Rewards

Ruby looks at Natasha, still calm, still in the instructional role she has held all evening.

“Has he done well enough to finish?”

Natasha considers you for a long moment, the soft flush still on her cheeks, the caution and reappraisal still mixed in her expression. Then she nods once.

“Yes. But not inside me. And not on me.”

Ruby accepts the boundary without comment. She wraps her hand around your still-rigid cock, the grip firm and practised, and begins stroking in steady, purposeful pulls. At the same time she reaches for the wooden-handled spatula that had been left on the coffee table earlier and passes it to Natasha.

“Show him,” Ruby says quietly.

Natasha takes the utensil, turns it in her hand, and without hesitation slides the smooth handle between her own thighs. She starts fucking herself with it in slow, deliberate strokes, eyes locked on yours exactly as Ruby requires. The wet sound of the handle moving inside her mixes with the wetter sound of Ruby’s fist working your cock.

You are forced to stare. Natasha’s short curvy body stays open on the sofa, robe fallen completely away, soft stomach and full breasts moving with each thrust of the kitchen utensil. Her expression sits somewhere between defiance and arousal, the same woman who refused you for months now getting herself off with a household object while another woman strokes you. The sight is appalling. It is also impossible to look away from. Every upward stroke of Ruby’s hand is matched by the push of the spatula into Natasha, the two rhythms deliberately linked so you cannot separate them.

Ruby’s voice stays low beside your ear.

“Keep your eyes on her. She is finishing again because she chooses to, not because you made her. You earned the right to cum. You did not earn the right to forget who is still in control of how it happens.”

Natasha’s breathing grows sharper. The spatula moves faster. Her free hand pinches one nipple, then the other, the same soft body that had been so careful and closed now openly using itself for your forced viewing. Ruby’s fist tightens and speeds up in answer, twisting on every upstroke, the thick 8.5 inches glistening and leaking heavily in her grip.

The dual spectacle pushes you hard and fast toward the edge. The months of frustration, the morning’s confession, the long lesson in patience, and now this final, filthy image of your wife fucking herself with a kitchen utensil while Ruby wanks you all collide. You try to hold back and fail. The climax hits in heavy, uncontrolled pulses. Thick ropes of cum spill over Ruby’s moving hand and splash onto the living-room floor in messy streaks. She keeps stroking through every spurt, milking the last of it until you are spent and twitching.

Only then does she release you. She lifts her cum-covered hand, examines it for a moment, and licks it clean with slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue. When she finishes she looks at you and gives a small, evaluative nod.

“Not bad,” she says. “You taste better than I expected.”

Natasha withdraws the spatula, sets it aside, and closes her thighs, the final orgasm already fading from her expression. The living room is quiet again except for the sound of three people breathing, the mess on the floor the only remaining evidence of the second and final lesson of the night.