A day alone, and a big reward

Rachel left early that morning with a kiss to my forehead and a playful tap on my ass. “Be good while I’m gone,” she purred, sliding her thick cock against my thigh before tucking it back into her slacks.

I nodded, still flushed and sore from the night before. She left me a list of little chores—and a note at the bottom:

“Something special’s arriving for you today. Make sure you look cute when you answer the door, my little housewife.”

The words made me shiver.

By noon, I had cleaned the kitchen in just my apron and a tiny thong. My skin looked perfect—flawless, smooth, glowing. Every time I passed a mirror, I paused. Turned. Watched my own reflection move.

God, I looked hot.

I made the bed, lit candles, tidied the living room, and started prepping dinner. I wanted everything to be perfect for when Rachel came home. It felt right. Natural.

I was just pulling a pan of roasted veggies from the oven when the doorbell rang.

My heart jumped.

I hurried to the door and peeked out.

A delivery guy stood there—young, maybe early twenties. Tall, muscular, handsome. His uniform shirt clung to his chest, and his hair was tousled like he’d been in and out of the truck all day.

I swallowed.

I opened the door just enough to peek out, my apron still tied tight around my waist.

“Package for Rachel?” he said, eyes flicking down over my body.

“Oh—y-yeah, that’s me. I mean, I’m here for her. I live here.”

His smirk was subtle, but there.

“You need to sign.”

I reached for the little pad he offered. My fingers trembled as they brushed his. He didn’t say anything inappropriate—but his eyes lingered.

I shut the door quickly after, heart pounding, face hot. I stood there with the box in my hands, completely flustered.

Rachel’s package.

I brought it inside, placed it on the counter, and texted her immediately.

“Your package came. The delivery guy was hot. I think he saw everything.”

A moment later, her reply:

“Good. Let him see what’s mine.”

I moaned softly and hugged the box to my chest.

God, I couldn’t wait for her to get home.

I was standing at the stove, apron still hugging my hips, when I heard the door unlock.

Rachel was home.

My heart skipped. I smoothed my hair, checked my reflection in the oven window, and hurried to meet her in the entryway. She stepped inside, tall and radiant in her work outfit, jacket draped over one arm and a predatory smile curling her lips.

“Well don’t you look delicious,” she said, eyes sweeping over me.

I blushed, shifting under her gaze. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

She closed the distance in two strides, pressing me back against the wall. Her hand cupped my cheek; the other slipped under the apron and squeezed my ass.

“Forget dinner,” she whispered. “I want dessert.”

Her lips met mine, hungry and deep, stealing the air from my lungs. I melted under her, moaning when her hand slipped lower and dragged over my cocklet through the thong. It was already soaked.

“You wore this all day?” she murmured against my ear.

I nodded.

“For me?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good girl.”

She spun me around and bent me over the kitchen counter, tugging the apron up. I gasped, trembling with need.

Rachel didn’t fuck me—not yet. She just teased, sliding her cock between my cheeks, letting it throb against me while her hands roamed. My skin felt like fire wherever she touched.

“You smell like candles and sweat,” she said, voice low and amused. “Like a pretty little thing who spent the whole day playing house.”

I moaned and nodded, pushing back against her.

She leaned in and kissed the back of my neck. “You made me proud today. You’ll get your reward after dinner.”

I whimpered.

She pulled away and smacked my ass lightly. “Set the table, baby. I’m starving.”

Dinner passed in a daze. Rachel sat at the head of the table; I sat beside her, feeding her bites and rubbing her thigh under the table like the good little housewife I was becoming.

And the whole time, my mind spun with one thought:

What was my reward going to be?

After dinner, Rachel didn’t say a word.

She just stood, reached for my hand, and led me to the bedroom with that smirk—the one that made my knees weak. I followed without question, practically buzzing with need.

When we got inside, she sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her lap.

“Come ride me, baby.”

I blinked. “Really?”

She nodded. “You’ve been such a good housewife. I want to see you take control.”

I crawled onto her lap, heart hammering. She was already hard—thick and twitching between us. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She let me guide her cock into me, and I sank down slowly, gasping at how full she felt.

Rachel groaned beneath me. “God, you’re tight.”

I started to move. Tentatively at first—rocking my hips, bouncing gently, hands on her shoulders for balance. Her hands rested on my thighs, her eyes locked on mine.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmured.

The praise made me moan louder, ride harder.

I started to feel it build. That pressure. That heat. I ground down harder, chasing my own climax, feeling powerful for once—even if it was just borrowed.

Rachel let me.

She let me get close.

Right up until I whimpered, “I’m gonna cum.”

Then everything changed.

She grabbed my hips, flipped me onto my back, and slammed into me in one sharp, deep thrust that knocked the air from my lungs.

“No,” she growled. “You don’t get to cum unless I say.”

I gasped, clinging to her shoulders as she fucked me into the mattress—hard, fast, overwhelming. My cocklet leaked against my belly, untouched, as her cock drove into me with ruthless precision.

“I gave you a taste of control,” she said through gritted teeth. “But don’t forget—”

Another thrust. I cried out.

“I own you.”

She pinned my wrists above my head, hips never slowing. My moans turned into whimpers, then sobs of pleasure. I couldn’t take it. My whole body trembled, stretched and ruined and needy.

She kissed my tears. Bit my neck. Growled my name.

And when I finally came, untouched, screaming into the sheets—she came too, deep inside me, filling me again.

She collapsed over me, panting.

Then, softly, she whispered:

“You’re mine. Never forget that.”

I never would.