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"Count to twenty," I breathe. "Out loud. Slow."
Heath does—one, two, three—while he glides through my folds, never breaching. While my pathetic pet's countdown is whispered underneath in tandem, voice trembling. By fifteen my hips are stuttering upward. At eighteen I snarl, "Inside. Now."
Nineteen never happens. Heath thrusts, so powerfully, one fluid roll of hips and my world pinwheels around the sudden invasion. He's so long the head kisses my cervix before he's halfway seated, so thick my entrance burns sweetly around the rim of his crown. I claw his shoulders, nails raking parallel lines, and roll my pelvis to suck him deeper.
The mattress begins its metronome squeak: out-in, out-in, steady, slow. Every stroke drags his shaft across my front wall, scraping that tender patch of nerves until my thighs quiver uncontrollably. I force my eyes to stay open, staring at the ceiling, cataloging every sound: the slap of balls, the suction of my cunt, the whispered prayers from beneath.
I edge myself on him. when I feel the coil tightening I tap his hip twice; he freezes, buried to the root, pulsing. My cunt flutters around him, thumping, but I breathe through the climax until it recedes like a wave denied the shore. Then we begin again.
his big cock lasts forty minutes, maybe an hour—time liquefies when your entire universe is a cock and the wet noises it makes pillaging you. Sweat turns my breasts into mirrors for the red light; my hair mats to my temples. Heath's jaw is clenched so tight I can see the tic in his cheek, but he obeys, because I am Sofi, his Goddess, and bulls break for no one except the one who holds the ring.
Finally I allow speed. "Fuck me like you mean it." My voice is cracked glass. He lunges, bed slamming the wall, headboard tattooing plaster. My legs slip from his shoulders to around his waist, ankles locking. The new angle drives him even deeper; every thrust nudges a grunt from my throat. I reach under the bed again, find andy's hair, twist. "Listen." I pull him until his cheek presses the floorboards directly beneath my thrashing hips. Each impact of Heath's body against mine is a thunderclap over Andypet's head.
My orgasm arrives like a shard of lightning! no build-up, just sudden white obliteration. I scream, back arching, cunt clamping so fiercely Heath curses in three languages. Hot spurts of my cream pour over his shaft, trickle to the sheets. The knowledge that andy's tongue is inches away yet forbidden makes the contractions vicious, almost painful.
"Give me your load," I hiss through gritted teeth. Heath's control shatters..he hammers three, four, five savage strokes and buries himself to the hilt. I feel the first jet paint my cervix, the second, third, until my core is a molten pool of him. He collapses forward, elbows bracketing my head, cock still twitching, plugging every drop.
We stay locked like that until our breathing steadies. Then I snap my fingers. one crisp click that slices the afterglow.
From under the bed comes a scramble of limbs. My little cocklette emerges face-first, eyes glassy, lips swollen from self inflicted bites. He knows the order: no speaking, no coming, just service. I ease Heath out of me—an obscene slide, suction so strong it makes us both groan—and my pussy gapes, red, puffy, rivers of pearlescent cum seeping from the mouth of my entrance. The scent is primal: sweat, sex, ocean brine.
I pet andy's crown. "Clean your Goddess. Start at the thigh; work in." My legs fall wide.
His first lick is reverent, gathering the rivulets that have rolled to the hollow where leg meets pelvis. I close my eyes and let sensation narrate: warm tongue dragging through cooling cum, scooping mixed juices back toward my slit. Every swipe circles closer but never lands where I'm hypersensitive, teasing himself as much as me. When finally he seals his mouth over my gaping hole and sucks, I gasp, my pet has been practicing..too tender, too perfect. He feasts, slurping Heath's thick load, nose grinding my clit until fresh sparks flare. My hips rock of their own accord, fucking his face in lazy figure eights.
Heath watches from the headboard, spent cock still half-hard, fascinated by the tableau of devotion. I meet his eyes, smile languidly. "See how well-trained pets say thank you?"
Minutes stretch again. My puffy flesh softens under Andy's patient tongue; ache transitions to warm honey. When I'm thoroughly licked..inside, outside, every fold glossy with spit instead of cum—I tap Andy away. He retreats to his knees at bedside, chin dripping, eyes shining in the red glow like a creature baptized.
Time for aftercare.
I rise on unsteady legs, lead both men to the en-suite. Candles wait. vanilla and sandalwood, already lit; I planned this moment before either of them walked in. Steam billows as I twist the tub taps, pouring in measured capfuls of milk bath and lavender oil until the surface glimmers like moonlit satin. Heath leans against the doorway, arms folded, while I test the temperature with my foot. Perfect—just hot enough to pink skin without burning my swollen cunt.
I step in first, lowering slowly, hiss of relief when the water cups my sore lips. Then I extend a hand to Andy. "Wash me." He undresses in seconds—slim, trembling, cock purple and untouched all night. He slides into the water across from me, picks up the sea-sponge, soaps it until suds cascade.
Starting at my ankles he lathers, reverent circles up calves, knees, then thighs. I let them fall apart so he can swirl over my mound without pressure, cleaning away the last sticky traces of fuck. His touch is butterfly light—no erotic angle now, just worship. I lean my head back against Heath's shin; the bull has moved closer, watching with unreadable eyes while big fingers card through my wet hair, massaging my scalp until my eyelids droop.
Time loses definition once more: warm water, candle shadows, two pairs of hands on my skin—one rough, one cautious—meeting in the middle to soothe. When every inch of me is flushed and fragrant, Andy lets the tub drain, wraps me in an oversized towel heated on the rail. He pats, never rubs, until I'm dry and drowsy. Heath disappears into the bedroom, returns with one of my silk slips, guides it over my head so the fabric slithers down to kiss my curves.
I stand between them: bull on my left, pet on my right. Both men smell of me now—one marked by release, the other by service. I cup Heath's jaw, rise on tiptoes to taste his mouth—copper, salt, satisfaction—then turn and press the same lips to Andy's forehead, a benediction.
"Tonight you earned your place beneath my bed," I murmur against his skin. "Tomorrow, perhaps, you'll earn the privilege of sleeping at the foot of it."
Andy's exhale is shaky, grateful.. "Ye-ye-yes Goddess." oh how I love when he stutters for Me. My power, still keeping him Ina daze. Heath merely smirks, already knowing he'll be invited back—bulls always are, when they follow rules.
I snap off the red light. Darkness swallows the room, broken only by two sets of male breaths syncing to mine. Goddess sated, pet fed, bull claimed. The city keeps moving outside, but inside my domain, everything pauses—waiting for me to decide whose world I'll rearrange next.
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