The First Official Night

Four days passed. Four days in which Adriana seemed like a completely different woman.

She moved around the house with new confidence, back straighter, hips swaying to a rhythm that hadn’t been there before. Every now and then she’d touch her ass as if she could still feel the echo of something big inside her. She smiled more. Laughed louder. And when Chris touched her at night, she let him… but always with that condescending little smile and a soft “poor baby, don’t try so hard” that hurt him and turned him on at the same time.

Thursday evening, just as Chris got home from work, he found her in the bedroom finishing getting ready for her first official night as a hostess.

The dress was black, short, and shiny. Deep cleavage that showed off the perfect valley between her heavy tits. The fabric clung to her ass like a second skin and ended right where her thighs began. Sky-high heels. Hair loose and wavy. Bold makeup: red lips, smoky eyes. She smelled like expensive perfume that Abella had given her.

Chris stood in the doorway, wallet still in his hand.

“Fuck, Adri… you look…”

“Too much?” she asked, turning with that new mix of innocence and danger in her smile. “Abella says the VIP clients pay more when they see ‘fresh meat nicely presented.’ It’s just image, baby. Nothing else.”

She walked over and gave him a slow kiss, slipping her tongue in for just a second, as if to remind him she was still his… at least in name.

“Tonight’s easy,” she continued. “I sit on the important clients’ laps, serve them drinks, laugh at their jokes, make them feel like kings of the world. No touching. Well… almost none. Just little brushes. You know. Work.”

Chris swallowed hard. His cock gave a small jump inside his pants.

“And the photos?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Adriana laughed softly and stroked his bald head with affection.

“The shoots start next week. Abella says the photographer is amazing and my body ‘sells itself.’ Provocative poses, sexy lingerie, maybe a couple with the club guys for atmosphere… but it’s all artistic, okay? Nothing porn. Can you imagine seeing me on the club’s social media? Your wife—the same one who irons your shirts—posing half-naked so other men can jerk off thinking about her… does that turn you on or scare you, love?”

The double meaning hit so hard Chris felt heat rise in his face.

“Do it,” he murmured. “If it makes you feel alive…”

Adriana gave him another kiss, shorter this time, almost pitying.

“You’re the best. Exactly because you let me grow. Even if I grow… in other directions.”

Abella honked downstairs. Adriana grabbed her tiny purse (way too small to be carrying panties, Chris noticed) and winked at him.

“Don’t wait up. I might be late. The VIPs get really generous after midnight. I love you.”

The door closed.

Chris stood alone in the apartment.

At 11:19 p.m. the first messages arrived.

**Adriana ❤:**

I’m here, baby. The private booth is gorgeous. They sat me with two very polite clients. One is huge… in presence, I mean. I feel so small next to him Everything’s fine, just chatting. Love you.

**Abella :**

Look how well your little wifey is behaving, baldy

Photo 1: Adriana sitting on the lap of a massive Black guy, her tight black dress hiked up almost to her ass, laughing while he rests a hand on her thigh “so she doesn’t fall.” Light censorship on the hand, but it was obviously way up.

**Abella :**

Just “support,” okay? Don’t start imagining things

Photo 2: Adriana leaning forward to serve a drink. Her cleavage almost showing her nipples. Behind her, the same Black guy staring shamelessly at her ass. Abella wrote:

**Abella :**

He says the client “gets really hard when I serve him like this.” Just kidding… or maybe not. Who knows?

At 2:47 a.m. Adriana’s last message came through.

**Adriana ❤:**

Baby, I’m staying a bit longer. The VIP client asked me to keep him “private company” in the booth. Just talking and dancing a little close. Nothing more. I’ll be home when it gets light. Get some rest, poor thing. Tomorrow I’ll tell you everything you want to hear… or everything you can handle

Chris stared at the screen.

Then he opened the secret gallery where he’d saved the censored photos from the other night.

And he started jerking off again.

Slow. Painful. Imagining exactly what was happening in that private booth.

Because he couldn’t stop anymore.

And because deep down he knew it was entirely his fault.

And that… turned him on more than ever.