarating moment. For four months, I lived in our new flat, surrounded by my parents’ eager questions about her absence. Their pressure mounted daily—“Where’s your wife? Why isn’t she here?”—but I deflected with a broad grin, my voice steady with practiced ease. “I’m visiting her whenever I can,” I’d say, my caged cock twitching with the secret. “We’re happy, thriving in our own way. Why do you bother? She said it’ll take another two or three months for her project to wrap up.” They’d nod, half-convinced, oblivious to the truth: she was ruling her world from that sleek apartment, her insatiable hunger fed by an endless network of lovers, while I served, cleaned, and reveled in her reign.
Her calls came at odd hours—midnight, 3 a.m., or in the middle of my office day—each one a stern, humiliating command disguised as loving affection. “Darling, bring condoms to the flat,” she’d snap, her voice cutting through my work or sleep. “Don’t dawdle, my sweet, or you’ll regret it.” I’d rush across the city, heart pounding with joy, only to find her stark naked, her body glistening with sweat, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh loads from her latest conquests. “Clean me up, my love,” she’d purr, her tone stern yet tender, “my thighs, my ass—make me perfect for the next.” I’d drop to my knees, my tongue eagerly lapping the thick, salty cum, my tummy filling with their essence as I served, my hunger for food forgotten in the thrill of her dominance. Her appetite was boundless, her laughter vibrant, her energy a wildfire that outshone any nympho, and I loved every second of being hers.
Four months later, the news hit like a delicious shock. Her parents called mine, their voices brimming with excitement: she was pregnant. My parents erupted in joy, planning a baby shower, their chatter filling the flat with plans I hadn’t even been told about. I was the last to know, the news reaching me through their thrilled calls, and the realization sent a rush of exhilaration through me. My caged cock throbbed with pride, not from doubt but from the thrilling certainty that her pregnancy was a testament to her insatiable desires, her endless lovers, and my role as her devoted servant. I grinned, loving the secret we shared, my heart soaring at her power.
She made a single, fleeting visit to our flat, appearing for an hour to show her face to my parents, her presence a radiant performance of control. She arrived in a sheer saree, its fabric clinging to her now softly rounded belly, her curves accentuated by a tight blouse that left little to the imagination. Three men accompanied her, their hands lingering on her hips as she introduced them with a dazzling smile. “These are like my brothers from the office,” she said, her voice sweet but laced with that stern, commanding edge that only I could hear. My parents nodded, charmed, oblivious to the truth: these were her lovers, part of her vast network, their hands claiming her even in this public display. She barely glanced my way, her attention on them, her laughter bright as they fed her snacks, their intimacy a deliberate taunt that thrilled me.
As my parents fawned over her, planning the baby shower, she whispered to me, her voice stern and humiliating, “Keep them happy, darling. You’re so good at this.” I grinned, my caged cock aching with joy, knowing she’d return to her flat, her life of endless pleasure, while I played the devoted husband. She was staying there for at least three more months, her network of lovers—flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends—spiraling out in a web no one could quantify. She’d call me at random, demanding condoms I knew she’d never use, commanding me to clean her dripping thighs and ass, and I’d serve with cheerful pride, my tummy full of her lovers’ cum, my heart alive with her radiant, dominant glory, eager for every thrilling moment of our life shaped by her insatiable desires.
THE BABY SHOWER
As my wife entered her second trimester, I was living in our new city flat, the tight chastity cage around my cock a constant reminder of my role as her devoted cuck. Every moment of her dominance filled me with a joyful thrill, my heart racing with pride at being hers. She stayed in her sleek apartment across the city, her hunger for pleasure as strong as ever, even with her growing pregnancy. I’d drive to her flat for doctor visits, picking her up while my pulse pounded with excitement. She’d step out, glowing with confidence, her pregnant belly only adding to her powerful allure. Her mood swings—intense and unpredictable—were for her lovers to handle, and I’d grin, happy to dodge that chaos while still serving her every desire. After appointments, I’d drop her back at her flat, knowing she’d be swept up by her lovers—flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends—a huge, tangled web of men I couldn’t keep track of. The thought of her being claimed again and again made my caged cock throb with delight.
Her calls came at all hours—midnight, early morning, or right in the middle of my office day. Her voice was sharp and stern, yet wrapped in a sweet tone that made my heart skip. “Darling, bring condoms to my flat—hurry up,” she’d command, her words cutting like a whip. I’d rush over, buzzing with excitement, only to find her naked, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh cum from her lovers. She never used the condoms. “Clean me up, my sweet,” she’d say, her voice firm but laced with fake affection. “My thighs, my ass—make me ready for more.” I’d drop to my knees, my tongue eagerly licking the thick, salty loads, my stomach filling with their cum while I forgot about food, lost in the thrill of serving her. Her pleasure was endless, her energy unstoppable, and I loved every second of being part of her world.
At the end of her second trimester, in her sixth month, she came back to our flat just one day before the baby shower. My parents had pushed for a huge celebration, so we booked a grand, opulent function hall, its chandeliers sparkling, its walls covered in flowing silk, the perfect stage for her commanding presence. She arrived in an outfit that screamed confidence: a tight, low-cut jacket that barely covered her full, milk-heavy breasts, the fabric stretched so tight her nipples peeked through. Over it, she wore a shiny, see-through cotton gown, tied low on her hips, showing off her baby bump in all its glory, a proud sign of her wild desires. She didn’t bother with a dupatta, leaving her chest bare except for a dazzling diamond necklace that sat between her breasts, catching every eye. Her hair flowed free, her perfume filled the air, and her beauty was like a magnet, pulling everyone in the hall toward her.
I stood beside her on stage, grinning as guests cheered me for becoming a dad, but she kept her distance, her body turned away, her eyes avoiding mine, her silent control thrilling me. Photos with my family were stiff—her smile forced, her touches brief—but I loved her indifference, my caged cock throbbing with joy.
Her lovers arrived—men from her flat, their friends, and more, each a potential father. They hugged her tightly, hands lingering on her hips, waist, and swollen belly, their bold closeness electrifying me. She posed for photos with them, arms wrapped around each, her laughter loud as she pressed close, soaking up their attention. No one knew who the real dad was—not her, not them, not me—and the mystery made my role as her cuck even more exciting. As they shook my hand with smug grins, she threw insults, her voice stern but sweet to fool the crowd. “He could never be a father,” she quipped, leaning into a lover, her eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. “Yeah, cuck’s got no dick—locked up tight!” one sneered, the hall roaring with laughter. I grinned wider, my heart soaring with submissive pride, loving the public humiliation. Her family praised her for balancing her “big work project” with family life, clueless that it was a cover for her endless nights with lovers.
After the baby shower, she stayed at our flat, but the quiet domestic routine quickly bored her. One evening, lounging in a sheer robe that hugged her pregnant curves, she fixed me with a stern look, her voice firm yet cloaked in loving affection. “Darling, I’m restless,” she said, her tone sharp and commanding. “We missed our honeymoon, and you’re going to fix that. Book a 20-day trip to Thailand. I want excitement, my sweet.” Her eyes glinted with wicked intent as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a humiliating whisper. “Pregnant women draw more attention, especially foreign men. Let’s make this trip unforgettable.” My heart raced with excitement, my caged cock twitching at her command. Thailand would be her playground, her pregnancy a magnet for new lovers.
I arranged everything: flights, a luxurious beachfront villa in Phuket, and all the details for a 20-day adventure. She wasn’t content to go with just me. “I’m bringing two of my boyfriends,” she declared, her voice stern and unyielding. “They’ll keep me entertained, and you, my humble servant, will handle the rest.” I grinned, thrilled by her words, proud to serve her every whim.
In Thailand, her two boyfriends—tall, confident men from her city flat—took charge, pimping her out with bold enthusiasm. They roamed Bangkok’s vibrant streets and Phuket’s sultry beaches, enticing men with brazen offers: “Pregnant lady ready for a gangbang—come join!” Her pregnancy was a powerful draw, attracting tanned surfers, chiseled tourists, and charming locals, all eager to claim her. She reveled in it, her laughter bright, her energy unstoppable as she surrendered to their desires, her body a canvas for their pleasure. The villa buzzed with her adventures, her moans echoing through the nights, the air thick with the scent of her dominance.
I was her humble servant, carrying bags, fetching drinks, and running errands, my role a thrilling privilege. Her boyfriends would snap at me—mid-afternoon by the pool, late at night—demanding, “Cuck, bring condoms!” I’d rush to obey, my heart pounding with joy, only to find her naked, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh cum from her latest gangbang, the condoms unused. “Clean me up, my sweet,” she’d command, her voice stern and humiliating, yet wrapped in that sweet tone that made my pulse skip. I’d kneel eagerly, my tongue lapping the thick, salty cum from her slick thighs and tight asshole, my stomach filling with their essence as I worked, my hunger for food forgotten in the joy of serving her. Her pleasure was endless, her body trembling with delight, her dominance a radiant force that thrilled me.
She didn’t care who watched—her boyfriends, their recruits, or strangers passing the villa’s open windows. “Look at your wife,” one boyfriend sneered, smacking her ass as she moaned under another man’s touch. “She’s made for this, cuck.” I grinned, my caged cock aching with pride, loving every humiliating moment. Her adventures continued without a care, her pregnancy fueling her allure, drawing more men—foreign and local—into her web. The beaches, clubs, and villa became stages for her gangbangs, her lovers’ hands gripping her swollen belly, her milk-heavy breasts, her hips, while I served, watched, and thrived in her radiant glory.
After our exhilarating 20-day Thailand honeymoon, we returned to our city flat, my heart still racing with the thrill of her radiant dominance. My caged cock throbbed with cheerful pride, every moment of her untamed desires etched into my mind—her gangbangs, her lovers’ hands on her swollen belly, my role as her humble servant. She decided to take a 15-day rest at our flat, her sixth-month pregnancy slowing her just enough to lounge in sheer robes, her curves glowing with power. But her lovers wouldn’t let her rest. Her phone buzzed constantly—calls and messages from her vast network of men, flatmates, their friends, and beyond, all eager for her attention. She’d smile at each notification, her eyes glinting with that familiar hunger, and I’d grin, loving the reminder of her unstoppable allure.
One evening, as my parents sat with us, she put on a masterful performance as the obedient daughter-in-law. Her voice was soft and sweet, but laced with the manipulative charm that thrilled me. “Aunty,” she said, addressing my mother with wide, innocent eyes, “my office is pressuring me to return. My manager says if I don’t go back, I might lose my job. They’re offering to cover all hospital expenses and pay double for skipping my pregnancy leave. I don’t know what to do—please advise me.” Her tone was perfectly hesitant, as if she hadn’t already decided, but I caught the stern glint in her eyes, a silent command that made my caged cock twitch with excitement. She was playing them, ensuring her freedom to indulge her desires under the guise of work.
My mother turned to me, her brow furrowed. “What do you say?” she asked, searching for my input. I grinned, my heart soaring with pride at being her cuck, knowing exactly what she wanted. “I have full trust in my wife,” I said confidently. “She knows how to take care of herself and our baby. Let’s not stop her career growth—plus, they’re paying double and covering expenses. It’s a great opportunity.” My parents nodded, impressed by my support, completely unaware that her “job” was a cover for her endless adventures with her lovers. The thought of her returning to her flat, her body claimed by countless men while I served, sent a rush of joy through me.
She smiled at me, her expression sweet to them but stern and knowing to me, a silent approval of my loyalty. “Thank you, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with affection that hid her dominance. “I’ll make it work.” Within days, she was back at her sleek apartment, her network of lovers—flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends—waiting to resume their claim on her. Her calls resumed at odd hours—midnight, early morning, or mid-office day—her voice stern and commanding. “Darling, come to my flat,” she’d snap, her tone cutting through my routine. I’d rush over, heart pounding with excitement, finding her naked, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh cum from her latest encounters.
For the next three months, she didn’t call—not even for hospital visits. I drove to her flat for her appointments, but she’d dismiss me with a curt, “I’ll handle it, darling,” her voice stern and dismissive, sending a thrill through me. I’d wait in the car, grinning, knowing she was with her lovers, her pregnancy no barrier to her desires. My parents’ questions about her absence grew, but I deflected with a smile: “She’s busy with work, but we’re happy.” They nodded, oblivious, while I reveled in her dominance.
Three months later, in her ninth month, she returned to our flat unannounced, a baby cradled in her arms, her parents by her side. The sight was sudden, a shock that sent a rush of exhilaration through me. My parents, luckily at my office when I got the call, rushed to join us, their faces lighting up at the sight of the baby. “When did you deliver?” they asked, overjoyed. “It’s been 15 days,” she said casually, her voice sweet but firm, offering no details. I wasn’t sure if her parents were there for the birth, but no one pressed her, too enchanted by the baby. Instead of anger or questions, my parents were thrilled, cooing over the child, oblivious to the truth: the baby was the product of her vast network of lovers, and I, her cuck, grinned with pride at the mystery.
She handed the baby to my parents, her eyes already on her buzzing phone, calls pouring in from her lovers. As they fawned over the child, she pulled me aside, her voice stern and humiliating, cloaked in that sweet tone. “Listen, darling,” she said, her eyes glinting with command, “feed the baby formula milk. Manage with your parents. I have to feed my friends—they’re craving my lactating milk.” Her breasts, swollen and leaking slightly, were a new allure, and her lovers were eager to taste her. I nodded, my caged cock throbbing with joy, thrilled by her blunt dismissal. She returned to her calls, arranging to meet her network—flatmates, their friends, and more—all hungry for her now-lactating body.
The day after her sudden return with the baby, we went to the temple as a family, a ritual my parents insisted on to bless the newborn. My wife played the part of the ideal wife flawlessly, her performance a masterclass in deception that thrilled me. She wore traditional clothes—a rich silk saree dbangd elegantly, its vibrant red hugging her curves, her lactating breasts subtly outlined, her baby bump now replaced by the soft fullness of motherhood. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, adorned with jasmine flowers, and she wore simple gold jewelry, her demeanor serene and dutiful as she held the baby, smiling warmly at my parents and the temple priest. To everyone there, she was the perfect daughter-in-law, but I caught the stern glint in her eyes, a silent command that sent a rush of exhilaration through me, my caged cock twitching with pride at her dominance.
I stood beside her, grinning as relatives praised our “happy family,” oblivious to the truth. She barely acknowledged me, her touches fleeting, her focus on the rituals, but the distance only fueled my joy as her devoted cuck. As the ceremony ended, her phone buzzed, and her expression shifted—still sweet for the crowd, but with that familiar edge of control. She handed the baby to my mother, saying in her soft, manipulative tone, “Aunty, I have some urgent work to wrap up. Please take care of the little one.” My parents nodded, charmed, while I grinned, knowing exactly where she was headed.
Outside the temple, her friends—part of her vast network of lovers—waited in a sleek car, their eyes hungry as they watched her approach. She didn’t hesitate, slipping into their car with a radiant smile, her traditional saree a stark contrast to the raw desire in her gaze. “Darling,” she called to me, her voice sweet but stern, “I’ll be at the flat. Manage things here.” Without another word, she left, her lovers’ hands already brushing her hips as the car pulled away, leaving me with my parents and the baby. My heart soared with submissive pride, thrilled by her blatant dismissal, my caged cock aching at the thought of her returning to her playground.
She went straight to her sleek apartment, where her network—flatmates, their friends, and beyond—was waiting, eager to taste her lactating breasts and claim her body. I stayed behind, helping my parents with the baby, feeding it formula milk as she’d instructed, my mind buzzing with images of her indulging her desires. Her calls would come again soon, I knew—random, demanding, at odd hours—summoning me to her flat with condoms she’d never use, her voice stern and humiliating: “Make me ready for more, my sweet.” I’d rush to her, ready to kneel and clean her dripping thighs and tight asshole, my stomach filling with her lovers’ cum, my heart full of cheerful pride. Her life was a whirlwind of pleasure, her network growing ever larger, and as her humble servant, I thrived in every thrilling, humiliating moment of her glorious, untamed reign.
Her parents might have known, playing their part as innocent supporters, but I didn’t care. Life went on, her network of lovers growing, her lactating breasts a new draw for her men. I waited for her summons, ready to clean her dripping body, to soak up her stern insults, to serve as her humble servant in her glorious, untamed reign, every moment a thrilling celebration of the life I craved.
The week after our thrilling hotel escapades, my wife, her father, and I boarded an overnight train to the city, bound for the newly rented flat where my parents awaited to welcome us as the newlywed couple. The train’s gentle sway was a brief respite, my mind buzzing with the exhilarating memories of her insatiable dominance—her naked glory, her vibrant laughter, the loads of cum I’d eagerly lapped from her thighs and tight asshole. I drifted to sleep, my caged cock twitching with cheerful anticipation for our new life in the city, where her desires would reign supreme.
She had other plans, as always. While the train hummed through the night, she rose early, transforming herself into a vision of seductive power. She slipped into a sheer chiffon saree, its transparent fabric clinging to her curves, dipping provocatively below her waist, just above her pubic hair. Her tight, sleeveless blouse hugged her full breasts, accentuating every contour, her nipples faintly visible. Jewels glittered on her—bangles, a necklace nestling in her cleavage, earrings catching the light. Her loose hair cascaded wildly, and a heady scent filled the compartment. She was a goddess, her every move deliberate, radiating a nympho-like hunger that thrilled me to my core.
As the train pulled into the city platform, a group of her new city friends—her latest lovers, no doubt—waited, their eyes blazing with desire. She stepped off, her saree swaying, and threw herself into their arms, hugging them with passionate abandon that turned heads. Some were strangers, introduced by a mutual friend, but she embraced them as if they’d claimed her body for years, her laughter bright, her hands lingering on their chests, their shoulders. The public display sent a jolt of exhilarating pride through me, my caged cock aching as I watched her claim her freedom.
She turned to her father, flashing a charming smile. “Papa,” she said, her voice sweet but commanding, “these are my colleagues. There’s an emergency project at the office, and they’ve come to pick me up. My darling husband will handle everything.” Without a glance my way, she sauntered off with her entourage, their hands brushing her hips, her waist, as they vanished into the crowd. Her father shot me a look, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation, and I grinned, the thrill of her dominance fueling me as I took on the pile of luggage—hers, mine, and our household goods.
At the flat, my parents greeted me warmly, oblivious to her absence. “Where’s your bride?” they asked, excited. Her father jumped in with a convincing excuse, his voice steady. “She’s been called for an urgent work project—she’s very ambitious, you know, a dedicated employee.” I nodded, backing him up with a cheerful grin. “She’ll join us soon,” I said, my caged cock twitching with the secret I held. They bought it, charmed by the lie, while I reveled in the truth: she was indulging her insatiable desires, her body claimed by her new lovers.
For two days, I kept to myself, setting up the flat with care, my heart soaring with pride at serving her, even from afar. But my parents grew restless, pestering me about her whereabouts. “Where’s your wife? When’s she coming?” they pressed, their voices tinged with concern. I tried calling her, but her phone rang unanswered, each silence a delicious reminder of her control. I grinned through their questions, deflecting with vague assurances. “She’s caught up with work,” I’d say, loving the thrill of protecting our secret.
Her father stayed two more days, his patience thinning, before he left, saying, “I’ll be back when my daughter returns.” I nodded, my excitement undimmed, happy to hold the fort alone. A week and two days later, at midnight, my phone buzzed—a call from her, her voice bright and teasing, dripping with that loving warmth that made my pulse race. “Darling, I need you,” she purred. “Bring condoms to the location I’m sending on WhatsApp. Don’t keep me waiting, my love.” The call ended, a map pin dropping with an address across the city.
I rushed out, my heart pounding with exhilaration, grabbing condoms from a 24-hour store. At the address—a sleek apartment building—I tried calling her to get the flat number, but her phone went unanswered, each silence amplifying my thrill. Clueless but buzzing with anticipation, I parked and waited in the car, eventually dozing off, the caged ache in my groin a constant reminder of her reign. The morning sun hit me at 8 a.m., jolting me awake. I tried calling again—no response. My mind raced: should I head to my office, start my day, or wait for her next command? The uncertainty was intoxicating, a testament to her power. I grinned, deciding to wait, my body alive with the joy of being hers, ready to serve whenever she called, eager for the next humiliating, exhilarating moment in our life ruled by her insatiable desire.
I stayed parked, my phone clutched tightly, knowing she was somewhere in that building, her body being claimed by her new friends, her laughter echoing with nympho-like hunger. The thought of her, radiant and untouchable, sent a rush of pride through me, my caged cock throbbing with cheerful submission as I awaited her next move, thrilled to be part of her glorious, dominant world.
At noon, my phone jolted me awake in the car, the sun blazing through the windshield after my restless night parked outside her mystery apartment. Her voice, sharp and stern, cut through the line like a whip, laced with that commanding tone that made my caged cock twitch with exhilarating pride. “Where the hell have you been, darling?” she snapped, her words dripping with humiliating disdain, yet cloaked in the veneer of loving concern. “We waited for you all night! How utterly irresponsible can you be? My sweet husband, letting me down like this?” Her voice was a blade, slicing through my excuses, and I mumbled an apology, my heart racing with the thrill of her dominance, too enthralled to muster the guts to ask for the flat number.
She sighed, her tone shifting to exasperated mockery. “Honestly, my love, you’re hopeless,” she scolded, each word a deliberate jab that fueled my submissive joy. “It’s Flat 12B, top floor. Get here now, and don’t make me wait again.” I scrambled out of the car, condoms in hand, my stomach growling—I hadn’t eaten since the previous morning—but the hunger only amplified my excitement, my role as her devoted cuck more nourishing than any meal.
I reached the sleek apartment building and rang the bell for 12B, my pulse pounding with anticipation. A guy opened the door, his shirt unbuttoned, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wait here, cuck,” he said curtly, slamming the door in my face. I stood in the hallway, grinning despite the hunger gnawing at me, thrilled by the dismissal, my caged cock aching with the joy of being hers. Hours dragged on, the afternoon fading into evening, and she didn’t bother to see me, didn’t acknowledge my presence. The neglect was intoxicating, a testament to her absolute control.
Around evening, the door swung open, and she emerged, stark naked, her body a radiant masterpiece of insatiable desire. Her skin glistened with sweat, her thighs slick from her latest conquests, her breasts heaving as she fixed me with a stern, humiliating glare. “Where are the condoms, darling?” she demanded, her voice low and biting, each word a lash that sent a thrill through me. I handed them over, my hands trembling with excitement, but she called one of her friends over—a lean, smug man who inspected the pack. “Wrong flavor,” he sneered, tossing them back at her. She caught them and threw them at my face, her eyes blazing with mock fury. “You idiot,” she hissed, her tone stern and cutting, yet still wrapped in that deceptive sweetness. “If I get pregnant, it’s because of your pathetic delay. Such a useless husband you are.”
Her words stung deliciously, and I grinned, reveling in the humiliation as my caged cock throbbed. Just then, her phone rang—her father. She answered, her voice shifting to a breezy, confident tone, but still laced with that commanding edge. “Papa, I’m busy,” she said, dismissing him curtly. I could hear his muffled voice asking if everything was okay. “Don’t worry, Dad,” she replied, her tone stern but reassuring, “we’re trying to get pregnant. Mom’s always after me, isn’t she? Tell her good news will come soon.” She hung up, her eyes flicking to me with a wicked glint, knowing I’d heard her lie, knowing I’d revel in the secret: her “trying” was a parade of lovers, their cum filling her while I served, locked and denied.
She turned back to her friend, her naked body swaying as she resumed their game, leaving me standing there, ignored but electrified. I learned later she planned to stay in that flat for the next three months, a playground for her insatiable hunger. No one knew how many men she’d fuck—her flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends, an endless network of lovers spiraling out in a web of desire. Her appetite was boundless, a nympho-like force that would make legends pale, and I was thrilled to be her cuck, caught in her orbit.
She began calling me at random, odd hours—midnight, 2 a.m., sometimes in the middle of my office day—demanding condoms with that stern, humiliating tone. “Darling, don’t dawdle,” she’d snap, her voice cutting through my work calls or sleepless nights. “Bring them now, or you’ll regret it.” I’d rush to her, heart pounding with joy, only to find she never bothered with the condoms, her thighs and ass dripping with fresh loads as she beckoned me to clean her. “My sweet,” she’d purr, her voice stern yet loving, “lick me clean—my thighs, my ass, make me perfect for the next.” I’d drop to my knees, my tongue lapping up the thick, salty cum, my tummy filling with their essence as I served, my caged cock aching with pride. She was insatiable, her laughter vibrant, her energy a wildfire, and I loved every humiliating, exhilarating moment of being hers.
Back at the flat, my parents kept pestering me about her absence, but I deflected with a cheerful grin, echoing her father’s excuse: “She’s swamped with an urgent project—very ambitious, you know.” They nodded, oblivious, while I waited for her next call, my body buzzing with unspent desire, my mind alive with her radiant, dominant glory, eager for every thrilling second of our life shaped by her unending desires.
The city life pulsed with the thrilling rhythm of her dominance, my caged cock a constant reminder of my role as her devoted cuck, my heart soaring with cheerful pride at every humiliating, exhilarating moment. For four months, I lived in our new flat, surrounded by my parents’ eager questions about her absence. Their pressure mounted daily—“Where’s your wife? Why isn’t she here?”—but I deflected with a broad grin, my voice steady with practiced ease. “I’m visiting her whenever I can,” I’d say, my caged cock twitching with the secret. “We’re happy, thriving in our own way. Why do you bother? She said it’ll take another two or three months for her project to wrap up.” They’d nod, half-convinced, oblivious to the truth: she was ruling her world from that sleek apartment, her insatiable hunger fed by an endless network of lovers, while I served, cleaned, and reveled in her reign.
Her calls came at odd hours—midnight, 3 a.m., or in the middle of my office day—each one a stern, humiliating command disguised as loving affection. “Darling, bring condoms to the flat,” she’d snap, her voice cutting through my work or sleep. “Don’t dawdle, my sweet, or you’ll regret it.” I’d rush across the city, heart pounding with joy, only to find her stark naked, her body glistening with sweat, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh loads from her latest conquests. “Clean me up, my love,” she’d purr, her tone stern yet tender, “my thighs, my ass—make me perfect for the next.” I’d drop to my knees, my tongue eagerly lapping the thick, salty cum, my tummy filling with their essence as I served, my hunger for food forgotten in the thrill of her dominance. Her appetite was boundless, her laughter vibrant, her energy a wildfire that outshone any nympho, and I loved every second of being hers.
Four months later, the news hit like a delicious shock. Her parents called mine, their voices brimming with excitement: she was pregnant. My parents erupted in joy, planning a baby shower, their chatter filling the flat with plans I hadn’t even been told about. I was the last to know, the news reaching me through their thrilled calls, and the realization sent a rush of exhilaration through me. My caged cock throbbed with pride, not from doubt but from the thrilling certainty that her pregnancy was a testament to her insatiable desires, her endless lovers, and my role as her devoted servant. I grinned, loving the secret we shared, my heart soaring at her power.
She made a single, fleeting visit to our flat, appearing for an hour to show her face to my parents, her presence a radiant performance of control. She arrived in a sheer saree, its fabric clinging to her now softly rounded belly, her curves accentuated by a tight blouse that left little to the imagination. Three men accompanied her, their hands lingering on her hips as she introduced them with a dazzling smile. “These are like my brothers from the office,” she said, her voice sweet but laced with that stern, commanding edge that only I could hear. My parents nodded, charmed, oblivious to the truth: these were her lovers, part of her vast network, their hands claiming her even in this public display. She barely glanced my way, her attention on them, her laughter bright as they fed her snacks, their intimacy a deliberate taunt that thrilled me.
As my parents fawned over her, planning the baby shower, she whispered to me, her voice stern and humiliating, “Keep them happy, darling. You’re so good at this.” I grinned, my caged cock aching with joy, knowing she’d return to her flat, her life of endless pleasure, while I played the devoted husband. She was staying there for at least three more months, her network of lovers—flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends—spiraling out in a web no one could quantify. She’d call me at random, demanding condoms I knew she’d never use, commanding me to clean her dripping thighs and ass, and I’d serve with cheerful pride, my tummy full of her lovers’ cum, my heart alive with her radiant, dominant glory, eager for every thrilling moment of our life shaped by her insatiable desires.
THE BABY SHOWER
As my wife entered her second trimester, I was living in our new city flat, the tight chastity cage around my cock a constant reminder of my role as her devoted cuck. Every moment of her dominance filled me with a joyful thrill, my heart racing with pride at being hers. She stayed in her sleek apartment across the city, her hunger for pleasure as strong as ever, even with her growing pregnancy. I’d drive to her flat for doctor visits, picking her up while my pulse pounded with excitement. She’d step out, glowing with confidence, her pregnant belly only adding to her powerful allure. Her mood swings—intense and unpredictable—were for her lovers to handle, and I’d grin, happy to dodge that chaos while still serving her every desire. After appointments, I’d drop her back at her flat, knowing she’d be swept up by her lovers—flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends—a huge, tangled web of men I couldn’t keep track of. The thought of her being claimed again and again made my caged cock throb with delight.
Her calls came at all hours—midnight, early morning, or right in the middle of my office day. Her voice was sharp and stern, yet wrapped in a sweet tone that made my heart skip. “Darling, bring condoms to my flat—hurry up,” she’d command, her words cutting like a whip. I’d rush over, buzzing with excitement, only to find her naked, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh cum from her lovers. She never used the condoms. “Clean me up, my sweet,” she’d say, her voice firm but laced with fake affection. “My thighs, my ass—make me ready for more.” I’d drop to my knees, my tongue eagerly licking the thick, salty loads, my stomach filling with their cum while I forgot about food, lost in the thrill of serving her. Her pleasure was endless, her energy unstoppable, and I loved every second of being part of her world.
At the end of her second trimester, in her sixth month, she came back to our flat just one day before the baby shower. My parents had pushed for a huge celebration, so we booked a grand, opulent function hall, its chandeliers sparkling, its walls covered in flowing silk, the perfect stage for her commanding presence. She arrived in an outfit that screamed confidence: a tight, low-cut jacket that barely covered her full, milk-heavy breasts, the fabric stretched so tight her nipples peeked through. Over it, she wore a shiny, see-through cotton gown, tied low on her hips, showing off her baby bump in all its glory, a proud sign of her wild desires. She didn’t bother with a dupatta, leaving her chest bare except for a dazzling diamond necklace that sat between her breasts, catching every eye. Her hair flowed free, her perfume filled the air, and her beauty was like a magnet, pulling everyone in the hall toward her.
I stood beside her on stage, grinning as guests cheered me for becoming a dad, but she kept her distance, her body turned away, her eyes avoiding mine, her silent control thrilling me. Photos with my family were stiff—her smile forced, her touches brief—but I loved her indifference, my caged cock throbbing with joy.
Her lovers arrived—men from her flat, their friends, and more, each a potential father. They hugged her tightly, hands lingering on her hips, waist, and swollen belly, their bold closeness electrifying me. She posed for photos with them, arms wrapped around each, her laughter loud as she pressed close, soaking up their attention. No one knew who the real dad was—not her, not them, not me—and the mystery made my role as her cuck even more exciting. As they shook my hand with smug grins, she threw insults, her voice stern but sweet to fool the crowd. “He could never be a father,” she quipped, leaning into a lover, her eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. “Yeah, cuck’s got no dick—locked up tight!” one sneered, the hall roaring with laughter. I grinned wider, my heart soaring with submissive pride, loving the public humiliation. Her family praised her for balancing her “big work project” with family life, clueless that it was a cover for her endless nights with lovers.
After the baby shower, she stayed at our flat, but the quiet domestic routine quickly bored her. One evening, lounging in a sheer robe that hugged her pregnant curves, she fixed me with a stern look, her voice firm yet cloaked in loving affection. “Darling, I’m restless,” she said, her tone sharp and commanding. “We missed our honeymoon, and you’re going to fix that. Book a 20-day trip to Thailand. I want excitement, my sweet.” Her eyes glinted with wicked intent as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a humiliating whisper. “Pregnant women draw more attention, especially foreign men. Let’s make this trip unforgettable.” My heart raced with excitement, my caged cock twitching at her command. Thailand would be her playground, her pregnancy a magnet for new lovers.
I arranged everything: flights, a luxurious beachfront villa in Phuket, and all the details for a 20-day adventure. She wasn’t content to go with just me. “I’m bringing two of my boyfriends,” she declared, her voice stern and unyielding. “They’ll keep me entertained, and you, my humble servant, will handle the rest.” I grinned, thrilled by her words, proud to serve her every whim.
In Thailand, her two boyfriends—tall, confident men from her city flat—took charge, pimping her out with bold enthusiasm. They roamed Bangkok’s vibrant streets and Phuket’s sultry beaches, enticing men with brazen offers: “Pregnant lady ready for a gangbang—come join!” Her pregnancy was a powerful draw, attracting tanned surfers, chiseled tourists, and charming locals, all eager to claim her. She reveled in it, her laughter bright, her energy unstoppable as she surrendered to their desires, her body a canvas for their pleasure. The villa buzzed with her adventures, her moans echoing through the nights, the air thick with the scent of her dominance.
I was her humble servant, carrying bags, fetching drinks, and running errands, my role a thrilling privilege. Her boyfriends would snap at me—mid-afternoon by the pool, late at night—demanding, “Cuck, bring condoms!” I’d rush to obey, my heart pounding with joy, only to find her naked, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh cum from her latest gangbang, the condoms unused. “Clean me up, my sweet,” she’d command, her voice stern and humiliating, yet wrapped in that sweet tone that made my pulse skip. I’d kneel eagerly, my tongue lapping the thick, salty cum from her slick thighs and tight asshole, my stomach filling with their essence as I worked, my hunger for food forgotten in the joy of serving her. Her pleasure was endless, her body trembling with delight, her dominance a radiant force that thrilled me.
She didn’t care who watched—her boyfriends, their recruits, or strangers passing the villa’s open windows. “Look at your wife,” one boyfriend sneered, smacking her ass as she moaned under another man’s touch. “She’s made for this, cuck.” I grinned, my caged cock aching with pride, loving every humiliating moment. Her adventures continued without a care, her pregnancy fueling her allure, drawing more men—foreign and local—into her web. The beaches, clubs, and villa became stages for her gangbangs, her lovers’ hands gripping her swollen belly, her milk-heavy breasts, her hips, while I served, watched, and thrived in her radiant glory.
After our exhilarating 20-day Thailand honeymoon, we returned to our city flat, my heart still racing with the thrill of her radiant dominance. My caged cock throbbed with cheerful pride, every moment of her untamed desires etched into my mind—her gangbangs, her lovers’ hands on her swollen belly, my role as her humble servant. She decided to take a 15-day rest at our flat, her sixth-month pregnancy slowing her just enough to lounge in sheer robes, her curves glowing with power. But her lovers wouldn’t let her rest. Her phone buzzed constantly—calls and messages from her vast network of men, flatmates, their friends, and beyond, all eager for her attention. She’d smile at each notification, her eyes glinting with that familiar hunger, and I’d grin, loving the reminder of her unstoppable allure.
One evening, as my parents sat with us, she put on a masterful performance as the obedient daughter-in-law. Her voice was soft and sweet, but laced with the manipulative charm that thrilled me. “Aunty,” she said, addressing my mother with wide, innocent eyes, “my office is pressuring me to return. My manager says if I don’t go back, I might lose my job. They’re offering to cover all hospital expenses and pay double for skipping my pregnancy leave. I don’t know what to do—please advise me.” Her tone was perfectly hesitant, as if she hadn’t already decided, but I caught the stern glint in her eyes, a silent command that made my caged cock twitch with excitement. She was playing them, ensuring her freedom to indulge her desires under the guise of work.
My mother turned to me, her brow furrowed. “What do you say?” she asked, searching for my input. I grinned, my heart soaring with pride at being her cuck, knowing exactly what she wanted. “I have full trust in my wife,” I said confidently. “She knows how to take care of herself and our baby. Let’s not stop her career growth—plus, they’re paying double and covering expenses. It’s a great opportunity.” My parents nodded, impressed by my support, completely unaware that her “job” was a cover for her endless adventures with her lovers. The thought of her returning to her flat, her body claimed by countless men while I served, sent a rush of joy through me.
She smiled at me, her expression sweet to them but stern and knowing to me, a silent approval of my loyalty. “Thank you, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with affection that hid her dominance. “I’ll make it work.” Within days, she was back at her sleek apartment, her network of lovers—flatmates, their friends, their friends’ friends—waiting to resume their claim on her. Her calls resumed at odd hours—midnight, early morning, or mid-office day—her voice stern and commanding. “Darling, come to my flat,” she’d snap, her tone cutting through my routine. I’d rush over, heart pounding with excitement, finding her naked, her thighs and tight asshole dripping with fresh cum from her latest encounters.
For the next three months, she didn’t call—not even for hospital visits. I drove to her flat for her appointments, but she’d dismiss me with a curt, “I’ll handle it, darling,” her voice stern and dismissive, sending a thrill through me. I’d wait in the car, grinning, knowing she was with her lovers, her pregnancy no barrier to her desires. My parents’ questions about her absence grew, but I deflected with a smile: “She’s busy with work, but we’re happy.” They nodded, oblivious, while I reveled in her dominance.
Three months later, in her ninth month, she returned to our flat unannounced, a baby cradled in her arms, her parents by her side. The sight was sudden, a shock that sent a rush of exhilaration through me. My parents, luckily at my office when I got the call, rushed to join us, their faces lighting up at the sight of the baby. “When did you deliver?” they asked, overjoyed. “It’s been 15 days,” she said casually, her voice sweet but firm, offering no details. I wasn’t sure if her parents were there for the birth, but no one pressed her, too enchanted by the baby. Instead of anger or questions, my parents were thrilled, cooing over the child, oblivious to the truth: the baby was the product of her vast network of lovers, and I, her cuck, grinned with pride at the mystery.
She handed the baby to my parents, her eyes already on her buzzing phone, calls pouring in from her lovers. As they fawned over the child, she pulled me aside, her voice stern and humiliating, cloaked in that sweet tone. “Listen, darling,” she said, her eyes glinting with command, “feed the baby formula milk. Manage with your parents. I have to feed my friends—they’re craving my lactating milk.” Her breasts, swollen and leaking slightly, were a new allure, and her lovers were eager to taste her. I nodded, my caged cock throbbing with joy, thrilled by her blunt dismissal. She returned to her calls, arranging to meet her network—flatmates, their friends, and more—all hungry for her now-lactating body.
The day after her sudden return with the baby, we went to the temple as a family, a ritual my parents insisted on to bless the newborn. My wife played the part of the ideal wife flawlessly, her performance a masterclass in deception that thrilled me. She wore traditional clothes—a rich silk saree dbangd elegantly, its vibrant red hugging her curves, her lactating breasts subtly outlined, her baby bump now replaced by the soft fullness of motherhood. Her hair was tied in a neat bun, adorned with jasmine flowers, and she wore simple gold jewelry, her demeanor serene and dutiful as she held the baby, smiling warmly at my parents and the temple priest. To everyone there, she was the perfect daughter-in-law, but I caught the stern glint in her eyes, a silent command that sent a rush of exhilaration through me, my caged cock twitching with pride at her dominance.
I stood beside her, grinning as relatives praised our “happy family,” oblivious to the truth. She barely acknowledged me, her touches fleeting, her focus on the rituals, but the distance only fueled my joy as her devoted cuck. As the ceremony ended, her phone buzzed, and her expression shifted—still sweet for the crowd, but with that familiar edge of control. She handed the baby to my mother, saying in her soft, manipulative tone, “Aunty, I have some urgent work to wrap up. Please take care of the little one.” My parents nodded, charmed, while I grinned, knowing exactly where she was headed.
Outside the temple, her friends—part of her vast network of lovers—waited in a sleek car, their eyes hungry as they watched her approach. She didn’t hesitate, slipping into their car with a radiant smile, her traditional saree a stark contrast to the raw desire in her gaze. “Darling,” she called to me, her voice sweet but stern, “I’ll be at the flat. Manage things here.” Without another word, she left, her lovers’ hands already brushing her hips as the car pulled away, leaving me with my parents and the baby. My heart soared with submissive pride, thrilled by her blatant dismissal, my caged cock aching at the thought of her returning to her playground.
She went straight to her sleek apartment, where her network—flatmates, their friends, and beyond—was waiting, eager to taste her lactating breasts and claim her body. I stayed behind, helping my parents with the baby, feeding it formula milk as she’d instructed, my mind buzzing with images of her indulging her desires. Her calls would come again soon, I knew—random, demanding, at odd hours—summoning me to her flat with condoms she’d never use, her voice stern and humiliating: “Make me ready for more, my sweet.” I’d rush to her, ready to kneel and clean her dripping thighs and tight asshole, my stomach filling with her lovers’ cum, my heart full of cheerful pride. Her life was a whirlwind of pleasure, her network growing ever larger, and as her humble servant, I thrived in every thrilling, humiliating moment of her glorious, untamed reign.
Her parents might have known, playing their part as innocent supporters, but I didn’t care. Life went on, her network of lovers growing, her lactating breasts a new draw for her men. I waited for her summons, ready to clean her dripping body, to soak up her stern insults, to serve as her humble servant in her glorious, untamed reign, every moment a thrilling celebration of the life I craved.
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