Prostate cum

Claire stood at the edge of the bed, naked, radiant, calm, slipping the black strap-on harness up her legs like she had done it a hundred times before.

John knelt on the sheets, still trembling from the slow, devastating rimjob she had given him. His cock was half-hard, his cheeks burning with humiliation and aching need.

The dildo strapped to Claire now was thick, sleek, and glistening with lube Laila had handed her with a wink before leaving them alone.

Claire tightened the harness around her hips, making sure it fit snug and firm. She looked down at John, smiling sweetly.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” she whispered. “Almost done.”

John whimpered, nodding, completely in her hands.

Claire climbed onto the bed, crawling toward him with a slow, predatory grace. She pushed him gently down onto his back, spreading his thighs apart.

He gasped, helpless, exposed.

Claire positioned herself between his legs, the thick shaft pressing against his sensitive, well-prepared hole.

She leaned forward, bracing herself on either side of him, face to face, her hair falling in a curtain around them.

“Relax,” she whispered. “Let me in.”

John sobbed softly but obeyed, forcing his body to go slack as she nudged the head of the strap-on against him.

With a slow, steady push, Claire entered him.

John cried out softly, his hands clutching at the sheets, his body stretching around the thick intrusion.

Claire moaned under her breath—not from physical pleasure, but from the sight of him—her husband, her boy, taking her in fully.

“You’re mine,” she whispered against his mouth. “All of you.”

John nodded frantically, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes.

Claire kissed him softly, deeply, as she began to thrust.

Slow at first.

In and out, shallow strokes, her hips grinding against him.

John gasped against her lips, overwhelmed by the sensation—the fullness, the helplessness, the utter domination of being taken like this by the woman he loved most.

“You feel so good,” Claire whispered, her breath warm against his ear. “So tight. So perfect.”

John moaned brokenly, hips rocking up to meet her thrusts without thinking.

Claire smiled, sweet and cruel.

She fucked him slowly, holding his gaze, pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth.

“Such a good boy,” she murmured. “Taking me so well.”

The pace built gradually.

Claire moved harder, deeper, the strap-on sliding into him with wet, obscene sounds.

John’s cock, neglected but throbbing, leaked against his belly, untouched.

Claire watched him, studied every whimper, every **** thrust.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” she teased softly.

John nodded frantically, panting.

Claire pulled out suddenly.

John whimpered at the loss, reaching for her.

But Claire only smiled and climbed off the bed.

“Follow me,” she commanded, her voice low and rich with power.

John scrambled off the bed on shaky legs, his body aching, ****, needing her.

Claire led him by the hand across the room—toward the bathroom.

The cold tiles sent a shiver up his spine as they entered.

Claire turned him around, bending him gently but firmly over the toilet.

“Good boy,” she whispered, stroking his back. “Stay.”

John gripped the sides of the toilet, legs spread, ass high, exposed and ****.

Claire positioned herself behind him, guiding the slick head of the strap-on back to his hole.

——

Claire adjusted the strap-on at her hips, tightening it casually as John knelt before the toilet, legs trembling, hands gripping the cold porcelain. His body was flushed, dripping sweat, still slick from where she had taken him moments ago.

He was a mess — inside and out.

And she loved him like this.

She moved behind him slowly, the black harness creaking faintly as she lowered herself into position. The thick, lubed shaft brushed against his sensitive, already loosened hole.

John whimpered, his cock twitching uselessly.

Claire leaned down, her breath hot against his ear.

“You’re ready for me again, aren’t you?” she whispered sweetly.

John nodded, gasping, pushing his hips back instinctively.

Claire chuckled low in her throat.

“So ****,” she murmured, guiding the strap-on against him. “So hungry to be filled.”

She pressed forward, slow but unrelenting, the thick head pushing inside him inch by inch.

John sobbed softly, his body giving way with helpless ease.

“There we go,” Claire cooed. “Good boy. Open for me.”

She buried herself deeper with a slow, deliberate thrust, her hands gripping his hips firmly.

John let out a long, broken moan, his forehead pressing against the toilet seat.

Claire set a slow rhythm — deep, rolling thrusts that **** little gasps from him every time her hips met his ass.

“You love this,” she whispered, rocking into him. “Being fucked like this. Owned.”

John whimpered, the words sinking into his bones.

Claire moved steadily, slowly increasing the pressure, grinding against him at the end of every thrust.

“You feel so good around me,” she murmured. “Tight… needy… perfect.”

John was panting now, his cock leaking clear strings of precum onto the cold tile below him.

Claire noticed, and laughed softly, lovingly.

“Poor thing,” she whispered. “You’re going to cum just from me fucking your ass, aren’t you?”

John moaned — high, broken — and nodded helplessly.

Claire kissed his spine tenderly.

“You can’t help it,” she whispered. “You’re made for this now.”

She shifted her angle slightly, the thick toy rubbing perfectly against his prostate with each deep thrust.

John cried out, his whole body shuddering violently.

Claire smiled against his back.

“There it is,” she murmured. “Right there. That sweet spot you love.”

John rocked back onto her, ****, mindless, seeking the overwhelming pleasure she was giving him.

Claire fucked him harder, driving into him with slow, deep strokes, each thrust a claim.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “My sweet boy. My pretty little hole to fuck whenever I want.”

John sobbed, hips jerking, his cock twitching madly.

He was so close — right on the edge — his body wound tight, ready to explode.

Claire slowed her thrusts just slightly, savoring his helplessness.

“You’re going to cum for me,” she whispered. “Aren’t you?”

“Y-yes,” John gasped. “Please… please, Claire…”

Claire kissed his shoulder.

“Such a good boy,” she murmured. “You’ll cum when I tell you to.”

John whimpered, ****, trembling.

Claire kept moving inside him — deep, steady, relentless.

Then she leaned down, lips brushing his ear.

“Now,” she whispered. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for me like the little thing you are.”

The words hit him like lightning.

John cried out — a raw, broken sound — and his body convulsed.

His cock jerked violently, untouched, as he spilled into the toilet beneath him.

Thick ropes of cum shot out of him, splattering the inside of the bowl, splashing weakly against the cold water.

Claire didn’t stop moving.

She fucked him slowly through it, grinding against him, prolonging every shudder, every helpless spasm.

John sobbed, his body collapsing forward against the toilet, completely emptied, completely used.

Claire finally stilled, her hips pressing flush against his ass.

She reached down, wrapping her arms around his trembling waist, holding him close.

“You did so good,” she whispered against his ear. “So good for me.”

John whimpered, overwhelmed, tears slipping down his flushed cheeks.

Claire kissed the back of his neck tenderly.

And then — without hesitation — she reached out and pressed the flush lever.

John’s head jerked up, dazed, just in time to see his seed — his ****, broken climax — spiraling away, swallowed by the rushing water.

Claire held him tighter as the sound filled the bathroom.

As his last act of manhood disappeared without a trace.

John let out a broken sob.

Claire smiled warmly against his skin.

“Shhh, baby,” she cooed. “You don’t need it anymore.”

She pulled out of him slowly, the thick toy sliding free with a wet sound.

John collapsed fully onto the floor, chest heaving.

Claire knelt beside him, straddling his thighs, still wearing the harness.

She cupped his tear-streaked face in both hands and tilted his head up.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

John obeyed immediately, his mouth finding hers.

They kissed — deep, slow, messy — as the last echoes of the flush faded into silence.

Claire kissed him like he was everything — and nothing — all at once.

She broke the kiss slowly, pressing her forehead against his.

“You understand now, don’t you?” she whispered, voice soft and low.

John nodded weakly, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek.

Claire smiled.

“You’re mine,” she said. “Not just in love. Not just in name.”

She traced his lower lip with her thumb.

“You’re mine to fill,” she murmured. “Mine to use. Mine to empty.”

John whimpered, closing his eyes.

Claire kissed him again, slow and claiming.

“Good boy,” she whispered against his mouth. “Good, good boy.”

John melted against her, utterly broken, utterly whole.

And in that moment — kneeling before her, emptied, used, flushed away —

he knew he would never be anything else again.

He belonged to her.

Forever.