The luxury mall stretched out before them like a glittering palace.
Polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of crystal chandeliers overhead.
High-end boutiques lined the wide corridors, featuring minimalist displays with designer names illuminated in elegant lettering
Couples drifted past in quiet luxury, but none drew Ethan's attention the way Bella did.
She slipped her small, delicate hand into his large, calloused one without hesitation, fingers threading through his naturally, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
The contrast hit Ethan like a quiet thunderbolt, her soft palm against his rough skin, warm and trusting.
His heart stuttered.
For years he had dreamed of this simple act, holding her hand in public, not as Daniel's wife, but as his.
Now, under the mana artifact's subtle disguise, she was his woman, and the reality of it made his chest ache with something deeper than lust, something dangerously close to hope.
They walked slowly, her long bodycon dress forcing small, graceful steps that made her hips sway just enough to press her thighs together with every movement.
The vibrating egg, still buried deep inside her slick pussy, shifted subtly with each stride, rubbing against her sensitive walls.
Every few steps, Bella would falter, her knees softening, a tiny whimper caught in her throat as she instinctively leaned into his side, her full breast pressing against his arm for support.
Ethan felt the tremor run through her body, felt the way she clung tighter to his hand as if anchoring herself against the building pleasure.
His cock throbbed in response, knowing exactly what tormented her beneath the elegant fabric.
She looked up at him often, blue eyes peeking through long lashes, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders, the scar on his cheek, the sheer size of him towering over her petite frame.
There was a quiet wonder in her gaze, mixed with shy admiration, as if she were seeing him anew—not as the rugged hunter who had loved her from afar, but as the man who could protect her, claim her, make her feel small and safe.
Ethan swallowed hard, throat tight. Every time her eyes lingered on him like that, he felt ten feet tall, invincible.
They entered a high-end menswear boutique, the air scented with leather and expensive cologne.
Bella took charge with surprising gentleness, pulling shirts from the racks, holding them up to his chest, tilting her head thoughtfully.
"This one would look good on you" she murmured, voice soft and intimate, fingers brushing his collarbone as she imagined the fit.
When a sales associate approached and smiled warmly, saying, "Your husband has excellent taste—such a handsome couple," Bella's cheeks bloomed pink, but she didn't correct her. Instead, a small, genuine smile curved her lips, eyes sparkling as she glanced sideways at Ethan.
The word "husband" hung between them like a stolen promise, and Ethan's pulse roared in his ears. He could almost believe it was real.
Ethan stood motionless in the spacious fitting room, barely daring to breathe, every gentle brush of Bella's fingers against his skin igniting trails of fire through his veins.
She stood so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from her petite body, her sweet scent—vanilla and faint arousal—wrapping around him like a secret.
Her small hands worked with quiet, focused tenderness, smoothing the crisp white shirt over the broad expanse of his shoulders, tugging lightly at the sleeves to make them fall just right, fingertips lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary as they traced the hard lines of muscle beneath the fabric.
She bit her lower lip in concentration, golden waves falling softly forward, completely absorbed in the simple act of making him look perfect.
And then Ethan lifted his eyes to the full-length mirror.
There they were—reflected together like a stolen snapshot of a life that wasn't supposed to exist.
Him, tall, scarred, rugged, the hunter who had always watched from the shadows.
Her, delicate, glowing, transformed just enough by the mana artifact to be... his woman instead of Daniel's wife.
The light gray bodycon dress still clung to her every curve, her massive breasts rising and falling with each soft breath.
She stood slightly behind him, half-hidden in his shadow, one small hand resting flat against his chest over the shirt she had just fastened, the other gently straightening his collar.
Their reflections fit together so naturally—his powerful frame dwarfing her 5-foot height, her fair skin glowing against his tanned, battle-worn one, her blue eyes lifted to meet his in the glass with that shy, conflicted softness that made his heart twist.
In the mirror, they looked like a married couple.
Like she belonged there—belonged to him—helping him dress for their day, for their life, for the quiet forever mornings he had fantasized about since he was a boy.
The way her fingers smoothed the fabric one last time, the way her body leaned instinctively into his side, the way her reflection smiled just the tiniest bit when their eyes locked—it was so real, so achingly perfect, that for a moment Ethan forgot the truth.
He forgot Daniel.
He forgot the guilt.
He forgot everything except the image staring back at him: husband and wife, together, unbreakable.
The illusion was so complete it hurt.
He couldn't hold it in any longer.Ethan's hands moved before he could think better of it—slow, careful, as if afraid the moment might shatter. He placed them lightly on Bella's tiny waist, palms settling over the soft curve where the bunched fabric of her bodycon dress met her skin. His thumbs brushed small, soothing circles against the material, feeling the warmth of her body beneath, the faint tremble that had nothing to do with nerves.
Bella's breath caught again, sharper this time.
The vibrating egg inside her pussy suddenly surged to life—stronger, more insistent, a deep, pulsing rhythm that made her inner walls flutter violently.
It wasn't Ethan; his thumb was still tracing gentle arcs on her waist, the remote safely in his pocket. Her wide blue eyes flicked sideways, landing on the small, innocuous round robot disguised as a keychain dangling from the strap of her tiny handbag. The little device blinked once, innocently, its hidden camera winking in the soft light of the fitting room.
Daniel.
He was watching. Right now. Through the robot's eyes, probably lounging in his office or the backseat of his car, smirking as he toyed with the controls on his phone.
Teasing her. Punishing her. Encouraging her.
Bella's cheeks flamed crimson, humiliation and helpless arousal crashing through her in equal measure.
The sudden, brutal intensity of the vibration stole her balance. Her knees buckled, thighs quivering uncontrollably as the egg hammered against her g-spot with ruthless precision. A broken whimper escaped her lips, and she collapsed forward—straight into Ethan's broad chest.
He caught her instantly, strong arms banding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her heavy breasts crushed against his shirt, nipples stiff and aching through the thin fabric.
Ethan felt her entire body shaking, felt the heat radiating from between her thighs, the faint wet sound of her arousal as her pussy clenched desperately around the toy.
For one dizzying heartbeat, he misunderstood.
He thought the way she melted into him, the way her small hands fisted the front of his shirt, the way her breath came in soft, needy pants against his neck—it was her answer. A silent, trembling yes to the wish he had just confessed.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
"Bella..." he rasped, voice thick with emotion.
He lowered his head slowly, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn't.
Instead, as if in response to some invisible command, the egg inside her pulsed even harder—sharp, demanding bursts that made her hips jerk involuntarily against his thigh. It was like a reminder, a cruel little nudge from Daniel: answer him. Kiss him back.
Bella tilted her head back, golden waves spilling over Ethan's arm, blue eyes glassy and half-lidded. Her lips parted on a shaky exhale.
Ethan took her mouth in a slow, deep kiss—claiming, tender, reverent. His tongue slid past her lips, tasting the sweetness of her, swallowing the tiny, helpless moans she couldn't hold back. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair; the other tightened on her waist, holding her steady as her legs trembled beneath her.
She kissed him back—soft at first, hesitant, then deeper, her small tongue shyly meeting his, surrendering to the rhythm he set. The egg kept vibrating mercilessly, each pulse making her pussy spasm, making her press tighter against him, making her whimper into his mouth like she was drowning in sensation.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Bella's cheeks were flushed scarlet, lips swollen and glistening. She looked dazed, conflicted, utterly overwhelmed.
But she didn't speak.
She simply stepped back—just enough to regain her balance—small hands returning to the collar of his shirt. With quiet, careful movements, she resumed her task: straightening the last tiny fold, smoothing the fabric one final time, fingers lingering on the buttons as if memorizing the feel of him.
No words.
No explanation.
Just the soft, steady rhythm of her touch, the faint tremble in her fingers, and the knowledge that somewhere, Daniel was still watching—still pulling the strings.
Ethan swallowed hard, throat tight, heart aching with a mixture of hope and torment.
He let her finish dressing him.
And when she finally stepped back to admire her work, offering him that small, wistful smile again, he felt more married to her than ever—and more impossibly far away at the same time.
Ethan's heart clenched painfully. He reached up, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing the beauty mark beneath her eye—the one the artifact had added to make her his. She leaned into the touch just slightly, eyes fluttering closed for a heartbeat.
Then she offering him a small, wistful smile.
"Come on" she whispered. "Let's see how this looks with the jacket."
They stepped out together, her hand finding his again without prompting, fingers intertwining like they belonged there.
And for the rest of the afternoon, Ethan carried that moment like a secret wound and a treasure all at once, sweet, aching, and impossible to forget.
After loading the shopping bags into the trunk of the black SUV, Ethan closed it with a soft click and turned to Bella, expecting her to slide back into the passenger seat.
Instead, she reached into the back seat and pulled out a large, woven picnic basket—simple, elegant, the kind that looked like it belonged in a romantic movie.
She smiled shyly up at him, "Let's have lunch in the park," she suggested.
Ethan blinked, then took the basket from her without question, the weight of it surprisingly light in his large hands.
She slipped her small hand back into his, and together they walked out of the parking garage, across the quiet street, and into the sprawling city park that bordered the mall.
It was a weekday afternoon; the paths were nearly empty.
A few joggers passed in the distance, but the area around the small lake was deserted—sunlight filtering through the trees, water lapping gently at the shore, birds calling softly overhead.
Bella led him to a secluded spot beneath a large willow, its branches draping like a natural curtain over the grassy bank.
She knelt gracefully, the long hem of her bodycon dress pooling around her knees, and spread out a soft plaid blanket she’d somehow tucked into the basket.
Ethan watched, heart thudding, as she began unpacking, neatly wrapped sandwiches, fresh fruit, little containers of pasta salad, a thermos of iced tea, even a small bouquet of wildflowers she arranged in the center like a centerpiece.
When everything was set, she sat back on her heels and looked up at him with that soft, tentative smile.
Ethan lowered himself beside her, legs stretched out, suddenly feeling too big, too rough for the delicate scene she had created. He rubbed the back of his neck, voice low and a little hoarse.
"This… this feels like a real date, doesn’t it?"
Bella tilted her head, golden waves catching the sunlight. Her voice was quiet but sure.
"It is."
The words landed like a spark against dry tinder.
Ethan leaned in slowly. He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the tiny beauty mark beneath her eye, and kissed her—slow, deep, reverent.
Her lips parted for him, soft and yielding, a small sigh escaping into his mouth. When they parted, both breathing harder, Bella’s cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes glassy.
"Eat first," she whispered, a playful scold in her tone as she gently pushed at his chest.
They settled in, eating quietly at first, the only sounds the rustle of leaves, the lap of water, and the occasional soft clink of utensils.
Ethan stole glances at her—watching the way she nibbled on a strawberry, the way sunlight gilded her hair, the way the tight dress still hugged her curves even while she sat on the blanket.
After a few minutes, he cleared his throat, suddenly shy despite everything they had already done.
"Bella…" He hesitated, rubbing his palm on his thigh. "Can you… can you feed me? Like… with your mouth?"
Her hand froze halfway to her lips, strawberry juice glistening on her fingers. Color flooded her face, bright and instant.
She stared at him, eyes widening. "So… you saw everything that day, didn’t you?"
Ethan’s ears burned. He nodded once, unable to lie.
That morning, he’d come home early from a hunt, stepping into the backyard to find Bella in her tiny babydoll nightie, legs spread wide on the lounge chair, Daniel’s fingers buried deep inside her dripping pussy while she moaned softly.
Daniel made her eat first, then guided her to lean forward so he could receive each piece directly from her mouth, their tongues intertwining.
Her body rocking on his fingers. Ethan had frozen from the gate, cock instantly hard.
Now, Bella’s blush deepened to scarlet. She looked down at the blanket, biting her lip.
The vibrating egg inside her pussy suddenly came alive again—strong, insistent pulses that made her gasp and clutch at the edge of the blanket.
Her thighs squeezed together, hips jerking slightly as the toy hammered against her sensitive walls.
Daniel again.
Teasing. Pushing. Reminding.
Bella’s breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut for a second as another wave of vibration rolled through her. When she opened them again, they were glassy, pupils blown wide.
She swallowed hard.
Then, slowly, she reached for a strawberry—perfect, red, glistening.
She brought it to her lips first, taking a small bite, letting the juice drip down her chin. Then she leaned forward, offering the rest to Ethan.
He met her halfway.
Their mouths brushed—soft at first, then deeper.
She pushed the bitten strawberry past his lips with her tongue, letting him taste the sweet fruit and the warmth of her at the same time.
Ethan groaned low in his throat, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, holding her close as he kissed her harder, licking the juice from her lips, her tongue, her chin.
She whimpered into his mouth, the egg still buzzing relentlessly inside her, making her hips rock subtly against the blanket.
When they finally parted, a thin string of saliva and strawberry juice connected their lips for a heartbeat before breaking.
Bella’s voice was breathless, trembling.
"More… ?"
Ethan nodded, eyes dark with hunger.
She fed him like that again and again—small bites of sandwich, pieces of melon, sips of iced tea from her own mouth—each time their tongues tangling, each time the egg pulsing harder as if Daniel were rewarding her obedience.
By the time the basket was nearly empty, Bella was shaking, thighs slick beneath the dress, cheeks flushed, eyes hazy with pleasure and something softer.
Ethan pulled her into his lap carefully, cradling her against his chest, one arm around her waist, the other stroking her hair.
"Thank you," he whispered against her temple. "For today. For all of it."
She nestled closer, small hand resting over his heart.
And for a long while, they simply sat there—two people pretending the world outside the willow tree didn’t exist, while Daniel watched from afar, pulling strings that only made the fantasy feel more dangerously real.
After the picnic, they rent a small rowboat from the lakeside dock. The attendant handed over the keys with a friendly nod, and soon they were gliding out onto the calm water, Ethan pulling the oars with steady, powerful strokes while Bella sat facing him, knees pressed together beneath the long hem of her dress, the basket resting between them.
The lake was mirror-smooth, reflecting the late-afternoon sun in golden ripples.
They rowed farther than most people bothered to go, past the popular benches and picnic spots, until they reached the far shore—a quiet, shaded cove hidden by overhanging willows and thick reeds.
No one else in sight. Just the soft lap of water against the hull and the distant call of birds.
Ethan shipped the oars, letting the boat drift gently until it nudged the soft bank.
He stood carefully, the small craft rocking, then bent and lifted Bella into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing.
She let out a tiny surprised gasp, arms instinctively looping around his neck, but she didn’t protest.
He carried her the short distance to the grassy bank beneath the deepest shade, holding her small body in one arm while spreading the blanket with his other hand. Then he lowered himself onto his back and carefully positioned her on top of him so that she straddled his waist.
With Ethan lying flat on his back against the soft grass and blanket, Bella fit perfectly atop him, her petite frame nestling along the broad, powerful expanse of his body as though his chest and abdomen had been carved specifically to cradle her like a royal bed made for a princess.
Her heavy breasts pressed warmly against the hard planes of his pectorals, her tiny waist settled into the dip between his ribs, her round hips and soft thighs draped over his narrow hips and thick thighs, legs tucked neatly along the length of his.
The long bodycon dress flowed around her like liquid silver, the hem rising just enough to reveal the smooth skin of her calves against his dark pants.
She was light, delicate, fragile—and yet the way she molded to him felt utterly right, like she belonged there, small and cherished atop the rugged hunter who had always been too large, too rough, too much for the world.
Their eyes met.
For one suspended heartbeat, neither moved, neither spoke—only the soft rustle of willow leaves overhead and the distant lap of lake water against the shore.
Then Ethan lifted his head slightly, one large hand sliding up to cradle the back of her skull, fingers threading gently into golden waves. His green eyes burned with quiet hunger, reverence, and something almost painful.
Bella tilted her head delicately, body sliding upward along his in a slow, sinuous glide—her breasts dragging softly over his chest, nipples stiffening further through the thin fabric as they brushed against him. Her small hands found his shoulders, clutching the hard muscle there for balance as she pressed her lips to his.
The kiss began slow, deep, achingly tender—lips brushing, parting, tasting.
Then it deepened.
Ethan’s tongue slipped past her lips, claiming her mouth with deliberate hunger.
Bella melted into it completely, small whimpers vibrating against his tongue as she opened wider for him, letting him take, letting him explore.
Their mouths moved together in wet, intimate rhythm—tongues sliding, curling, sucking—each kiss growing sloppier, more desperate, breaths mingling in hot, ragged pants between every press and pull.
Beneath the canopy of the willow tree, along the quiet shore of the lake, the world narrowed to only them.
The soft, wet sounds of their kissing filled the air—slick, obscene little noises of lips parting and meeting again, tongues tangling, saliva shared in slow, greedy exchanges.
Their breaths came in uneven gasps and sighs—his low and rough, hers high and feminine, trembling with every sweep of his tongue.
And every so often, a soft, helpless moan slipped from Bella’s throat—tiny, needy sounds that made Ethan groan in response, his hand tightening in her hair, pulling her closer as though he could swallow her whole.
No words.
Only the intimate symphony of their mouths, their breaths, her quiet moans—and the faint, steady lapping of the lake, as though the water itself were bearing witness to the stolen, forbidden tenderness unfolding beneath the tree.
As their tongues tangled, Bella’s mind drifted back to the night before...
Daniel buried deep inside her, hips rolling in slow, possessive thrusts while she lay on her back, legs hooked over his shoulders.
He had been murmuring against her throat, voice rough with pleasure.
“Let him have a real date with you, Bella” he said, emphasizing each word with a slow, deliberate grind. “He has never been on a date before. Because of you, Bella, he always looks at you and never pays attention to any other girl. Give him the chance to experience what dating feels like. One perfect day just like how we do everything else.”
She had gone still beneath him, breath hitching—not from the way his cock stretched her, but from the weight of the words.
After a long silence, she had whispered, “You really want this? Even if…”
She hadn’t finished the sentence.
The words hung between them, fragile and unfinished, like a thread pulled too tight. Bella’s voice was barely audible.
Daniel had gone quiet too. No teasing words, no possessive growl—just silence.
Then he’d simply grunted once—low, affirmative, almost reluctant.
And in that same instant, his cock had swelled impossibly thicker inside her, growing harder, stretching her already tender walls to the limit as if his body was answering the question his voice refused to voice clearly.
That single, brutal thrust after the grunt had told her everything: yes.
He wanted it.
He wanted to watch it happen.
He wanted his little brother to take her
The realization crashed through Bella like cold water.
Her pussy clenched hard around him involuntarily—sharp, involuntary spasms that milked his thickening shaft, betraying her even as her heart twisted.
She felt the betrayal in her own body, the slick heat that gathered anew, the way her inner walls fluttered eagerly at the thought of Ethan’s hands, Ethan’s mouth, Ethan’s cock finally claiming what had always belonged to Daniel.
And yet, at the same time, a quiet, aching sadness bloomed in her chest.
Her husband—her Daniel, the man she loved with every fragile piece of her heart—truly wanted to share her.
Not just allow it. Not just tolerate it.
He wanted it.
The knowledge settled in her stomach like lead. She had always dreamed of a love that was selfish, possessive, absolute.
She wanted Daniel to want her so badly that he would never dream of letting another man touch her, never dream of sharing even a glance, a kiss, a single moment of her body or soul.
That was the love she craved: the kind that consumed, that claimed, that refused to yield.
But he was giving her away.
Even if only to his brother.
And the worst part—the part that made tears prick hot behind her closed eyelids—was that she didn’t truly hate it.
She should have hated it.
She should have screamed, pushed him away, demanded he take it back.
Instead, her body responded with shameful hunger. Her pussy clenched again, harder, wetter, as images flooded her mind.
Ethan’s scarred hands on her waist.
Ethan’s green eyes burning with years of pent-up longing.
Ethan’s mouth on hers, hungry and reverent.
She remembered the way she had let him kiss her—first tentatively, then deeper, letting him take her tongue, letting him grind his clothed cock against her bare folds until she came shaking in his arms.
She remembered how she had initiated kisses too—small, shy ones at first, then bolder, pressing her lips to his when no one was looking.
She remembered wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, whispering “darling” like it belonged to him.
She had done those things.
And now her husband wanted more.
He wanted Ethan to take her on a real date, to hold her hand in public, to kiss her, and maybe to touch her breasts, to suck her nipples, and finally push inside her, claiming the one place only Daniel had ever been.
The thought made her pussy spasm violently again—another gush of slick coating Daniel’s shaft, her walls fluttering around him like they were trying to pull him deeper, trying to hold onto the only man who had ever truly owned her.
But tears slipped free anyway.
They traced silent paths down her cheeks as she buried her face in Daniel’s chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—sweat, cologne, and the faint metallic edge of the man who had built an empire and still came home to her every night.
Her arms tightened around his neck, clinging like she could keep him, like she could make him change his mind just by holding on.
She felt dirty.
Greedy.
Whoreish.
A woman who wanted to be loved completely by one man, yet couldn’t stop her body from aching for another.
A woman who had promised forever to Daniel, yet had already given pieces of herself to Ethan—kisses, touches, orgasms, whispered endearments.
She hated herself for it.
And she hated even more that Daniel’s cock only grew harder inside her at the thought—stretching her to the point of delicious pain, telling her without words that this was what aroused him most, the idea of his little brother finally having what he had always wanted.
Bella squeezed her eyes shut tighter, tears soaking into his skin.
Her pussy clenched one last time—hard, desperate, almost painful—and she came quietly around him, a soft, broken sob muffled against his chest.
Not from pleasure alone.
But from the unbearable tangle of love, guilt, shame, and helpless desire.
Daniel’s arms tightened around her, holding her through the aftershocks, his cock still buried deep, still hard, still unyielding.
And in that moment, Bella understood the cruel truth:
She was his.
She would always be his.
But he wanted to lend her out—just for a little while.
And she wasn’t sure she had the strength to say no.
Even if every part of her heart screamed that she should...
Now, here in the shade beneath the weeping willow, Bella’s eyes fluttered open mid-kiss, lashes heavy and damp.
She looked at Ethan—his scarred face softened by raw desire, those green eyes burning with a reverence that bordered on worship—and the familiar conflicted ache twisted deep in her chest, sharp and bittersweet.
Ethan broke the kiss first, but he didn’t pull away far. His gaze simply drifted downward, slow and deliberate, drinking her in like a man who had waited years for this single sip.
He stared at her flushed, panting face first—the way her lips were swollen and glistening from his mouth, parted on shallow, needy breaths.
Then lower, to the elegant column of her throat, the delicate hollow at the base where her pulse fluttered visibly.
Down further still, over the bright, gleaming collarbones that caught the dappled sunlight like polished ivory.
And then… lower.
One full, heavy breast had already slipped free during their kiss, the deep neckline of the dress tugged down by friction and gravity.
It spilled forward, soft and pendulous, resting heavily against his chest, the creamy skin glowing warm in the shifting light filtering through the leaves.
The pale pink nipple stood stiff and aching, already swollen from the cool air and the heat of his earlier kisses, a tiny bead of moisture gathering at the tip like dew.
He stared.
Openly. Hungrily.
His green eyes darkened to near-black, pupils blown so wide they swallowed the irises.
The old scar on his cheek stood out in stark relief against the flush creeping up his neck, but the rest of his expression was almost pained—years of silent, burning longing finally crashing against the impossible reality of having her like this, bared and trembling in his arms.
His throat worked visibly as he swallowed, the sound rough and audible in the quiet.
His gaze traced every creamy curve, following the gentle rise and fall with each quickening breath she took.
Then he leaned in just a fraction closer—close enough that the hot, unsteady puffs of his breath washed over her exposed nipple in rhythmic waves.
Each exhale teased her sensitive bud, making it twitch and tighten further, the tiny peak jerking like it was begging for more.
Bella felt it all—the warmth of his breath, the faint dampness it left behind, the electric shiver that raced straight down her spine and pooled hot between her thighs.
Heat bloomed across her chest in a slow, burning flush.
Her nipples ached under his unrelenting breath, hardening to painful points.
Her heart hammered—shame, thrill, guilt, and that same tangled ache she’d felt the night Daniel’s cock had thickened inside her at the mere thought of giving her to Ethan.
Then the egg inside her pussy came alive again.
The deep, unrelenting vibrations hammered against her g-spot like Daniel’s cock itself—thick, possessive, punishing—sending sharp, electric jolts straight up her spine and making her inner walls flutter and clench desperately, milking the toy as if it were her husband’s shaft buried to the hilt.
She knew exactly what it meant. Daniel was watching. Right now.
Lounging somewhere with his phone, he stared at the live feed from the tiny disguised robot keychain dangling innocently from her bag.
He was watching his faithful wife—his Bella—straddling his little brother’s lap under a willow tree, her dress pulled down, her massive, a milky tit spilling out, nipple stiff and begging.
And he was commanding. The silent, filthy order seared through her like molten lust:
Give them to him.