The Investment Visit

The front door swings open and there she is — her silk robe barely clinging to her curves, eyes dark with hunger. She already knows why I’m here. Not just for the check. But for the exchange.

"Come in, Daddy," she purrs, voice like warm honey. "We’ve been reading your blogs… all of them. The one about how you eat a woman like she owns your mouth… I’ve been wet since Tuesday."

Behind her, Hubby shifts nervously, trying to play it cool in his button-up and slacks. But I see it — the way his throat bobs when I step closer, the way his eyes dart down to my thighs, imagining what’s underneath.

"I told him you weren’t just here for funding," she says, biting her lip. "He knows what you do. What you demand. And honestly… he’s curious."

She hands me a check — five figures. Generous. But she leans in, her tits brushing my arm, and whispers:  

"This is just the deposit. The real payment… is my pussy."

No hesitation. I follow her to the bedroom while Hubby lingers, pretending to pour wine. I know he’s watching. I know he wants to watch.

She spreads open for me like she was born to be devoured. Juicy, mature, musky — her slit glistens like honey on warm toast. I don’t tease. I dive in — tongue deep, sucking her clit like it’s the only source of power in the room. She screams, fingers clawing the sheets.

"Fuck! Oh God, Daddy, eat me like you own me—"

And I do.

I own her moans. I own the way her hips buck. I own the hot, pulsing orgasm that floods my chin when she shatters.

She collapses, trembling. "He needs it now," she whispers, dazed. "Please… let him feel what I just felt."

I turn.

Hubby’s shirt is off. Pants around his ankles. Ass bare, red from where he’s been rubbing it, face buried in the pillow just like you said. He’s not looking at me. He’s not supposed to.

"Did she tell you how I fuck?" I ask, stroking my thick, glistening cock — still slick from her.

He whimpers. Nods.

"Then show me how much you want it."

He lifts his hips higher. Spreads his cheeks.

I don’t prep. I don’t warn. I spit, rub it down my shaft, and push deep — one brutal thrust — splitting him open on my BBC.

"**FUCK!**" he yells into the pillow, body seizing.

"Shut up," I growl. "You wanted this. You read about this. Now take it like the wife — pounded, owned, used raw."

I grip his waist and pound him hard, each slap echoing through the house. His balls swing. His hole tightens, then relaxes — learning to take me. I’m fucking him like I just fucked her — same rhythm, same dominance, same ownership.

And the best part?

She’s watching now.

From the doorway, robe open, one hand still rubbing her soaked pussy, the other slowly stroking my cock as it rams her husband.

"God, yes," she breathes. "Fill him up, Daddy. Let him feel what you gave me."

I don’t pull out when I cum.

I flood his ass with thick, hot ropes — marking him, claiming him, making it clear who really runs this house now.

When I finally slide out, he’s a trembling mess, cum leaking from his hole, face wet with sweat and shame and need.

I look at her. She’s smiling.

"Next round of funding," I say, wiping my dick with his shirt, "is due next Thursday. Same time?"

She nods. "And Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"**Don’t wear protection. We want every drop.**"