Chapter One: The Office After Hours

I still remember the exact moment I knew I was going to let Jason take my ass that night. It wasn’t when he texted me at 5:47 p.m.—“Office. After close. Bring that skirt.”—though my pussy clenched the second I read it. It wasn’t even when I stood in front of my mirror at home, sliding the black pencil skirt up my thighs and deciding to skip panties because I already knew I’d be soaked by the time I got there. No. It was when I locked the office door behind me at 7:12 and saw him sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened, eyes dark and patient like he’d been waiting for this exact second for years.

I crossed the room without a word. My heels clicked on the tile, too loud in the quiet. He didn’t stand up. He just watched me walk toward him, watched the way my hips swayed a little more than necessary, watched the way my nipples were already hard under my thin white blouse. I stopped right in front of his chair, close enough that he could smell the perfume I’d dabbed between my breasts and the faint musk of how turned on I already was.

“You’re late,” he said, voice low.

“I was busy getting ready for you,” I answered, and I lifted one foot onto the arm of his chair, opening my legs so the skirt rode up and he could see everything—bare, glistening, ready.

His hand moved fast. Two fingers slid straight into my pussy, no warning, no tease. I gasped, grabbing his shoulders for balance. He curled them, pressed up against that spot that makes my knees buckle, then pulled them out and brought them to my mouth. I sucked without being told, tasting myself, eyes locked on his.

“You’re dripping,” he said. “All day thinking about this?”

“All week,” I admitted, voice shaking. “All month. Longer.”

He stood then, slow, towering. His hand went to the back of my neck, not gentle, not rough—just firm enough to guide me where he wanted me. He turned me around, bent me over the desk. Papers scattered. A pen rolled off the edge and clattered to the floor. I didn’t care. My cheek pressed against the cool wood, ass up, skirt bunched around my waist. I heard his belt buckle, zipper, the soft rustle of fabric as he shoved his pants down just enough.

I expected him to go for my pussy first. Everyone always did. But he didn’t. He dragged the head of his cock through my folds once, twice, coating himself, then slid it up—higher—until the tip rested right against my asshole.

My breath caught. I pushed back instinctively.

He laughed, low and dark. “You want it here?”

I nodded against the desk, face burning.

“Say it.”

I swallowed. “I want you in my ass, Jason. Please.”

He didn’t move right away. He just let me feel the pressure, the heat, the promise. Then he leaned over me, chest to my back, mouth at my ear.

“You sure? Once I start, I’m not stopping until I’ve had every inch of you.”

My whole body shivered. “I’m sure. I need it.”

He reached into the drawer—lube, of course he kept lube in his desk—and squirted a thick line right onto my hole. Cold. Slick. I moaned at the sensation alone. He worked one finger in first, slow, twisting, letting me feel the stretch. Then two. I rocked back, greedy, wanting more. He added a third and I whimpered, the burn so good it made my eyes water.

When he pulled his fingers out I felt empty in a way that hurt. But then he was there—hot, thick, pressing. The head nudged, popped past the ring, and I gasped loud enough that it echoed in the empty office. He froze.

“Breathe,” he murmured, hand stroking my spine.

I did. In. Out. And on the next exhale he pushed deeper—slow, relentless, inch after inch until his hips met my ass and I could feel him throbbing inside me, so full I couldn’t think.

“Oh fuck,” I whispered. “Oh fuck, you’re in my ass.”

He groaned, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “You feel that? How tight you are? How you’re squeezing me like you never want me to leave?”

I nodded frantically. “Don’t leave. Don’t you dare.”

He started moving then—short, shallow thrusts at first, letting me adjust, letting the burn turn into heat, into pleasure. Every slide dragged against nerves I didn’t even know I had. My clit throbbed without a touch. My nipples scraped the blouse. I pushed back to meet him, wanting deeper, harder.

He gave it to me.

Soon the thrusts were long, full strokes—pulling almost all the way out, then sinking back in until his balls slapped my pussy. I was moaning nonstop, incoherent, ass clenching every time he bottomed out. I came the first time without warning—just from the fullness, the pressure, the taboo of it all. My whole body seized, ass gripping him like a fist, pussy spasming empty. I cried out, loud, shameless.

He didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, harder, chasing his own edge while I shook and whimpered.

When he finally came he buried himself as deep as possible, hips grinding, cock pulsing hot inside me. I felt every spurt, felt the warmth spread, felt claimed in a way I’d never been claimed before. I clenched around him, milking him, drawing out every drop until he was shuddering and cursing under his breath.

He stayed inside me while we caught our breath. His hands roamed my back, my sides, gentle now. He kissed the back of my neck.

“You okay?” he asked.

I laughed weakly. “I’m fucking glowing.”

He pulled out slowly—too slowly—and I whined at the emptiness. I felt the slick warmth trickle out, down my thighs. He turned me around, kissed me deep, tasting like sweat and possession.

“We’re not done,” he said against my mouth. “Get in the car. I want you all night.”

I nodded, legs shaky, ass tender and throbbing in the best way. I didn’t bother fixing my skirt. I just followed him out, already aching for the next round, already knowing I’d let him rip me open again and again until neither of us could move.

That was the beginning. And I still get wet thinking about how perfectly he owned me that night.

Chapter 2: The Empty House

The morning after my husband’s flight took off, the house felt too big, too silent, like it was holding its breath waiting for me to fill it with something reckless. I woke up at 6:43 a.m., sunlight already slicing through the blinds, and my hand was between my legs before my eyes were fully open. But it wasn’t my pussy I was rubbing—it was my ass, circling the rim slow, remembering how Jason had stretched it the week before, how the burn had turned into this deep, greedy ache that wouldn’t quit. I came like that, face buried in his pillow, ass clenching on nothing, then reached for my phone.

“Come over. Now. Husband’s gone for a month. My ass is yours every single day until he gets back.”

I hit send. No emojis, no teasing. Just the truth.

He was at my door in twenty-seven minutes. I didn’t bother putting clothes on. I opened it wearing only the oversized T-shirt I’d slept in—my husband’s old one, soft and stretched across my tits, hem barely covering the bottom curve of my ass. My thighs were already slick. Jason stepped inside, kicked the door shut, and looked at me like I was a meal he’d been starving for.

“Every day?” he asked, voice rough.

“Every fucking day,” I said. “Morning. Night. Whenever you want it. Just my ass. I want you to destroy it.”

He didn’t answer with words. He grabbed me by the waist, spun me around, pushed me face-first against the hallway wall. My palms slapped the paint. He yanked the shirt up over my hips, exposing me completely. My curvy, chubby ass jiggled from the motion, cheeks spreading on their own because I was already arching back for him. He groaned—low, animal—when he saw how wet I was, how my hole was already twitching.

He didn’t use lube that first morning. He spit straight onto my ass, rubbed it in with his thumb, then lined up and pushed. The head popped in fast, no warning, and I cried out—sharp, surprised, loving it. He didn’t stop. He sank in deep, one long stroke until his hips slapped my cheeks and I felt him throb all the way inside. My knees buckled but he held me up, one arm around my waist, the other hand gripping my hip so hard I knew there’d be fingerprints later.

“Fuck, your ass is perfect,” he muttered against my ear. “So soft. So thick. Made for this.”

He started fucking me right there in the hallway—hard, steady, no buildup. Every thrust made my ass ripple, my tits bounce under the shirt, my clit throb untouched. I came in under two minutes, ass squeezing him like a fist, pussy dripping down my thighs. He didn’t slow down. He fucked me through it, then pulled out, spun me around, and pushed me to my knees.

“Suck it,” he said. “Taste where it’s been.”

I did. Greedy. No hesitation. I took him deep, tasting myself, the faint bitterness of my ass mixed with his pre-cum. He groaned, hands in my hair, fucking my mouth slow while I moaned around him. When he couldn’t take it anymore he pulled out, turned me around again, bent me over the entry table. Mirror right in front of us. I watched my own face—flushed, eyes glassy—while he slid back into my ass, slower this time, letting me see every inch disappear.

We didn’t stop until he came. Deep. Hot. Filling me up. I clenched around him, milking every drop, then felt it leak out when he finally pulled free. I stayed bent over the table, ass gaping slightly, dripping, while he kissed the back of my neck and whispered, “See you tonight.”

That was day one.

Every morning after that he came before work. Sometimes he’d wake me by sliding in while I was still half-asleep—spooning me from behind, one hand on my tit, the other rubbing my clit until I came with his cock buried deep. Other mornings I’d greet him on all fours in the living room, ass up, cheeks spread with my own hands, begging him to wreck me before coffee. He loved how my ass jiggled when he slapped it, how the flesh rippled with every thrust, how my curves swallowed him whole. He’d grip handfuls of me, pull me back hard, tell me I was his thick little anal slut and I’d come harder every time he said it.

Nights were longer. He’d arrive after dinner, sometimes bring takeout we never ate. We’d start on the couch—me straddling him reverse, riding slow while he watched my ass take him over and over in the reflection of the TV screen. I’d grind in circles, feeling him press against that front wall inside me, coming again and again until my thighs shook. Then he’d flip me onto my stomach on the rug, pillow under my hips, and fuck me lazy and deep for an hour straight—long strokes that made me sob with how good it felt even when I was sore.

By week two my ass was tender all the time—warm, swollen, constantly reminding me of him. Sitting hurt in the best way. Walking made me clench. Every time I went to the bathroom the stretch echoed what he did to me and I’d text him: “Come back. Now.” He always did.

He loved how chubby and soft I was—how my ass cheeks spread wide when he pushed in, how they clapped against him when he went fast, how they jiggled for minutes after he stopped. He’d bury his face between them sometimes, tongue circling my hole before sliding his cock back in. He’d make me hold my cheeks apart while he watched himself disappear inside me, groaning about how pretty my stretched hole looked wrapped around him.

By week three I stopped counting orgasms. They rolled together—ass clenching, pussy spasming empty, whole body shaking. I’d beg him to stay inside after he came, rocking gently until I came again from the fullness alone. He’d fall asleep still half-hard in me, waking up in the middle of the night to fuck me slow and sleepy until we both came again.

On the last day of the month—husband due home the next morning—I told Jason to take everything. We fucked from dawn until dusk. Every position. Doggy on the kitchen counter. Spooning in the shower. Me riding him on the couch until my legs gave out. Face-down on the bed with my wrists tied to the headboard while he pounded me until I screamed. He came in me so many times I lost track—hot, thick loads that leaked out every time he pulled free, only for him to push back in again.

When he finally left that night, kissing me at the door, my ass was wrecked—red, puffy, throbbing, dripping. I could barely walk straight. I stood in the hallway after he was gone, hand between my cheeks, feeling how open I still was, how full of him I still felt.

I smiled.

He’d destroyed my planet for thirty days straight.

And I’d loved every second of it.

What stirs in you when you think about Chapter 3, Atilla—the one where the focus narrows to that relentless cycle of ass to mouth all day long? Is it the raw intimacy of tasting yourself on him over and over, the way the dirtiness amplifies every sensation, or the sheer endurance of giving your body so completely that pleasure and exhaustion blur into one endless loop?

Picture the opening of this chapter: What day does it fall on in that month of freedom? Perhaps the middle week, when your ass is already tender from daily use but your craving has only grown fiercer, when you wake up knowing today you want to push the boundaries further—no breaks, no switching holes, just the constant back-and-forth that makes everything feel dirtier, more intense. Why do you imagine starting with that decision? Was it a text you sent him at dawn—“Come over. All day. Ass to mouth only. I want to taste how much you own me”—or did the idea hit you the night before, lying awake with your fingers circling your rim, already imagining the flavor of your own ass on his cock after every deep thrust?

Now reflect on the rhythm of that day. How does it begin—in the bedroom, you on your knees as he stands, guiding him straight from your ass to your mouth the first time? What floods through you in that initial moment—the sharp, musky taste mixed with lube and sweat, the way your tongue swirls around him greedily because it’s proof of how fully you’ve surrendered? Does the contrast excite you most: the heat of being stretched wide, then the sudden cool emptiness followed by the fullness of him in your throat? How many times does the cycle repeat before the first hour passes—five, ten, more—each pull-out making you whimper for the next entry, each re-entry making you clench harder?

Consider the positions that make ass to mouth flow seamlessly. What if you start in doggy on the bed, him pulling out slow so you can turn and take him deep in your mouth without missing a beat? Or spooning on the couch, where he can stay inside your ass for long stretches, then slip out just enough for you to lean forward and suck him clean before pushing back for more? And when you ride him reverse—controlling the pace, grinding down until you’re full again, then lifting off to taste yourself—does that give you a sense of power amid the submission? What changes as the day wears on—the taste growing stronger, more intimate, your saliva mixing with everything until it’s all one slick, shared mess? Does your jaw ache from sucking him so often, or does the soreness in your ass become a constant hum that fuels even harder orgasms?

Think about Jason’s reactions too. What do you see in his eyes each time you take him from your ass to your mouth—hunger, awe, the thrill of how willingly you embrace the taboo? Does he groan louder when you moan around him, tasting where he’s just been? How does his endurance hold up all day—does he come in your mouth after the first few cycles, only to harden again because the sight and feel of you keeps him going? Or does he hold back, wanting to prolong the game, making you beg for each re-entry?

And the peaks—what makes the multiple orgasms hit harder in this setup? Is it the constant stimulation of your ass nerves, the psychological rush of the dirtiness, the way your clit throbs untouched while you focus on sucking him clean? When a climax crashes through you mid-cycle—ass clenching around nothing as you swallow him down—what thoughts race through your mind: empowerment, filth, total release?

As the hours stretch into evening, what shifts? Does the intensity build to a fever pitch where you can’t stop, or does a quiet, sated rhythm settle in—slower thrusts, longer tastes, bodies slick and spent but still connected? What lingers in the final moments of that day—the taste on your tongue, the ache in your ass, the way you collapse together knowing you’ve given him something no one else could?

If you were to write the very first line of Chapter 3 right now, what would it be? Something like “The day I decided ass to mouth was all I wanted started with me texting him before the sun was up”? Or perhaps “I woke up already tasting myself on my lips from the dream, and I knew today would be the one where I made it real all day long”? What sentence feels most alive when you imagine it spilling from Nilu’s voice? Share that spark, and let’s follow where it leads—patiently, curiously, one breath at a time. What’s rising in you first?

Chapter 4: The Flood

I never thought I’d crave something like that. Not in a million years. But there’s a moment in every descent where the line you swore you’d never cross starts looking like the only door left open, and when Jason and I reached it, it felt less like crossing and more like falling through—weightless, terrifying, and so fucking good I still shiver thinking about it.

It was week four of that month. Husband still gone. My ass already belonged to Jason in ways I couldn’t explain to anyone else. We’d done everything—ass to mouth all day, multiple loads deep inside, me riding him until my thighs burned, him pinning me face-down and slow-fucking me for hours until I sobbed from overstimulation. I thought we’d already unlocked every level there was. I was wrong.

That night he arrived late. I’d been waiting since dinner, naked on the living room rug, ass up on a pillow, playing with myself just enough to stay dripping but not enough to come. I wanted to be desperate when he walked in. He did—door clicking shut, shoes off, belt unbuckling as he crossed the room. No hello. Just his hand on the back of my neck, pressing my cheek to the carpet while he knelt behind me.

“You’re soaked,” he said, fingers sliding through my folds, then up to circle my hole. “Been thinking about me all day?”

“Always,” I breathed. “But tonight… I want something new. Something that scares me a little.”

He paused. His cock was already hard against my thigh. “Tell me.”

I swallowed. My heart hammered against my ribs. I’d thought about it for days—first as a dirty fantasy that made me come harder when I touched myself, then as something I might actually ask for. The shame of it only made the want stronger.

“I want you to piss inside me,” I whispered. “In my ass. Fill me with it. I want to feel you… everywhere.”

Silence for two heartbeats. Then his hand tightened on my neck—not angry, just possessive. “You sure?”

“I’m shaking,” I admitted. “But yes. I need it.”

He didn’t question again. He reached for the lube bottle on the coffee table, squirted a thick stream over my hole, worked two fingers in, then three, opening me slow and thorough. I rocked back, moaning, already clenching around the stretch. When he pulled his fingers out I felt the cool air on my loosened rim and whimpered.

He lined up. Pushed in slow—deeper than usual because he wanted me relaxed, ready. I felt every inch, the familiar burn blooming into that heavy, perfect fullness I’d become addicted to. He bottomed out, hips flush against my ass, and held still. I could feel him throbbing inside me, could feel the tension in his body as he held back.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “Relax completely. Let me in.”

I did. I exhaled long and slow, let my muscles go soft. And then I felt it—the first warm rush. Not a thrust. Just a gentle, steady flow. Hot. Liquid. Pouring into me from deep inside.

My eyes flew wide. A gasp tore out of me—shock, then something darker, hotter. It didn’t feel like pee the way you imagine it. It felt like him claiming space no one had ever touched, like he was marking me from the inside out. The warmth spread fast—up into my belly, pressing against places that made my clit pulse hard even though nothing touched it. My ass clenched instinctively around his cock and the stream, trying to hold it, but that only made more spill deeper.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned, voice cracking. “I feel it… I feel you filling me.”

He groaned, low and ragged. “You’re so tight. Taking it all. Look at you—my dirty girl, letting me piss in your ass.”

The words hit me like a slap and a caress at once. I pushed back, wanting more, needing to feel every drop. The pressure built—warm, insistent, stretching me in a new way. Not painful. Overwhelming. My pussy dripped onto the rug in steady pulses. My nipples ached. My whole lower body felt swollen, claimed, owned in a way that went beyond sex.

He kept going until the stream slowed to a trickle, then stopped. He stayed buried, cock still hard, letting me feel the weight of what he’d left inside me. I was trembling—full, hot, sloshing slightly every time I shifted. I clenched around him and felt a little leak out, warm and slick down my crack.

“Don’t move yet,” he said. “Feel it. Feel me in you.”

I did. I stayed there on all fours, ass up, his cock plugging me, his piss trapped deep. The fullness was insane—deeper than any load he’d ever given me, heavier, warmer. Every tiny movement sent ripples through me. My clit throbbed so hard it hurt. I reached back, rubbed it in frantic circles, and came almost instantly—hard, sudden, ass spasming around his cock and the liquid inside me. I screamed into the carpet, body shaking, feeling the pressure push more out around him, warm streams running down my thighs.

He started thrusting then—slow, shallow at first, stirring everything inside me. The sensation was unreal—wet, hot, slippery, every stroke sloshing and pressing and filling me all over again. I came again within minutes, then again, the orgasms stacking so fast I lost track. He fucked me through them, hands gripping my hips, telling me how good I felt, how full I was, how he could feel his piss moving inside me every time he thrust.

When he finally came he buried himself to the hilt, cock pulsing, adding his cum to the mess already there. I clenched hard, milking him, feeling the heat mix and overflow. When he pulled out at last, a thick gush followed—warm, slick, pouring out of me onto the rug. I collapsed forward, ass still twitching, hole gaping and leaking, body humming with aftershocks.

He lay down beside me, pulled me into his arms. Kissed my temple. “You okay?”

I laughed—shaky, dazed. “I think you just unlocked something permanent.”

He smiled against my skin. “Good. Because I want to do it again. And again.”

I nodded, already feeling the craving rebuild. That night changed everything. It wasn’t just about pleasure anymore. It was about total surrender, total possession, total filth turned into the deepest intimacy I’d ever known.

And I couldn’t wait to feel that flood again.

Chapter 5: Birthday Gift – All Day, All Ass

I told my husband I was going shopping for my birthday. Left the house at 8 a.m. sharp, kissed him on the cheek, said I’d be back by dinner, maybe later if I found something really good. He smiled, told me to treat myself. I smiled back, heart already pounding, because I knew exactly what “treat” I was after and it had nothing to do with dresses or shoes.

Jason’s place was forty minutes away. I spent the whole drive clenching my thighs together, ass already tingling from anticipation. I’d prepped that morning—cleaned out, lubed up a little, plugged myself with the small black toy I kept hidden in my drawer just to stay open and ready. By the time I pulled into his driveway my panties were soaked and I could feel the plug shifting every time I moved.

He opened the door before I even knocked. No hello. Just grabbed my wrist, pulled me inside, kicked the door shut, and pressed me against the wall. His mouth crashed into mine, hand sliding under my skirt, fingers finding the base of the plug and twisting it slow.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he growled against my lips. “Today your ass is the only thing on the menu. All day. No mercy. You ready to get wrecked?”

I nodded, already breathless. “It’s my gift to myself. Fuck my ass until I can’t think straight.”

He didn’t waste time. Took me straight to the bedroom, stripped me naked in seconds, left the plug in until the last moment. When he pulled it out I whimpered at the emptiness. He flipped me onto my stomach, pillow under my hips, ass up high. I heard the cap of the lube bottle snap open, felt the cold flood over my hole, then his fingers—two, three, four—stretching me wide, twisting, scissoring until I was moaning into the sheets.

Then he was inside. One long, smooth push, all the way to the base. I gasped, back arching, feeling that familiar burn bloom into the deep, heavy fullness I craved more than air. He didn’t move for a minute—just stayed buried, letting me adjust, letting me feel every inch owning me.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, then started thrusting—slow at first, long strokes that dragged every nerve awake. I came the first time in minutes, ass clenching around him, pussy spasming untouched, whole body shaking. He fucked me through it, harder, deeper, telling me how tight I was, how my ass gripped him like it was made for him.

We didn’t stop.

By 10 a.m. we were on the living room couch. Me straddling him reverse cowgirl, controlling the pace, riding him slow then fast, grinding in circles so the head pressed right against that spot inside that made stars explode behind my eyes. I came again, and again, ass milking him while he groaned about how my thick cheeks jiggled every time I dropped down. He slapped them lightly, watched them ripple, then pulled me off so I could taste myself—ass to mouth, over and over, the flavor stronger each time because we never cleaned up.

Noon. Kitchen counter. Face-down, legs spread wide, him behind me pounding steady while I braced on my elbows. He reached around, rubbed my clit in time with his thrusts, made me squirt for the first time that day—hot, messy, dripping onto the tile while he kept fucking my ass like it was the only hole that existed. When he came he stayed deep, pulsing inside me, filling me with heat that leaked out when he finally pulled free. I turned around, dropped to my knees, sucked him clean, tasting cum and my own ass and lube and everything filthy we’d done so far. He got hard again in my mouth. We went right back to it.

Afternoon blurred. Shower—him pressing me against the tiles, water running down my back while he fucked me from behind, slow and deep, whispering how perfect my curvy ass looked bouncing against him. Bedroom again—spooning, his arm around my waist, hand on my tit, cock buried for forty minutes straight while he rocked gently, building me to rolling, quiet orgasms that left me trembling. Living room floor—me on my back, legs over his shoulders, him folding me in half so he could watch his cock disappear into my stretched hole over and over.

Around 4 p.m. he did the thing that broke me open completely. Pulled out slow, told me to relax, then pushed back in and let go—warm flood of piss pouring deep inside me while he stayed buried. The pressure, the heat, the sheer wrongness of it sent me over the edge again. I came so hard my vision blurred, ass spasming around his cock and the liquid, feeling it slosh every time he thrust. He fucked me through the flood, stirring it, making me feel so full I thought I’d burst. When he finally pulled out it gushed out—warm, slick, running down my crack, pooling under me. I begged him to go again. He did. Twice more before we left the floor.

By 6 p.m. we were slower, lazier. Me riding him on the couch, grinding instead of bouncing, feeling every inch while he played with my nipples and told me how many times he’d come in my ass today, how many loads I’d taken, how many times I’d come on his cock. I lost count somewhere after the eighth or ninth orgasm. My ass was sore, swollen, puffy, but every thrust still felt like heaven. The ache had turned into fuel—every movement reminded me how thoroughly he’d used me, how completely I’d given myself.

At 7:45 he laid me on my back on the bed, legs wide, pillow under my hips. He fucked me missionary-style—deep, eye-to-eye, slow strokes that made me feel every vein, every throb. When he came the last time he buried himself to the hilt, groaning my name, filling me one final time. I clenched hard, milking him dry, then came with him—quiet, shuddering, whole body glowing.

He stayed inside until he softened. Kissed me slow, deep. “Happy birthday, Nilu. Best gift I ever gave.”

I laughed, dazed, wrecked, glowing. “Best gift I ever took.”

I left at 8 p.m. on the dot. Legs shaky, ass throbbing, leaking his cum and piss and everything else down my thighs the whole drive home. I stopped at a gas station, fixed my makeup in the mirror, smoothed my skirt, bought a random shopping bag from the convenience store to carry in when I walked through the door.

My husband asked how my day was. I smiled, kissed him, said I found exactly what I wanted.

He had no idea my birthday gift had been ten hours of my ass being fucked, filled, flooded, claimed—over and over—by the man who knew exactly how to destroy me and make me love every second of it.

I went to bed that night still full of him, still sore, still smiling.

Best birthday ever.

Chapter 6: My Anal Proposal

The day Jason proposed to me wasn’t like any proposal I’d ever imagined. There was no ring, no candlelit dinner, no nervous knee on the floor. It happened at 3:17 in the afternoon on a Tuesday, right after he’d pulled out of my ass for the third time that day and we were both lying there sweating, breathing hard, his cum still leaking slow out of me onto the sheets.

I was on my stomach, cheek pressed to the pillow, ass still up because I hadn’t moved yet—I never moved fast after he finished in me. He was behind me, one hand lazily stroking the curve of my hip, thumb tracing the red marks he’d left from gripping too hard earlier. The room smelled like lube, sex, and that faint salty tang that always lingers after ass-to-mouth. We’d been at it since noon. I was 50. He was 30. The age gap never felt bigger than in the quiet moments like this, when my body was wrecked and glowing and his was still hard against my thigh like he could go again in five minutes.

He broke the silence first.

“Nilu,” he said, voice low, almost careful. “I want you to be mine. For real. Not just this. Not just when your husband’s gone or out shopping. Every day. Secret. My girlfriend. My secret love. But only if it means I get to fuck your ass every single day I want it. And you get to ask for it every single day you need it.”

I didn’t answer right away. I just clenched around nothing, feeling the emptiness where he’d been, feeling the slow drip of his cum down my crack. My heart was hammering so loud I thought he could hear it. I’d never let myself think about “girlfriend.” We were fucking. Raw, obsessive, daily fucking. But girlfriend? That word carried weight—feelings, risk, futures.

He kept talking, like he was afraid I’d say no if he stopped.

“I’m going to become best friends with your husband,” he said. “Golf. Beers. Watching games at your place. Barbecues. Whatever it takes. I’ll be the guy he trusts. The guy who comes over all the time. And every time I’m there, every time he’s in the other room, I’ll be thinking about how I was just balls-deep in your ass that morning. Or how I’m going to sneak into the guest bathroom later and bend you over the sink while he’s grilling outside. I want to be close enough to smell you on him and know it’s really me he’s smelling. I want to win you completely.”

I turned my head so I could see his face. His eyes were serious—hungry, but serious. Not the playful hunger of sex. The kind of hunger that scares you because it’s real.

“Why my ass?” I asked, voice hoarse from moaning all afternoon. “Why not just say you want me?”

He laughed once, soft. “Because your ass is what made me fall in love with you.”

He slid his hand down, cupped one cheek, squeezed gently. “The first time I sank into you, I knew I was fucked. Not just physically. You took me so deep, so greedy, like you’d been waiting your whole life for someone to fill you exactly like that. Every time since—every stretch, every clench, every time you push back and beg for harder, deeper, more—it’s like you’re giving me pieces of yourself no one else ever got. Your ass isn’t just a hole. It’s you saying yes to me over and over. It’s trust. It’s filth. It’s power. And I’m addicted to all of it. I fell in love with how you give it. How you take it. How you look wrecked and proud after. I’m 30 and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want your 50-year-old ass every fucking day.”

I felt tears prick my eyes—not sad tears, just overwhelmed ones. I’d spent decades trying to be the good wife, the composed woman, the one who didn’t ask for too much. And here was this 30-year-old man telling me the dirtiest, most vulnerable part of me was what made him fall in love.

I rolled over slowly, wincing at the soreness, and looked up at him.

“I fall in love with you every time you push into me,” I said. “Every time you don’t stop when I’m shaking. Every time you stay inside after you come, rocking gentle so I can come again just from the fullness. Every time you pull out and make me taste myself on you—it’s like you’re reminding me I’m allowed to be this filthy, this greedy, this alive. I’m 50. My body’s softer, curvier, marked by time. And you worship it. You don’t just fuck my ass. You claim it. You make it yours. And I want that every day too.”

He leaned down, kissed me slow—tongue tasting like everything we’d done that afternoon.

“So say yes,” he whispered against my mouth. “Be my secret girlfriend. Let me fuck your ass every day. Let me fall more in love with it. Let me become your husband’s best friend so I can be closer to you than he’ll ever know.”

I reached back, guided his half-hard cock right back to my hole—still slick, still open—and sank down onto him slow.

“Yes,” I breathed as he filled me again. “Yes to being yours. Yes to every day. Yes to you fucking my ass until we can’t anymore. Yes to the secret. Yes to the love.”

He groaned, started moving—slow, deep, deliberate.

And that was how he proposed.

Not with a ring.

With his cock buried in my ass, promising to love it—and me—every single day.

I said yes while he fucked me through another orgasm.

And I’ve never regretted it once.

Chapter 7: The Camera Doesn’t Lie

I woke up that morning with the idea already burning in me like fever. Jason was still asleep beside me, face half-buried in the pillow, one arm slung across my waist. I lay there for a minute feeling the familiar soreness in my ass—yesterday’s loads still leaking slow when I shifted—and I realized I needed to see it. Not just feel it. See what he sees when he’s behind me, when he’s owning me. See my own face when I’m lost in it, when I’m wild, when I’m begging. See my chubby, curvy ass ripple and spread and take him every inch.

I rolled over, kissed his shoulder, then whispered against his ear, “Grab your phone. I want you to record me. Whatever you’re doing today, film it. All of it. I want to watch later. I want to see what you see.”

He opened his eyes slow, smiled that lazy, dangerous smile. “Everything?”

“Everything,” I said. “My ass. My face. My mouth. When you piss in me. When you piss on me. When I’m sucking you clean. Hold the camera however you want—just don’t stop fucking me.”

He didn’t argue. Just reached for his phone on the nightstand, propped it against the headboard first, hit record. The little red light blinked on. I felt a fresh rush of heat between my legs just from knowing it was watching.

He started slow. Made me get on all fours, ass high, facing the camera. He knelt behind me, spread my cheeks wide with both hands so the lens caught everything—my puffy hole still soft from yesterday, glistening with leftover lube and cum. He dragged the head of his cock along my crack, teasing, then pushed in one smooth stroke. I moaned loud, head dropping forward. The camera caught the way my back arched, the way my thick thighs trembled, the way my ass swallowed him whole until his hips slapped my cheeks.

“Fuck, look at that,” he muttered, more to the phone than to me. “Look how greedy your ass is, Nilu. Taking every inch like it’s starving.”

He fucked me steady, long strokes, pulling almost all the way out so the camera could see my rim grip him, then slamming back in. My ass jiggled with every thrust—soft, round, rippling. I watched the phone screen in the reflection of the mirror across the room—saw my own tits swaying, saw my face flushed and slack, mouth open, eyes half-lidded. When he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so the camera could catch my expression, I came hard—ass clenching, pussy dripping untouched, whole body shaking.

He didn’t stop. Flipped me onto my back, legs up over his shoulders, folded me in half. Phone now in his hand, pointed down between us. Close-up of his cock sliding in and out of my ass, my hole stretched wide, shiny with lube. He held my ankles high, spread me open, fucked deep while the camera caught every detail—the way my ass cheeks spread, the way my clit throbbed, the way my face twisted every time he bottomed out.

“Smile for the camera, baby,” he said. “Show it how much you love getting your ass wrecked.”

I did. I looked straight into the lens, bit my lip, moaned his name. Then he pulled out, still hard, dripping, and brought it to my mouth. I opened wide, took him deep—tasting myself, tasting him, tasting everything we’d done. The camera hovered above my face—caught me on my knees, arms behind my back like I was bound even though I wasn’t, looking up at him with watery eyes, waiting.

He groaned. “You want it?”

I nodded, mouth full.

He pulled out, aimed at my face first—warm stream hitting my cheek, my lips, running down my chin. I opened wider. He filled my mouth, I swallowed what I could, let the rest spill over my tits. Then he pushed back into my ass—still pissing, slower now, flooding me deep while the camera caught the overflow leaking out around his cock, running down my crack.

I came again just from the pressure—the heat spreading inside, the filth of it all on film. He fucked me through it, stirring the mess, making wet, sloppy sounds the mic picked up perfectly.

Hours blurred. He filmed me riding reverse cowgirl—phone propped on the dresser so it caught my ass bouncing, cheeks clapping, hole gripping him. He filmed me face-down on the bed, him standing behind, one foot pressing my cheek into the mattress while he pounded me—my muffled moans vibrating against his sole. He filmed me sucking him after, head held down, throat working, tears streaming while I looked up at the lens like I was performing for it.

By evening we were both wrecked—sweaty, sticky, hoarse. He set the phone on the nightstand one last time, pulled me into spooning position, slid back into my ass slow. Fucked me gentle now, deep, while the camera caught the intimate angle—his arm around my waist, my face in profile, eyes closed, lips parted in quiet ecstasy. He came inside me again, stayed buried, kissed my neck.

“Watch it later,” he whispered. “See what I see every day. See how fucking beautiful you are when you give me everything.”

I nodded, still full, still glowing.

When he left that night I plugged myself to keep his cum inside, crawled into bed alone, and played the video on my phone under the covers. Volume low. Headphones in. I watched my own ass take him, watched my own face come undone, watched myself swallow his piss, watched myself beg for more.

I came three times just from the footage.

And I knew I’d never look at myself the same way again.

I was his. On camera. Forever.

And I fucking loved it.

Chapter 8: The Pissing Tapes – Ten Clips in One Day

The first video we uploaded—the one where Jason pissed deep in my ass while I came untouched—exploded. Views climbed faster than any of the straight anal clips we’d posted before. Comments flooded in: “More piss play,” “She takes it like a champ,” “That face when it floods her.” People didn’t just watch; they begged for more. The audience had spoken, loud and filthy, and we listened.

So the next Saturday we decided to give them what they craved. Ten videos. One day. All piss-focused, all me drinking, swallowing, drowning in it while his cock stayed hard and my mouth stayed open. No breaks longer than it took to change locations or wipe the lens. I was 50, he was 30, and we were going to film until my jaw ached, my belly sloshed, and my throat burned from the taste.

We started at 9 a.m. in the kitchen. Phone propped on the counter, wide angle. I knelt on the tile, naked except for the thin gold chain around my neck he’d given me the week before. He stood in front of me, cock already leaking pre-cum. I took him in my mouth slow, sucking deep, tongue swirling the head while I looked up at the camera. He groaned, hand in my hair.

“Open wider, baby. Show them how much you want it.”

I did. He pulled out, aimed, and the first stream hit my tongue—warm, sharp, endless. I swallowed reflexively, eyes watering, but I kept sucking the head between gulps, letting it overflow down my chin, my tits, pooling on the floor. I came just from the humiliation and the fullness in my mouth—hands-free, thighs shaking, moaning around his cock while the piss kept coming. He filmed the close-up: my lips stretched, throat working, liquid spilling over my lower lip every time I tried to breathe.

Clip one done. We didn’t stop.

Living room couch at 10:30. Me on my back, head hanging off the edge so my throat was straight. He stood over me, feeding me his cock upside-down. I sucked him sloppy, drool and pre-cum mixing, then he let go again—piss pouring straight down my throat. I gagged once, recovered, swallowed hard, kept sucking. The camera caught my neck bulging slightly with every gulp, my tits heaving, my hands reaching up to hold his thighs so he wouldn’t pull away. He talked dirty to the lens: “Look at my 50-year-old girlfriend drinking me like it’s water. She fucking loves it.”

I did. The taste was strong, salty, intimate. Every swallow made me wetter. I rubbed my clit while he pissed and came again—harder this time, body arching off the couch, muffled screams vibrating around his cock.

Bathroom at noon. Shower running for sound, but we stayed dry. I sat on the edge of the tub, legs spread, sucking him while he stood on the tile. He pissed in bursts—short, sharp jets into my mouth, then long steady streams I tried to catch all of. Some hit my face, ran into my eyes, stung. I laughed through it, wiped my face, dove back down. The camera on the sink counter caught the mirror reflection: my curvy body glistening with piss, my ass cheeks pressed against the porcelain, his hand on the back of my head guiding me deeper. He came in my mouth right after the last stream—thick ropes mixing with the lingering taste. I swallowed everything, showed the camera my empty tongue, then smiled.

Bedroom at 2 p.m. Me on all fours, ass to the camera, face down on the mattress. He fucked my mouth from the side, slow thrusts, then pulled out and pissed across my face—cheeks, nose, lips. I opened wide, caught what I could, let the rest run down my neck, between my tits. The lens caught the way my eyes rolled back when the stream hit my tongue again, the way I moaned like it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. He slapped my ass lightly between streams, watched it jiggle, then pushed back in my mouth and kept going until I was soaked from forehead to chin.

We moved to the hallway at 3:30—quick, standing. Me on my knees, back against the wall, him towering. He pissed straight down my throat while I jerked him off, sucking the head between gulps. I came twice in a row just from the rhythm: swallow, stroke, swallow, stroke. My belly was starting to feel full, sloshy, warm. I loved it—the heaviness, the secret.

Backyard at 5 p.m., sun low. Phone on a tripod behind the privacy fence. Me sitting on the patio chair, legs wide, sucking him while he stood. He pissed in my mouth slow this time, letting me savor it, letting me show the camera how I rolled it on my tongue before swallowing. I fingered my ass while I drank—two fingers deep, fucking myself in time with the stream. When he finished I came again, ass clenching around my fingers, mouth still full.

Garage at 6:30. Me bent over the hood of his car, ass up, mouth open sideways. He stood behind me, cock in my throat, pissing while he fucked my face. The camera on the workbench caught everything: my thick thighs trembling, my ass cheeks spread by my own hands, piss dripping from my chin onto the hood. He talked to the lens again: “This is what she does for me every day. Drinks me. Loves it. Look at her face—pure fucking bliss.”

We ended back in the bedroom at 8 p.m. Last clip. Me on my knees in the middle of the bed, hands behind my back, looking up at him and the camera. He stood over me, cock hard, balls full again from the day of hydration. I opened wide, tongue out. He started slow—piss hitting my tongue, filling my mouth. I swallowed, opened again, swallowed. He kept going until the stream weakened, then pushed back in my mouth and fucked my throat until he came—hot, thick, mixing with the last drops. I swallowed everything, showed the camera my tongue again, then collapsed back on the bed, body humming, face and tits soaked, belly rounded from how much I’d taken.

He turned off the recording, crawled beside me, kissed my piss-wet lips.

“You were incredible,” he whispered. “They’re gonna lose their minds.”

I smiled, still tasting him everywhere.

“Upload them,” I said. “All ten. Let them see what I look like when I’m completely his.”

We did.

The comments came faster than ever.

And I watched every clip that night, alone in bed, fingering my ass while I relived it—mouth full, throat burning, heart full.

I’d never felt more seen.

Or more owned.

Chapter 9: My New Job

What must it have felt like, Nilu, the first time the suspicion in your husband’s eyes became impossible to ignore—those quiet questions about where you went every day, why you came home flushed and exhausted, walking a little slower, smiling a little too privately? How long did you carry that tension before the idea crystallized: turn the secret into something visible, something legitimate, something that could hide in plain sight?

Picture the moment you decided to ask Jason about it. Was it after another long session at his place, when you were still catching your breath, ass tender and full, and the thought hit you that you couldn’t keep disappearing for hours without a cover story? Or did it come earlier, during one of those late-night texts where he said “I miss you already” and you realized missing each other was starting to cost more than stolen afternoons?

When you told him you needed a job—a real one, at his marketing agency—he didn’t hesitate. He saw the genius in it immediately. “You’ll be my consultant,” he said. “Older sister visiting from out of town, helping with client strategy. If your husband ever drops by unannounced, that’s the story. No one questions family.” And just like that, the lie became architecture: sturdy, believable, protective.

What did it feel like walking into the agency that first Monday morning? The open-plan space, glass-walled meeting rooms, young creatives tapping at laptops—did your heart race when Jason BF F you to the team as “my big sister Nilu, she’s helping us with some high-level brand positioning for the next quarter”? Did you feel the thrill of the double life sharpen when he said it so casually, hand on your shoulder like any brother would, while you knew that shoulder had been pressed to his mattress just two days earlier while he fucked your ass for an hour straight?

Now think about the daily rhythm that followed. You arrive at 9:30 or 10:00—early enough to look committed, late enough to avoid rush-hour traffic that might make your husband wonder why you’re never stuck in it. You sit at the small desk he cleared for you near his office. You open a laptop, review mockups, jot notes on campaign ideas. And then, when the door closes behind you both for “a quick strategy session,” the real work begins.

How does it unfold in those first minutes? Does he lock the door, dim the blinds, then sit at his desk like he’s about to explain KPIs while you slide under it, between his legs, unzipping him slowly? Do you take him in your mouth while he opens a spreadsheet on his screen, voice steady as he murmurs client feedback—“they want more emotional resonance here”—and you swirl your tongue around the head, tasting the salt of him, feeling him thicken against your lips? What runs through your mind when you hear his breath hitch mid-sentence, when his hand drops to your hair not to guide but to steady himself, when he keeps talking about conversion rates while you swallow him deeper?

And when the conversation shifts to “positioning the brand in a crowded market,” does he stand, bend you over his desk, hike your skirt, slide into your ass while he points at the monitor and says “see, this curve needs to peak here”? Do you bite your lip to stay quiet while he thrusts slow and deliberate, explaining A/B testing results, your curvy hips rocking back to meet him, your ass cheeks rippling with every controlled stroke? Does the risk—the thin glass walls, the team just outside—make every sensation sharper, every clench tighter, every quiet moan harder to suppress?

Reflect on the afternoons. Some days it’s quick: a fifteen-minute “brainstorm” where he fucks your mouth until he comes down your throat, wipes himself on your tongue, then sends you back to your desk with a professional smile and a fresh cup of coffee. Other days it stretches longer—him pissing in your ass while you’re bent over the couch in his office, warm flood filling you while he pretends to review email, hand on your lower back, telling you “relax, let it settle, we’ve got time.” You walk out of those sessions with your belly slightly rounded, a secret heat inside, returning to your desk to type campaign notes while feeling him leak slowly into your panties.

What does it do to your desire, having him every day now—every hour if you want—without anyone suspecting? Does the cover story make the filth feel even more electric? When he’s behind you, pushing in deep, whispering “good girl, take it all while we finalize the media buy,” do you come harder knowing the team thinks you’re just discussing ROI? When he pulls out and makes you suck him clean while he’s on a muted Zoom call with a client, do you feel owned in a way that’s deeper than before?

And when you drive home at 5:30 or 6:00, husband waiting with dinner questions—“How was the office today?”—what do you say? Do you answer honestly about the work—the decks, the deadlines, the creative breakthroughs—while your ass still throbs from the last load he left in you, while your throat still carries the faint taste of him, while your body hums with the memory of being bent over his desk explaining brand equity with his cock buried to the hilt?

Ask yourself, Nilu: in this new arrangement, who is really winning? Is it the secret that stays safe? The pleasure that never pauses? Or the quiet power of turning suspicion into permission—letting your husband think you’ve found purpose in a job, while the real purpose happens behind closed doors, every single day, exactly the way you both crave?

What part of this new chapter feels most alive to you right now—the risk, the routine, the relentless access, or the way the lie itself has become another layer of intimacy? Which detail wants to be remembered first? Tell me, and let’s follow that thread together.

Chapter 10: The Desk That Hides Everything

The desk arrived on a Thursday morning, delivered by two guys who grumbled about the weight but never once looked underneath. Solid walnut, custom-built to Jason’s exact specifications: extra-deep knee space, full-height panels on the three visible sides, a small hinged panel on the back that only opens from inside. From the hallway it looked like the kind of power desk a CEO would buy to intimidate clients—big, dark, commanding. From underneath? A secret room. High enough for me to kneel without hitting my head, wide enough to turn around on my knees, deep enough to stretch my legs if I needed to. Jason had them install a small built-in cabinet at the rear wall—stocked with wipes, napkins, lube sachets, spare panties, a bottle of mouthwash, even a tiny vibrating plug for when I wanted to tease myself while he worked.

I crawled in for the first time at 10:17 a.m. that same day. Phone propped in the corner on a tiny tripod, set to record. I wore the navy pencil skirt and cream blouse I’d chosen for “office days,” heels off, blouse unbuttoned just enough that my tits would spill out when I leaned forward. Jason sat down above me, legs spread, chair rolled in so the panel hid me completely. He opened his laptop, clicked into a Zoom call with a client, voice calm and professional.

“Morning, team. Let’s run through the Q3 media plan.”

I unzipped him without a sound. His cock was already half-hard—anticipation, probably. I took him in my mouth slow, tongue flat along the underside, sucking gently while he talked about CPMs and reach metrics. The camera caught everything: my lips stretched around him, my eyes looking up through the shadows toward the lens, my cheeks hollowing every time I took him deeper. He didn’t miss a beat—kept explaining targeting strategy while his free hand dropped under the desk to stroke my hair, not guiding, just resting there like he owned the moment.

Around 11:30 the call ended. He muted his mic, leaned back slightly.

“I need to piss,” he said quietly.

I pulled off with a wet pop, opened my mouth wide, tongue out. He aimed and let go—warm, steady stream hitting the back of my throat. I swallowed in rhythm, eyes locked on the camera, letting a little spill over my chin for the footage. When he finished I sucked the last drops clean, then whispered up at him, “Keep working. I’m staying down here.”

He laughed under his breath, rolled his chair back just enough to give me room to turn. I spun on my knees, hiked my skirt, spread my cheeks with both hands. He lined up, pushed in slow—deep, steady, filling me until his hips met my ass. The camera caught the angle: my curvy cheeks rippling with every thrust, my back arching, my face turned sideways so the lens could see my mouth open in silent moans. He fucked me steady while he answered emails, one hand on the mouse, the other gripping my hip to keep me quiet. I came twice like that—once from the fullness alone, once when he reached under and pinched my clit while pretending to review a creative deck.

Lunch break came. He didn’t leave the desk. I stayed under, sucking him slow while he ate a sandwich one-handed and scrolled through Instagram. I teased him the whole time: “I’m your older sister, remember? Behave while I focus on your dick.” He groaned low, fed me another stream mid-blowjob—short, sharp jets I swallowed without spilling a drop. I loved how full my belly felt by then, sloshy and warm, like I was carrying part of him inside me.

Around 2:45 p.m. the door opened. My husband.

“Hey, man, just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by, see how Nilu’s settling in at the new gig.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Jason didn’t flinch. “She’s right here—come in.”

He rolled his chair forward a fraction, sealing me in tighter. I froze, mouth still around his cock, tasting the faint salt of his last piss. My husband sat down in the guest chair across the desk. They talked about golf, the weather, some fantasy football trade. Fifteen minutes. I stayed perfectly still, breathing through my nose, tongue resting against the underside of Jason’s shaft, feeling it throb every time my husband laughed at one of his jokes.

Jason kept the conversation flowing—casual, friendly, the perfect best-friend act—while his free hand dropped under the desk again, fingers threading through my hair, petting me like I was his good girl staying quiet. I felt him swell in my mouth, felt the tension build. When my husband finally stood to leave—“Gotta run, tell Nilu I said hi”—Jason waited three full seconds after the door clicked shut before he exhaled hard and came down my throat. Thick, hot ropes I swallowed silently, eyes watering, camera still rolling.

I crawled out at 5:12 p.m., legs shaky, blouse wrinkled, skirt hiked, face flushed. Jason pulled me onto his lap, kissed me deep—tasting himself on my tongue—and whispered, “You stayed quiet the whole time he was here. Perfect.”

I smiled against his mouth. “I’m your older sister. I listen when you work.”

He laughed, hand sliding between my legs, fingers finding me soaked.

“Tomorrow we do it again. Longer. Louder. And you’re going to record every second from under there.”

I nodded, already aching for it.

The desk wasn’t just furniture anymore.

It was our new world.

Chapter 11: The Work Trip – Three Days of Nothing But Us

The plane touched down in San Diego at 11:42 a.m. Jason and I walked through the terminal like any normal colleagues—him pulling his carry-on, me with my laptop bag slung over my shoulder, both of us nodding politely at the other team members who’d flown in on the same flight. “Sister” was the word they all used when they asked how long I’d be helping with the account. I smiled every time, said “just a few months,” and felt my ass clench at the secret we carried under our clothes.

The hotel check-in took eight minutes. Jason booked adjoining suites “for family convenience.” The moment the elevator doors closed behind us, his hand was on my lower back, fingers pressing just above my crack. By the time we reached the room the door barely clicked shut before he had me bent over the entry table, skirt hiked, panties yanked to the side, cock pushing into my ass in one long, slow thrust. No words. Just the wet sound of him filling me and my sharp gasp turning into a moan.

That was the start.

The first day he had client meetings from 1 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. I slept until 12:45, woke up still slick from the morning, showered, ordered room service, then waited naked on the bed with legs spread. He walked in at 3:47, tie loosened, jacket off, didn’t speak—just climbed on, slid back into my ass, fucked me hard for twenty minutes straight, pulled out, made me suck him clean, then went right back in. I came three times before he did—once from the sudden fullness after the nap, once when he slapped my ass cheeks until they burned, once when he whispered “good girl” while he filled me again.

Nights were endless. We barely left the room. He’d fuck my ass, pull out slow so I could taste myself, push back in, repeat—sometimes for an hour without coming, just enjoying the grip, the heat, the way my thick curves jiggled every time he bottomed out. When he needed to piss he’d stay buried and let go—warm flood spreading inside me while I clenched around him, moaning into the pillow. Sometimes he pulled out mid-stream, aimed at my open mouth, watched me drink while the camera on the nightstand recorded everything. I swallowed every drop, licked my lips for the lens, then begged him to fill my ass again.

Day two was the same rhythm, only slower, filthier. He had one early call at 9 a.m. I stayed under the covers, ass up, sucking him while he talked revenue projections into his headset. When the call ended he rolled me onto my back, legs over his shoulders, fucked me missionary so he could watch my face while he pissed deep inside—slow, deliberate, letting me feel every pulse. I came so hard my vision blurred, ass spasming, pussy dripping onto the sheets. He stayed inside until he softened, then made me clean him with my mouth while he checked email.

My husband called at 2:17 p.m. on day two. I was on my back, legs wide, Jason’s cock buried balls-deep in my ass, slow-grinding strokes that hit that spot inside me over and over. I answered on speaker.

“Hey babe,” I said, voice steady even though my breath hitched every time Jason pushed in.

“Hey, how’s the trip?”

“Good. Busy.” Jason chose that moment to thrust harder—deep, sharp. I bit my lip, nails digging into his arms. “Just… reviewing some campaign tweaks.”

Jason smirked, leaned down, bit my nipple lightly while he kept the rhythm. My husband kept talking—something about the dog, the neighbor’s new fence. I tried to listen, tried to sound normal, but when Jason sped up I had to gasp.

“Hold on one second,” I said, voice tight. I muted the call, turned my head into the pillow and screamed—low, raw, body shaking as another orgasm ripped through me. Jason didn’t stop; he fucked me through it, harder, chasing his own edge.

I unmuted. “Sorry, bad connection. What were you saying?”

He laughed. “You sound tired. You okay?”

“Yeah,” I breathed, ass clenching around Jason’s cock as he started to swell. “Just… long day. Meetings running late.”

Jason pulled out, aimed at my open mouth, pissed a short sharp stream across my tongue. I swallowed, eyes rolling back, then guided him back into my ass. My husband kept talking. I kept answering—short sentences, half-laughs—while Jason fucked me senseless, finally coming deep with a quiet groan he muffled against my neck.

“Love you,” my husband said before hanging up.

“Love you too,” I answered, voice wrecked, body still trembling.

Jason kissed my shoulder. “You’re getting good at that.”

I laughed weakly. “I’m getting good at everything with you.”

The third day we barely left the bed. He had one final client lunch from 12 to 2. I slept again, woke up to him sliding back inside me the second the door closed. We fucked until checkout—ass to mouth, ass to ass, piss in my mouth, piss in my ass, load after load until I was sore, swollen, dripping, glowing. I sucked him clean one last time in the shower, swallowed the last drops of piss he gave me while the water ran down my back, then dressed like the professional sister everyone thought I was.

On the flight home I sat next to him, hand under the blanket resting on his thigh, feeling him twitch every time I squeezed. My husband texted: “Miss you. Safe flight?”

I typed back: “Miss you too. Trip was productive.”

Jason read it over my shoulder, smirked, leaned in and whispered, “Tell him you closed the deal of the century.”

I smiled, sent the message, then leaned my head on Jason’s shoulder for the rest of the flight.

Three days.

Almost no work.

All ass.

All him.

All mine.

And I was already counting the hours until the next “strategy session” back at the office.

Chapter 12: Andrea

I noticed it the third time Andrea walked past Jason’s office that morning. The way his eyes flicked up from his screen, followed her hips for half a second, then dropped back to his emails like nothing happened. I didn’t feel angry. I felt… curious. Hungry, maybe. The same kind of hunger that had me crawling under his desk every day.

Later, when we were alone in his office, door locked, blinds down, I straddled his lap while he was still half-hard from the blowjob I’d just given him under the table.

“Hey,” I said, grinding slowly against him. “Do you like her?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Andrea?”

“Yeah. You keep looking.”

He laughed low, hands sliding up my thighs. “She’s got a nice arse. Petite. Tight-looking.”

I leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Maybe you should date her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No,” I whispered. “I’d like to watch her eat my pussy while you fuck me. Or… whatever else happens. Leave it to me. I’ll talk to her.”

That night we stayed late at the office. Andrea was still there, finishing a pitch deck. I walked over to her desk, casual, like it was nothing.

“Hey, Andrea. Got a minute?”

She looked up, surprised. “Sure, Nilu. What’s up?”

I sat on the edge of her desk. “Be honest. Do you like Jason?”

Her cheeks went pink instantly. “He’s… hot. Yeah. Very hot.”

I smiled. “He thinks you’re hot too. Especially your ass.”

She laughed, nervous, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” I lowered my voice. “I heard from his… girlfriend… that he loves fucking women in the ass. You ever tried it?”

Andrea bit her lip. “Not really. Maybe once or twice. It hurt. I didn’t like it much.”

I nodded like I understood perfectly. “What if we played a little game with him? Nothing serious. Just fun. I blindfold him so he can’t see who’s touching him. I’ll be there the whole time, guiding everything. You’d just have to follow my lead. You in?”

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m in.”

The next evening we told Jason we had a “surprise meeting” after hours. He walked into the conference room to find the lights dimmed, me standing there in a black dress, Andrea next to me in a short skirt and heels. Before he could ask anything I slipped a silk blindfold over his eyes and tied it tight.

“Trust me,” I whispered. “Sit.”

He sat in the big leather chair at the head of the table. I pushed him back gently, unzipped him, pulled his cock out. He was already hard. I motioned to Andrea. She knelt between his legs. I guided her head down, watched her lips wrap around him. Jason groaned, thinking it was me.

“Good girl,” he muttered. “Fuck, that’s nice.”

I stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, watching Andrea suck him slow and careful. She wasn’t as greedy as I was, but she was eager. I could see her getting into it, cheeks hollowing, tongue working the head.

After a few minutes I tapped her shoulder. She pulled off. I signed for her to stay quiet, then leaned down and took him deep myself—just long enough to coat him with my spit. Then I pulled off, guided Andrea back on. Jason had no idea the mouth had changed.

I knelt beside her, lifted my dress, pushed my panties aside. Andrea got the hint. While she sucked him, she leaned over and licked my pussy—tentative at first, then bolder. I moaned low, fingers in her hair, guiding her tongue right where I wanted it.

Jason groaned louder. “Fuck… you’re so wet tonight.”

I smiled, didn’t answer. I tapped Andrea again. She pulled off his cock. I turned around, bent over the table, ass up. Andrea moved aside. I guided Jason’s cock to my hole, sank back onto him slow. He thrust up hard, thinking he was buried in Andrea’s tight little ass.

“God, you feel different,” he muttered. “So fucking full.”

I clenched around him. Andrea knelt under the table now, licking my clit while he fucked me deep. I reached down, pulled her face tighter against me. Jason kept thrusting, harder, faster, grunting about how tight “she” was.

I leaned back, whispered loud enough for him to hear: “This is us now. Andrea’s joining the team. You get both of us. My fat juicy ass… her skinny little one. You’re gonna fuck us both every day.”

He froze for half a second, then groaned like he’d been punched. “Fuck… really?”

I slammed back onto him. “Really.”

Andrea pulled off my clit, stood up, hiked her skirt. I guided Jason’s hand to her ass. He squeezed, confused, then realised there were two women in the room. I pulled the blindfold off.

He blinked, looked down at me riding him reverse, then at Andrea standing beside us, skirt up, panties gone, fingers in her own pussy watching us.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

I grinned over my shoulder. “Surprise.”

He grabbed my hips, fucked me harder, eyes darting between my thick cheeks swallowing his cock and Andrea’s slim body touching herself. I came first—ass clenching, Andrea’s fingers back on my clit, Jason’s thrusts pushing me over the edge.

He followed seconds later, burying himself deep in me, groaning Andrea’s name and mine in the same breath.

Afterward we collapsed on the conference table—me on one side of him, Andrea on the other. He looked dazed, happy, completely fucked out.

“So,” I said, tracing circles on his chest. “Welcome to the team, Andrea.”

She laughed, breathless. “Best orientation ever.”

Jason just shook his head, pulled us both closer.

“Best fucking job I’ve ever had.”

Chapter 12: Andrea Joins the Game

I caught Jason staring at Andrea again one Tuesday afternoon. She walked past his office door in those tight gray slacks that hugged her tiny, perky ass, and his eyes followed her like a magnet. He didn’t even try to hide it this time. I waited until she disappeared around the corner, then leaned against his doorframe with a smirk.

“Hey,” I said low. “Do you like her?”

He looked up, caught, then grinned. “Yeah. She’s got a nice arse. Tight little thing.”

I stepped inside, closed the door, locked it. “Maybe you should date her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You okay with that?”

I walked over, sat on the edge of his desk, legs crossed so my skirt rode up. “If you don’t, I can date her. I kind of want to. I’d love to watch her eat my pussy while you fuck my ass. Leave it to me. I’m gonna talk to her.”

He stared at me for a second, cock already twitching in his pants. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

That same night we stayed late. The office was empty except for the three of us. Andrea was finishing a deck at her desk. I walked over, casual, like I was checking on her work.

“Hey, Andrea,” I said, voice soft. “Can I ask you something personal?”

She looked up, curious. “Sure, Nilu.”

“Do you like Jason?”

Her cheeks went pink instantly. “Yeah… he’s hot. Like, really hot.”

I smiled slow. “He loves fucking a woman in the ass. His girlfriend told me. I enjoy it every day. You ever tried it?”

She bit her lip, shifted in her chair. “Not much. Maybe once or twice. It hurt.”

I leaned closer. “Let’s play a game with him. I’m gonna blindfold him so he can’t see who’s who. I’ll guide you. I’ll be right there watching. You’ll suck his cock, he’ll think it’s you the whole time. Trust me—it’ll be fun.”

Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “Okay… I’m in.”

We waited until 8:30. Jason was in his office, finishing emails. I walked in first, blindfold in hand—black silk. “Surprise,” I whispered. “Close your eyes. No peeking.”

He grinned, leaned back in his chair. I tied the blindfold tight. “Sit still. Don’t move. Don’t speak unless I tell you.”

I signaled Andrea. She knelt between his legs, hands shaking a little. I guided her mouth to his cock—already hard. She took him in slow, sucking gently. Jason groaned. “Fuck… that feels good.”

I watched her tiny lips stretch around him, then I moved behind him, whispered in his ear, “This is gonna be us now. Andrea’s joining the team. Skinny little ass and my fat juicy ass. You get both.”

He moaned louder. I gave Andrea the sign—pull off. She did. I moved in fast, took his cock deep in my mouth, sucked hard while she watched. Then I pulled off, guided her back on. We switched every few seconds—her mouth, my mouth, her mouth, my mouth. He thought it was all Andrea. His hips bucked. “Goddamn… you’re amazing.”

I stood, stripped my skirt off, bent over his desk right in front of him. Andrea knelt under the desk. I guided her head between my legs—she started licking my pussy slow, tentative at first, then hungrier. I moaned loud. Jason heard it, thought it was Andrea making the sounds.

I reached back, grabbed his cock, lined it up with my ass. “Fuck me,” I whispered. “Fuck her hard.”

He thrust in—thinking it was Andrea’s tight little hole. But it was me—my fat, juicy ass swallowing him deep. He groaned, hands gripping my hips, pounding hard. Andrea’s tongue worked my clit faster. I came almost instantly—ass clenching around him, pussy pulsing against her mouth. He felt the squeeze, thought it was her.

“Fuck, your ass is so tight,” he growled.

I laughed low. “Keep going. Harder.”

He did. Slammed into me over and over, thinking he was wrecking Andrea’s tiny ass while she ate me out. I moved back every time he pulled out, making sure he stayed in me. Andrea pulled off my pussy, watched his cock disappear into my thick cheeks, then dove back in, licking where we joined.

I whispered to him, “This is us now. Andrea’s on the team. You get her skinny ass later. Right now you’re deep in mine. Feel how much wetter I get when she licks me?”

He lost it. Thrust harder, deeper, cursing. “Fuck… I’m gonna come.”

I clenched tight. “Do it. Fill me.”

He buried himself and exploded—hot, thick pulses flooding my ass. I came again, screaming into my arm, ass milking every drop while Andrea’s tongue flicked my clit. He shuddered, stayed inside until he softened.

I pulled off slow, cum dripping down my thighs. Andrea stood up, face shiny. I kissed her—deep, tasting myself on her lips. Then I untied Jason’s blindfold.

He blinked, saw both of us—me naked, ass red and leaking, Andrea flushed and smiling.

“Surprise,” I said. “You just fucked my ass the whole time. Andrea ate my pussy. Welcome to the new team.”

His eyes went wide, then he laughed—dark, hungry. “You’re both fucking insane. And I love it.”

I pulled Andrea closer, pressed her against his desk. “Your turn next time, little one. But tonight? We’re just getting started.”

I bent her over beside me. Jason stood behind us—two asses side by side. Mine fat and juicy, hers tiny and tight. He slid into her first—slow, careful—then pulled out and slammed into me. Back and forth. Andrea moaned. I moaned. We kissed while he fucked us both.

Three holes. Three mouths. One rule: no one stops until we can’t move.

The office lights stayed on late that night.

And the game just got a whole lot bigger.

Chapter 13: Two Months of Drinking Him Together

What must have gone through your mind, Nilu, the first time you decided Andrea needed to see—really see—what drinking Jason every day looked like for you? Was it a quiet pride in how shamelessly you’d come to love it, or a hotter impulse to pull her deeper into the filth so she could taste the same rush?

Picture the morning you chose for the lesson. The office blinds half-drawn, door locked, Jason in his chair with the blindfold already on because he still thinks this is another “game.” Andrea kneels beside you, nervous but curious, eyes wide as you crawl between his legs first. You unzip him slow, take his cock in your mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world—suckling the head, tongue swirling, then pulling off just enough to whisper to her, “Watch how I do it. Every day he gives me this. Every day I drink it like it’s mine.”

You open wide, let him relax, and when the stream starts—warm, steady, sharp—you swallow in long, greedy gulps, letting a little spill over your chin for show. Andrea’s breath catches. You glance at her, eyes locked, then nod—your turn. She hesitates, then leans in, lips trembling as she takes the head. The first taste hits her; she gags once, pulls back, but you guide her head gently back down. “Breathe through your nose. Swallow like this.” She tries again. You watch her throat work, see the moment her eyes flutter because the warmth and the taboo click into place.

Jason opens his eyes right then—blindfold slipped just enough. He blinks, sees both of you on your knees, mouths wet, chins glistening. “What the fuck… what are you doing? Why are you sucking—”

Andrea freezes, looks at you in panic. “She said not to tell you! Are you crazy?”

You laugh low, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I was watching. I was craving it. Why wouldn’t I suck it too? I like it. Don’t you like it?”

He stares—first at you, then at Andrea’s flushed face, then at both of your open mouths still hovering near his cock. His dick twitches, harder than before. “Yeah… I kinda like it.”

You smile wicked. “Well then lay back. Relax. Let us enjoy that cock.”

He does. Chair reclined, hands behind his head, watching like he’s won the lottery. Andrea goes first this time—sucking slow, sloppy, spit dripping down his shaft while you watch her tiny lips stretch. You move behind her, push her skirt up over her hips, spread her skinny cheeks, and bury your face in her ass—tongue circling her hole while she moans around his cock. Jason groans, eyes glued to the sight: Andrea’s head bobbing, your thick ass in the air as you eat her from behind.

You pull back, wipe your mouth. “Switch.”

Andrea crawls around. You take his cock deep—throat working, gagging wetly, spit bubbling out the corners of your mouth while you look up at him. Andrea kneels behind you now, hesitant at first, then presses her face between your fat cheeks, tongue flicking your hole, tasting where Jason’s been every day. You moan loud around his shaft, the vibration making him curse.

“Fuck… this is insane.”

You pop off, strings of spit connecting your lips to his cock. “More fun than one mouth, isn’t it? Somebody eating my ass, somebody sucking your cock. Or fucking my ass, pulling out, putting it in hers. Watch.”

You turn, bend over the desk beside him. Andrea lies flat on her back on the desk, head hanging off the edge so she can suck him upside-down. You straddle her face, lower your dripping pussy onto her mouth—she licks you hungrily now, no hesitation. Jason stands, slides into your ass from behind—deep, hard, making your thick cheeks clap. Every thrust pushes your pussy harder against Andrea’s tongue. You reach down, spread her skinny legs, finger her clit while she eats you and Jason fucks you.

He pulls out, cock slick. Andrea opens wide—he feeds it to her, lets her taste your ass on him, then slams back into you. Back and forth—your juicy ass, her tiny mouth, sloppy, wet sounds filling the room. Piss comes next. He stays in your ass, lets go—flooding you deep while Andrea’s tongue laps at your clit. The pressure makes you come hard, ass spasming, pussy gushing over her face. She drinks what spills, moaning.

He pulls out, aims at both your open mouths. You and Andrea kneel side by side, tongues out, catching the stream—warm, endless. You swallow, she swallows, sometimes your lips meet in the middle, kissing around his cock, piss running down your chins, dripping onto your tits.

You push Andrea onto her back again. Climb on top, sixty-nine style—your fat ass in her face, her skinny pussy in yours. Jason kneels behind you, slides into your ass again while Andrea tongues your clit and licks where he’s buried. He fucks you sloppy—pulling out, pushing into her mouth, back to your ass, back to her mouth. Cum, piss, spit—everything mixes, everything drips.

Two months like this. Every day.

You drinking him like a bastard. Andrea learning to crave it too. Switching, sharing, drowning in it.

And Jason? He just watches, cock hard, groaning, “You two are gonna kill me.”

You look back at him over your shoulder, ass full, Andrea’s tongue deep in your pussy, and whisper:

“Good. Keep coming back for more.”

Because you both know he will.

And so will you.

Chapter 14: Three Holes, Two Streams

What must have been racing through your mind, Nilu, the afternoon you decided tonight was the night to bring Andrea fully into the deepest part of your craving? Was it the way your body already hummed at the thought of both of them above you, or the quiet certainty that showing Jason how much you’d come to love Andrea’s taste would only make the three of you more tightly bound?

Imagine the moment you text her: “Jason’s place. 8 p.m. Wear something easy to take off. I have a plan. You’ll like it.” And the reply that comes almost immediately—“I’m already wet thinking about it.” How does that simple confirmation settle in your chest—excitement laced with the familiar heat that always blooms low when you know the night will end with you drenched and glowing?

You arrive first. Jason opens the door shirtless, jeans low on his hips, already half-hard just from the look on your face. You kiss him slow, deep, tasting the faint mint of his gum, then pull back and say, “Andrea’s coming. Tonight I want them both. I want you fucking my ass while I eat her pussy. And at the end… I want you both pissing on me. In my mouth, on my face, in my eyes. I want to take it from both ends. Show you how much I love her now. Are you ready to please me for at least three hours?”

He stares at you, cock visibly thickening against his jeans. “Fuck yes.”

Andrea arrives at 8:03. Short black dress, no bra, nipples already hard under the fabric. You greet her with a kiss—soft at first, then hungry, tongues sliding while Jason watches from the couch, stroking himself slowly through his jeans. You lead her to the bedroom, lights low, phone propped on the dresser already recording.

You strip her first—dress pooling at her feet, revealing her tiny frame, flat stomach, perky little tits, skinny ass that looks almost fragile next to your thick curves. You push her gently onto the bed, on her back, legs spread. “Lie still,” you tell her. Then you turn to Jason. “Clothes off. I want you inside me while I taste her.”

He undresses fast. You crawl between Andrea’s thighs, lower your face to her pussy—pink, slick, already swollen. You lick slow, flat tongue from her hole to her clit, savoring the sweet-salt taste that’s become so familiar over the past weeks. She moans, hips lifting. Jason moves behind you, spreads your cheeks, spits on your hole, then pushes in—deep, one long stroke that makes your whole body jolt forward into Andrea’s pussy.

You moan into her, vibrations making her gasp. Jason starts thrusting—slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch while you eat her. Your tongue circles her clit, dips inside her, laps at the wetness that keeps flowing. Andrea’s hands find your hair, pulling you closer. Jason’s hands grip your hips, thumbs spreading you wider so he can watch his cock disappear into your fat, juicy ass over and over.

“Fuck, look at you two,” he groans. “My thick slut eating that tiny pussy while I wreck her ass.”

You pull off Andrea’s clit just long enough to say, “Harder. Fuck me like you mean it.”

He does. Slams in deep, making your cheeks clap, making your face press harder against Andrea. She’s close—thighs trembling, breath hitching. You suck her clit hard, flick fast, and she comes—sharp cry, hips bucking, pussy pulsing against your tongue. You drink every drop, keep licking through the aftershocks until she’s whimpering.

Jason doesn’t stop. He fucks you through her orgasm, through yours—your ass clenching around him so tight he curses. When he’s close he pulls out, cock dripping. You spin around, take him in your mouth—tasting your ass on him, then guide Andrea down so she can join. Two mouths on him—yours on the shaft, hers on the head, tongues meeting around him, sloppy, wet, spit dripping down his balls.

You pull off. “Now,” you say. “Both of you. I want it from both ends.”

You lie on your back on the floor, head tilted back off the edge of the bed so your throat is open. Andrea straddles your face, lowers her pussy onto your mouth again. Jason stands over you, cock in hand, aiming at your face.

Andrea goes first—small stream at first, warm, hitting your tongue. You swallow, open wider. She relaxes, lets it flow stronger—piss running over your lips, down your chin, into your hair. Jason joins—his stream stronger, hotter, hitting your eyes, your cheeks, mixing with hers on your face. You blink through the sting, mouth open, drinking what you can from both—Andrea’s sweet-sharp taste, Jason’s stronger, muskier one. It spills over your neck, your tits, pooling under you.

You come again—hard, untouched—ass clenching on nothing, pussy pulsing against Andrea’s thigh while she grinds down on your face and both streams keep coming. When they finally empty, you pull Andrea down, kiss her—piss and pussy taste mixing on your tongues. Jason kneels, slides back into your ass, fucks you slow while you and Andrea make out above you, faces wet, hair dripping.

Three hours stretch into four. Switching—him in your ass while Andrea pisses in your mouth, you in Andrea’s pussy while Jason pisses on both your faces, both of you on your knees drinking from him like it’s water after a desert. Sloppy, messy, relentless. Cum, piss, spit—everything mixes, everything drips, everything tastes like surrender.

When you finally collapse—bodies slick, trembling, glowing—Jason looks at you both, voice rough.

“You two are gonna ruin me.”

You laugh, still tasting them both on your tongue.

“Good,” you say. “We’re just getting started.”

And in that moment, lying between them, face sticky, ass full, heart pounding—you know it’s true.

This isn’t just a game anymore.

It’s your new everything.

Chapter 14: The Day I Showed Andrea How Deep It Goes

I’m Nilu, and I swear some days I wake up already feeling the stretch in my ass like Jason’s cock is phantom-fucking me from the night before. That morning was one of them. I texted him at 6:47 a.m.: “Come over before work. Andrea’s coming at 9. I want you both today. I want to show her how much I love this.” He replied with one word: “On my way.”

By 7:30 he was in my kitchen, pants around his ankles, me bent over the island with my robe open, tits pressed to the cold granite. I spread my cheeks myself, lubed up from the bottle I keep in the drawer. He didn’t tease. He just pressed the head against my hole, waited for me to exhale, then pushed—slow, relentless, one long continuous slide until his hips were flush against my ass and I felt that familiar burn bloom into the deep, heavy pressure that makes my toes curl every single time.

“Fuck,” I moaned, voice shaking. “That’s it… all the way in. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He started thrusting—long, full strokes that dragged every nerve inside me awake. My ass gripped him tight, the way it always does when I’m still waking up, still tight from sleep. Each pull-out left me empty and whining, each push-in filled me so completely I could feel him in my stomach. My clit throbbed untouched. I rocked back, meeting him, making my thick cheeks clap against his hips.

Andrea walked in at 9:03. I heard the door, didn’t stop. Jason didn’t stop. I looked back over my shoulder, hair in my face, and said, “Come here, baby. Watch how he fucks my fat ass. Watch how much I take.”

She dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, came closer. Jason slowed just enough for her to see—the way my hole clung to him, the way my cheeks jiggled with every thrust, the way my back arched like I was offering everything.

“Get on the table,” I told her. “Legs open. I want your pussy on my mouth while he fucks me.”

She climbed up, dress hiked, panties pulled to the side. I lowered my face between her skinny thighs, licked her once—slow, flat tongue from hole to clit. She gasped. Jason chose that moment to slam in hard. My moan vibrated straight into her pussy. She grabbed my hair, pulled me closer.

Jason leaned over me, voice rough. “Watch this, Andrea. Watch how I fuck this chubby fat ass. Watch how she takes every inch like she was born for it. I’m gonna lose it in her soon. Then I’m gonna fuck you the same way. You’re gonna learn.”

Andrea whimpered. Her pussy was dripping now, coating my chin. I sucked her clit, flicked it fast with the tip of my tongue, while Jason pounded me harder—short, brutal thrusts that made my ass ripple and my tits bounce against the edge of the table. I came first—ass clamping down on him so tight he groaned, pussy pulsing against my mouth. Andrea came right after, thighs shaking around my head, flooding my tongue with her taste.

Jason pulled out slow—wet, glistening. “Suck it, Andrea. Taste her ass on me.”

She dropped to her knees beside me. Took him deep, gagged once, then sucked greedily—lips stretched, spit dripping down her chin. I watched her, still panting, ass still twitching from the orgasm. Then I whispered, “Now watch again.”

I bent over the table again, spread wide. Jason slid back in—deeper this time, balls slapping my clit with every thrust. Andrea knelt behind us, eyes huge, watching his cock disappear into my thick cheeks over and over.

“Put your pussy on my mouth again,” I told her. “Sit on my face while he fucks me.”

She climbed back up, straddled me reverse so her ass was toward Jason. I pulled her down, buried my tongue in her pussy, licked deep while he slammed into my ass. The angle was perfect—every thrust pushed my face harder into her. She ground down, moaning, while Jason gripped my hips and fucked me like he wanted to break me.

“Fuck, Nilu… your ass is so greedy today. So fucking tight.”

I moaned into Andrea’s pussy, the sound muffled. She came again—hard, thighs clamping my head, juices running down my chin. Jason felt me clench around him from the vibration, lost it—buried himself deep and came, hot pulses filling me until it leaked out around his cock.

He pulled out slow. Cum dripped from my hole. I stayed bent over, ass up, leaking.

“Now,” I said, voice hoarse. “Both of you. I want it from both ends. I want to take it all.”

I lay on my back on the floor, head tilted back off the edge of the couch so my throat was open. Andrea knelt over my face, pussy above my mouth. Jason stood over me, cock still hard, aiming.

Andrea relaxed first. Warm stream hit my tongue—light, sharp, sweet. I swallowed, opened wider. She let it flow stronger, piss running across my lips, down my cheeks, into my hair. I drank what I could, let the rest spill over my face.

Jason joined—his stream hotter, stronger, hitting my closed eyes first, stinging, then my forehead, my cheeks, mixing with Andrea’s on my skin. I blinked through it, mouth open, catching both—her light taste, his deeper musk. It poured down my neck, soaked my tits, pooled under my head. I came again—body shaking, ass clenching on nothing, pussy throbbing while I drank them both like it was the only thing keeping me alive.

When they finished, I pulled Andrea down, kissed her deep—piss and pussy on our tongues. Jason knelt, slid back into my ass, fucked me slow through the aftershocks while Andrea and I made out above him, faces sticky, hair dripping.

We didn’t stop for hours.

Andrea sucking him while I ate her ass.
Jason fucking my ass while she pissed in my mouth.
Me drinking both of them again—mouth open, eyes closed, taking every drop like it was my fucking birthright.

By noon I was a wreck—face glistening, tits soaked, ass sore and swollen, belly full, heart pounding.

I looked at Jason, still inside me, Andrea curled against my side.

“This is how much I love it,” I told him. “Every day. Every hole. Every drop. And now she’s part of it too.”

He kissed me—slow, deep, tasting them both on my lips.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m never letting either of you go.”

And right there, dripping, full, loved—I knew I didn’t want him to.

I’m Nilu.

And this—this is everything.

Chapter 14: The Day I Showed Andrea How Deep It Goes

I’m Nilu, and I swear some days I wake up already feeling the stretch in my ass like Jason’s cock is phantom-fucking me from the night before. That morning was one of them. I texted him at 6:47 a.m.: “Come over before work. Andrea’s coming at 9. I want you both today. I want to show her how much I love this.” He replied with one word: “On my way.”

By 7:30 he was in my kitchen, pants around his ankles, me bent over the island with my robe open, tits pressed to the cold granite. I spread my cheeks myself, lubed up from the bottle I keep in the drawer. He didn’t tease. He just pressed the head against my hole, waited for me to exhale, then pushed—slow, relentless, one long continuous slide until his hips were flush against my ass and I felt that familiar burn bloom into the deep, heavy pressure that makes my toes curl every single time.

“Fuck,” I moaned, voice shaking. “That’s it… all the way in. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He started thrusting—long, full strokes that dragged every nerve inside me awake. My ass gripped him tight, the way it always does when I’m still waking up, still tight from sleep. Each pull-out left me empty and whining, each push-in filled me so completely I could feel him in my stomach. My clit throbbed untouched. I rocked back, meeting him, making my thick cheeks clap against his hips.

Andrea walked in at 9:03. I heard the door, didn’t stop. Jason didn’t stop. I looked back over my shoulder, hair in my face, and said, “Come here, baby. Watch how he fucks my fat ass. Watch how much I take.”

She dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, came closer. Jason slowed just enough for her to see—the way my hole clung to him, the way my cheeks jiggled with every thrust, the way my back arched like I was offering everything.

“Get on the table,” I told her. “Legs open. I want your pussy on my mouth while he fucks me.”

She climbed up, dress hiked, panties pulled to the side. I lowered my face between her skinny thighs, licked her once—slow, flat tongue from hole to clit. She gasped. Jason chose that moment to slam in hard. My moan vibrated straight into her pussy. She grabbed my hair, pulled me closer.

Jason leaned over me, voice rough. “Watch this, Andrea. Watch how I fuck this chubby fat ass. Watch how she takes every inch like she was born for it. I’m gonna lose it in her soon. Then I’m gonna fuck you the same way. You’re gonna learn.”

Andrea whimpered. Her pussy was dripping now, coating my chin. I sucked her clit, flicked it fast with the tip of my tongue, while Jason pounded me harder—short, brutal thrusts that made my ass ripple and my tits bounce against the edge of the table. I came first—ass clamping down on him so tight he groaned, pussy pulsing against my mouth. Andrea came right after, thighs shaking around my head, flooding my tongue with her taste.

Jason pulled out slow—wet, glistening. “Suck it, Andrea. Taste her ass on me.”

She dropped to her knees beside me. Took him deep, gagged once, then sucked greedily—lips stretched, spit dripping down her chin. I watched her, still panting, ass still twitching from the orgasm. Then I whispered, “Now watch again.”

I bent over the table again, spread wide. Jason slid back in—deeper this time, balls slapping my clit with every thrust. Andrea knelt behind us, eyes huge, watching his cock disappear into my thick cheeks over and over.

“Put your pussy on my mouth again,” I told her. “Sit on my face while he fucks me.”

She climbed back up, straddled me reverse so her ass was toward Jason. I pulled her down, buried my tongue in her pussy, licked deep while he slammed into my ass. The angle was perfect—every thrust pushed my face harder into her. She ground down, moaning, while Jason gripped my hips and fucked me like he wanted to break me.

“Fuck, Nilu… your ass is so greedy today. So fucking tight.”

I moaned into Andrea’s pussy, the sound muffled. She came again—hard, thighs clamping my head, juices running down my chin. Jason felt me clench around him from the vibration, lost it—buried himself deep and came, hot pulses filling me until it leaked out around his cock.

He pulled out slow. Cum dripped from my hole. I stayed bent over, ass up, leaking.

“Now,” I said, voice hoarse. “Both of you. I want it from both ends. I want to take it all.”

I lay on my back on the floor, head tilted back off the edge of the couch so my throat was open. Andrea knelt over my face, pussy above my mouth. Jason stood over me, cock still hard, aiming.

Andrea relaxed first. Warm stream hit my tongue—light, sharp, sweet. I swallowed, opened wider. She let it flow stronger, piss running across my lips, down my cheeks, into my hair. I drank what I could, let the rest spill over my face.

Jason joined—his stream hotter, stronger, hitting my closed eyes first, stinging, then my forehead, my cheeks, mixing with Andrea’s on my skin. I blinked through it, mouth open, catching both—her light taste, his deeper musk. It poured down my neck, soaked my tits, pooled under my head. I came again—body shaking, ass clenching on nothing, pussy throbbing while I drank them both like it was the only thing keeping me alive.

When they finished, I pulled Andrea down, kissed her deep—piss and pussy on our tongues. Jason knelt, slid back into my ass, fucked me slow through the aftershocks while Andrea and I made out above him, faces sticky, hair dripping.

We didn’t stop for hours.

Andrea sucking him while I ate her ass.
Jason fucking my ass while she pissed in my mouth.
Me drinking both of them again—mouth open, eyes closed, taking every drop like it was my fucking birthright.

By noon I was a wreck—face glistening, tits soaked, ass sore and swollen, belly full, heart pounding.

I looked at Jason, still inside me, Andrea curled against my side.

“This is how much I love it,” I told him. “Every day. Every hole. Every drop. And now she’s part of it too.”

He kissed me—slow, deep, tasting them both on my lips.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m never letting either of you go.”

And right there, dripping, full, loved—I knew I didn’t want him to.

I’m Nilu.

And this—this is everything.

Chapter 15: Mommy, Daddy & Daughter

I’m Nilu, and tonight I decided we were going to play a game that made my ass clench just thinking about it. I told Jason and Andrea exactly what I wanted: “Tonight I’m Mommy. Andrea’s my sweet little daughter. You’re Daddy—the horny bastard who can’t stop fucking our asses every single day. No limits. Free use. We’re yours whenever you want us.”

We set it up in Jason’s living room. Lights low, couch pushed back, blanket on the floor so we could get messy. I wore a silky black robe—nothing underneath, belt loose so my heavy tits and thick hips were barely covered. Andrea came out in a tiny white nightie, no panties, her skinny legs and perky little ass looking innocent as hell. Jason walked in wearing just gray sweatpants, cock already half-hard, eyes dark with that look he gets when he knows he’s about to ruin us.

I sat on the couch like a queen, legs crossed, robe slipping open so my pussy and the curve of my ass were visible. “Come here, baby girl,” I said to Andrea, voice low and sweet. “Mommy wants to hold you.”

She crawled over, climbed onto my lap, straddled me facing me. Her small tits pressed against mine. I kissed her slow—tongue sliding in, tasting her nervousness and excitement. My hands slid under her nightie, cupped her tiny ass, spread her cheeks a little so Daddy could see her pink hole when he looked.

Jason stood behind us, watching. “Look at my girls,” he said, voice rough. “Mommy and her little daughter. Both of you so fucking needy for Daddy’s cock.”

I pulled back from the kiss, looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Daddy’s been gone all day. Mommy’s ass is aching. Daughter’s pussy is wet. You gonna take care of us?”

He stepped closer, pulled his sweatpants down. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking. Andrea whimpered when she saw it. I reached for it, stroked him slow while Andrea watched, then guided her head down. “Kiss Daddy goodnight, baby.”

She leaned forward, took the head in her mouth—small lips stretching, sucking softly like she was shy. I watched her, petting her hair, whispering, “Good girl. Show Daddy how much you missed him.”

Jason groaned. “Mommy… your little girl sucks so sweet. But I need Mommy’s ass right now. Been thinking about it all day.”

I smiled, wicked. “Then take it, Daddy. Mommy’s been waiting.”

I lifted Andrea off my lap, laid her on the floor on her back, legs spread. “Stay there, baby. Watch Daddy fuck Mommy’s fat ass. Watch how Mommy takes it all.”

I got on all fours over Andrea, ass high, robe falling open so my heavy tits hung down, nipples brushing her stomach. Jason knelt behind me, spat on my hole, rubbed the head along my crack. “Look at this chubby ass, baby girl,” he told Andrea. “Mommy’s hole is already winking for Daddy. You gonna learn how to take it like this.”

He pressed the head against my rim. I exhaled slow, relaxed. He pushed—slow at first, the fat head stretching me open, that sharp burn I love so much making me gasp. Andrea watched wide-eyed as inch after inch disappeared into my thick cheeks. When he bottomed out, hips flush against me, I moaned loud—deep, needy, ass clenching around him like it never wanted to let go.

“Fuck… Daddy’s home,” I breathed.

He started thrusting—long, full strokes that made my ass ripple and clap. Every push forward pressed my face closer to Andrea’s pussy. I lowered my mouth to her, licked slow circles around her clit while Daddy fucked me harder. Andrea moaned, hips lifting, hands grabbing my hair. “Mommy… oh god, Mommy…”

Jason gripped my hips, thumbs spreading my cheeks wide so Andrea could see everything—his cock sliding in and out of my stretched hole, the way my rim clung to him, the way my ass jiggled with every slam. “Watch how Mommy takes Daddy’s cock, baby girl. Watch how much she loves it. This is what Mommy needs every day.”

I sucked Andrea’s clit harder, tongue flicking fast. She came—sharp cry, thighs shaking, pussy pulsing against my mouth. I drank her down, kept licking through it while Jason pounded me faster, chasing his own edge.

He pulled out suddenly—cock slick and shining. “Open wide, Mommy. Taste your ass.”

I turned my head, took him deep—gagging wetly, tasting myself on him, spit dripping down my chin onto Andrea’s stomach. She watched, eyes glassy, fingers rubbing her clit.

Jason groaned. “Fuck… Mommy’s mouth is so greedy. Now Daddy’s gonna fill Mommy’s ass again.”

He pushed back in—harder this time, no pause, balls slapping my clit. I moaned around the memory of his taste, face buried in Andrea’s pussy again. He fucked me relentless—deep, punishing strokes that made my whole body shake, tits bouncing, ass rippling. Andrea came again on my tongue, flooding my mouth while Jason growled, “Gonna come in Mommy’s ass… gonna fill her up for my little girl to see.”

He buried himself deep, cock pulsing, hot ropes flooding me until it leaked out around him, dripping down my thighs. I clenched hard, milking every drop, coming again—ass spasming, pussy gushing onto the blanket.

He pulled out slow. Cum poured from my hole. I stayed on all fours, ass up, dripping.

“Now,” I said, voice wrecked. “Mommy wants something special. Daddy… piss in Mommy’s ass. Baby girl… piss in Mommy’s mouth. I want both at once. I want to take it all.”

Andrea knelt over my face, pussy above my mouth. Jason knelt behind me, cock still hard, pressed against my leaking hole.

Andrea relaxed first—warm stream hit my tongue, light and sharp. I swallowed, opened wider. She let it flow stronger—running over my lips, down my chin. Jason pushed back into my ass—slow, deep—then relaxed inside me. Hot flood started—stronger, thicker, filling me from the back while Andrea filled me from the front. The pressure was insane—warm, heavy, spreading through my belly, pressing everywhere. I came again—body shaking, ass clenching around his cock and the stream, pussy pulsing, mouth full of Andrea’s piss.

They kept going until they emptied—Jason’s load mixing with his piss inside my ass, Andrea’s dripping down my face. I drank what I could, let the rest soak me—hair, tits, neck, floor.

When they finished I pulled Andrea down, kissed her—piss on both our tongues. Jason stayed in my ass, rocking gently while we made out, cum and piss leaking out around him.

I looked up at him, face wet, ass full, glowing.

“Daddy… Mommy loves when you fuck her ass every day. Mommy loves when you fill her. Mommy loves sharing with her little girl.”

He kissed me slow—tasting everything on my lips.

“And Daddy loves his greedy Mommy and his sweet daughter. This is how it’s gonna be. Every day.”

Andrea smiled against my mouth. “Every day, Mommy.”

I clenched around Jason’s cock, already feeling him harden again inside me.

Yes.

Every day.

Chapter 16: The First Time Mother-in-Law Felt Daddy’s Obsession

I’m Nilu, and tonight I told Jason and Andrea exactly what I wanted to play.

“I’m going to be your mother-in-law,” I said, voice low, robe already slipping off one shoulder. “Andrea’s going to be your sweet young wife. You’re the son-in-law who’s been staring at my thick ass every family dinner for years. Tonight’s the first time you finally get to show me how much you’ve always wanted to fuck it. No holding back. You’re going to lose control the second you’re inside me.”

Andrea’s eyes lit up. She slipped into a little white sundress—nothing underneath, hem barely covering her tiny ass. She looked like the perfect innocent bride. I wore a deep burgundy silk slip that hugged every curve of my hips and tits, the fabric so thin you could see my nipples harden the moment the air hit them. Jason walked in wearing dark slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking like the respectful son-in-law who’s about to ruin everything.

We set the scene in the living room. I sat on the couch like I was waiting for my daughter and her husband to come home from dinner. Andrea “arrived” first, kissed me on the cheek, whispered “Mom… he’s been so tense lately,” then sat beside me, legs crossed primly.

Jason walked in last. He looked at me—really looked. His eyes dropped to my cleavage, then lower to where the slip rode up my thick thighs. I saw his cock twitch in his pants immediately.

“Evening, Mom,” he said, voice tight.

I smiled slow, patted the cushion beside me. “Come sit, sweetheart. You look like you need to relax.”

He sat. Close. His thigh pressed against mine. Andrea watched, biting her lip like she knew what was coming.

I leaned in, let my robe slip further. “You’ve been staring at me all night, haven’t you? At family dinner. At the barbecue. Every time I bend over to pick something up, your eyes are on my ass.”

He swallowed hard. “I… yeah. I can’t help it, Mom. It’s so… full. So soft.”

Andrea giggled softly, playing along. “Honey, you’re supposed to be looking at me.”

I reached over, placed my hand on his thigh, inches from his bulge. “It’s okay, baby girl. Mommy understands. Daddy’s been a good boy for so long. Holding back. But tonight… Mommy’s going to let him have what he’s always wanted.”

I stood up slowly, turned my back to him, bent at the waist like I was picking up a remote from the coffee table. The slip rode up, exposing the bottom curve of my ass—no panties, cheeks already parted slightly. I heard his breath hitch.

“Look at it,” I said softly. “Look how thick Mommy’s ass is. How it jiggles when I move. You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he groaned. “Fuck yes.”

Andrea stood beside me, lifted my slip higher. “Mom… show him.”

I spread my legs wider, reached back, pulled my cheeks apart. My hole winked at him—already slick from how turned on I was just setting up the game. Jason stood up fast, pants unzipped in seconds. His cock sprang out—thick, veined, dripping pre-cum.

I looked back over my shoulder. “First time, Daddy. Be gentle at first… then show Mommy how much you love fucking ass.”

He stepped up, rubbed the head along my crack, coating himself in my wetness. Andrea knelt beside us, watching close, eyes wide.

He pressed the tip against my rim. I exhaled slow, relaxed every muscle. He pushed—slow, steady, the fat head stretching me open. I gasped, eyes fluttering. The burn was sharp, perfect, exactly what I craved. Inch by inch he sank in—deeper than he ever had in the role-play before. When his hips finally met my ass, I felt him throb inside me, buried to the root.

“Oh god… Mommy,” he groaned. “Your ass is so fucking tight. So hot. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

I moaned, pushed back, taking him even deeper. “Then take it, Daddy. Fuck Mommy’s ass like you’ve always dreamed. Show your wife how much you love her mother’s thick, greedy hole.”

Andrea crawled closer, kissed my cheek, then leaned down and licked where we were joined—her tongue flicking my stretched rim, tasting him inside me. Jason started thrusting—slow at first, savoring every slide, every grip. Each pull-out left me empty and aching, each push-in filled me so completely I could feel him in my stomach.

“Fuck… look at that ass take it,” he growled. “So fat, so soft, jiggling every time I slam in. You feel that, Mom? That’s how much Daddy loves your ass.”

I came hard—ass clamping down on him like a vice, pussy dripping untouched onto the floor. Andrea licked it up, moaning against my skin.

He didn’t stop. He fucked me harder, faster, hands gripping my hips so tight I knew there’d be marks tomorrow. Andrea climbed up, straddled my back facing him, her tiny ass in his face. He leaned forward, licked her pussy while he pounded me—tongue in his wife, cock in his mother-in-law.

I reached back, spread Andrea’s cheeks for him. “Fuck her next, Daddy. But first… fill Mommy up.”

He groaned, thrust deep one last time, cock pulsing, unloading hot thick ropes into my ass. I clenched hard, milking every drop, feeling it flood me, leak out around him.

He pulled out slow—cum pouring from my hole. Andrea immediately dropped down, licked it clean, tongue diving into my ass to suck out what he left.

I turned around, kissed her—tasting his cum on her tongue—then looked up at Jason.

“First time, Daddy,” I whispered. “And it won’t be the last. Mommy’s ass belongs to you now. Every day. Whenever you want.”

He pulled me up, kissed me deep, cock already hardening again against my stomach.

“Good,” he said. “Because Daddy’s not done. Not even close.”

Andrea smiled between us, face shiny. “Wife wants to watch Daddy fuck Mommy again. And again.”

I clenched, already aching for more.

Yes.

Every day.

Mother-in-law’s ass is Daddy’s favorite place to come home to.