Their dinner—which felt like but could not have possibly been their first dinner as Husband and wife—was slow, sensual, and erotic.

Eliana spent most of it doting on Samuel. Dressed in her classy lingerie and silk robe, she gave him all the angles to her tight, lithe, young body that he would possibly desire. Her heavy breasts on display, her thick cleavage a gorgeous gap in her push-up bra, her mass of dark hair arranged just so.

And as she did this—posing, mewling with need for him, making small intonations of sympathy and desire as he recounted the trials of his day—while she pushed the lovely, plump mouth of the captured Brenda up and down his Cock.

Brenda had long ago submitted to his will. Perhaps even before Samuel had arrived, though that hardly mattered anymore to Eliana. Tight, constricting ropes bound Brenda’s arms behind her back. Brenda had been captured, which meant she was taken, which meant that her will no longer mattered.

Nobody’s will mattered to Eliana but her Husband’s. Her own didn’t. If he wanted to fuck and she somehow didn’t (which seemed impossible to her), then like a good wife, she would want to fuck because it was what her Husband wanted.

All that was important was that by the time Samuel shoved his gorgeous Cock into Brenda’s mouth, Brenda was ready for it. Needy. Her cunt wet and desperate and dripping down on the floor beneath them under the dinner table.

Just like Eliana’s own hot pussy as she stared dreamily at her husband.

Eliana's eyes never left Samuel's face. She watched the way his jaw tensed when Brenda's tongue did something particularly skilled, the way his eyelids drooped with pleasure, the tiny crease that formed between his eyebrows when he was close but holding back. Every microexpression was a treasure to catalog and cherish. She memorized the exact shade of his eyes in the candlelight, the way his lips parted slightly when Brenda took him deep, the masculine line of his throat when he swallowed.

Her hand in Brenda's hair was gentle but insistent, maintaining a steady rhythm. Down until Brenda's nose pressed against his pelvis, holding her there for a count of three while her throat convulsed around him. Then up, slowly, letting Brenda gasp around his shaft before pushing her back down again. The wet sounds filled the dining room alongside the clink of Samuel's fork against his plate. He was eating with one hand, the other resting possessively on Eliana's bare thigh.

Brenda's lips stretched obscenely wide. Drool ran down her chin in thick streams, pooling on the floor between her spread knees. Her eyes had rolled back, showing only whites. She gagged occasionally but never tried to pull away. Her bound arms flexed uselessly behind her back, muscles straining against the rope. The lingerie she wore was soaked through with sweat and arousal.

Eliana felt pride swell in her chest. She had prepared this gift perfectly. Her hair remained in its neat ponytail, easy for Eliana to grip and control. Everything was beautiful. Everything was right.

Samuel carved another piece of chicken and brought it to his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring it, his eyes meeting Eliana's over the table. The approval in his gaze made her pussy clench. She had cooked well. She had presented herself well. She had captured and prepared a plaything for his pleasure. She was being such a good wife.

Brenda made a choking sound and Eliana adjusted the angle, tilting her head back slightly so Samuel's cock could slide deeper. Brenda's throat bulged visibly with each thrust. Her whole body trembled, teetering on the edge of orgasm but unable to reach it without permission. Eliana understood that desperation intimately. She felt it herself, a constant ache between her legs that only Samuel could satisfy.

The candlelight cast flickering shadows across Samuel's face. He looked like a god. He looked like everything. Eliana's free hand drifted to her own breast, cupping it through the thin lace, offering it to his gaze. His eyes tracked the movement and darkened with hunger. Her nipples were hard points visible through the fabric.

It couldn’t have been their first dinner as Husband and wife because Eliana knew everything about Samuel. She could even list his fantastic qualities.

First, his name was Samuel. There was that. That was known for sure.

Then, he was handsome. She knew that because he was right there in front of her, with his brilliantly strong body, his lantern-cut jaw, his startlingly captivating blue eyes.

Then, he was her Husband. She knew that. She knew he wanted to fuck her because even though she was basically stroking him off with the mouth of Brenda—who was quite a looker herself, with her lovely chestnut hair and gorgeously slim body, and heavy tits that spilled all over Samuel’s lap—Samuel only had eyes for Eliana.

Did she even need to know more about him than that? Of course not. Good wives needn’t ask too many questions.

So of course this couldn’t have been their first dinner together. They must have had thousands. She knew him so well! She knew everything a girl could need to know about her Man—which is to say, that she knew she loved him dearly and would do anything for him and was so desperately happy right now, in this moment, to be smiling seductively at him while he fucked the throat of another woman.

Jealousy was for lesser women. Women who didn't understand their place, their purpose, their value. Eliana felt none of it as she watched Brenda's lips stretch around Samuel's thickness, none of it as she listened to the wet, obscene sounds of a throat being used. What she felt instead was a warm glow of accomplishment radiating through her chest and settling low in her belly.

This was her gift to him. Her offering. She had prepared dinner with her own hands, had dressed herself like a present waiting to be unwrapped, had captured and bound this pretty little thing for his pleasure. Every element of this evening was a testament to her worth as a wife. The food was perfectly seasoned. Her body was perfectly displayed. Brenda's mouth was perfectly available.

Other women might have felt threatened by Brenda's beauty, by the skill of her tongue, by the way her throat opened so willingly. But Eliana understood what those women did not—that Samuel's pleasure was her pleasure. His satisfaction was her satisfaction. If Brenda's mouth could bring him joy, then Eliana took credit for it. She had brought Brenda here. She had positioned her. She was controlling the pace and depth even now, her hand firm in that chestnut hair, guiding every stroke.

It was dignified to share. It was generous. It was the mark of a woman so secure in her position that she could afford to be magnanimous. Samuel was hers. Completely, utterly, irrevocably hers. Nothing Brenda did with that talented mouth could change that fundamental truth. Brenda was a toy, a tool, a temporary amusement. Eliana was the wife. Eliana was forever.

The distinction filled her with a smugness that bordered on euphoria. She was above jealousy. She was beyond such petty, small emotions. Jealousy was what Neophyte women felt when they saw their husbands looking at other girls. Jealousy was what insecure little things experienced when they realized they weren't enough on their own. But Eliana? Eliana was more than enough. So much more that she could afford to supplement Samuel's pleasure with additional sources and still remain the sun around which everything else orbited.

She felt generous. She felt powerful. She felt like a queen allowing a servant to tend to her king. This was her domain. Her household. Her husband. And she was running it perfectly.

The pride swelled larger with each bob of Brenda's head, with each groan that escaped Samuel's lips, with each moment his eyes met hers over the table and communicated his approval. He was proud of her too. Proud of his beautiful, accommodating, perfect wife who understood so instinctively what he needed.

Good wives shared their husbands when appropriate. Good wives facilitated their husband's pleasure in every possible way. Good wives needn’t ever “put their ego aside,” because good wives derived their ego purely in service of something greater—the happiness and satisfaction of the man who owned them, protected them, defined them.

Building Eliana’s sense of pride, even as he stared her down with licentious looks and thrust his hips into the preciously hot barely-legal teenage mouth of Brenda, he also tore through the dinner she had prepared for him, wolfing down bite after bite of the meal she had earlier that day prepared for hours in just a matter of minutes.

She watched him, cunt dripping and pulsing as he took every bite. Every swallow. Every piece of food she prepared for him down his gullet made her wetter, needier, hotter, hungrier for him. It was so good to be a wife who could cook for her Man. Drinking in the sight of him was all the dinner she needed.

Well, that—and the hot load of cum he was going to unload down her throat.

She could see him now with his need to cum. He’d fucked her before dinner—the only reason that he’d lasted this long with a beauty like Brenda on his Cock—and now his whole body tensed, ready to pop.

Not asking, not thinking, just deciding—Eliana unceremoniously pushed Brenda to one side. Cockdrunk, suck-stupid, and tied up, Brenda whimpered and fell awkwardly to the ground. Wriggling there helplessly. Tears welled up in her eyes when she finally understood that Eliana had taken her place as Samuel’s suck-steward for the grand finale.

There had been some plan—some mention of letting Brenda feel his Cock inside her cunt, taking her like that—getting her pregnant, even.

But Eliana needed his Cock now, needing to feel his cum down her throat. So she sneered at Brenda and with complete arrogant adoration, took what had been promised to her.

He seemed to like this display of dominance a lot. He grabbed Eliana’s head with gusto—like he had never done with Brenda—and held her down as he fucked her throat brutally and finally. Her perfect, plump lips sliding effortlessly along the circumference of his shaft.

His fingers tangled in her dark hair, gripping the base of her skull with enough force to leave marks. He pulled her forward and she went willingly, throat opening like a flower in bloom. The first thrust buried him to the hilt. Her nose pressed flat against his pelvis. His balls rested against her chin. She held there, unblinking, breathing through her nose in steady, controlled breaths that demonstrated perfect discipline.

He withdrew halfway and slammed back in. The table shook. Plates rattled. The candles flickered. Eliana's eyes remained fixed on his face, watching his pleasure with the focused attention of a scholar studying sacred texts. Her hands rested demurely on his thighs, not clutching or clawing, but simply present—a light, elegant touch that communicated support without desperation.

Another thrust. Harder. His hips snapped forward with punishing force. The wet sound of her throat accepting him echoed through the dining room. Drool escaped the corners of her mouth in thin, glistening streams that ran down her chin and neck, but somehow even this looked refined on her. The candlelight caught the moisture and made it shine like liquid gold adorning a statue.

Her posture remained immaculate despite the violence of his rhythm. Shoulders back. Spine straight. Even on her knees with his cock destroying her throat, she maintained the bearing of royalty. Her breasts rose and fell with each measured breath. The silk robe had slipped from one shoulder, exposing smooth skin that glowed in the warm light. She looked like a painting. She looked like art being created in real time.

He fucked faster. Deeper. Using her face with the single-minded intensity of a man taking what belonged to him. Her throat constricted around him with each penetration, massaging his length with practiced muscle control. She had clearly done this before—many times, though she couldn't remember when. The knowledge lived in her body rather than her mind, encoded in nerve and sinew.

From the floor, Brenda watched with wide, wet eyes. Her bound body writhed with need. She whimpered pathetically, ignored by both of them. The sound was background noise, easily dismissed. Eliana didn't even glance in her direction. All her attention remained fixed on Samuel, on the subtle changes in his breathing, on the way his grip tightened in her hair, on the increasing tension in his thighs beneath her palms.

His cock hit the back of her throat again and again. Each impact should have triggered her gag reflex but didn't. She had no gag reflex anymore, or perhaps she'd never had one. Her throat was simply a receptacle for his pleasure, perfectly designed and perfectly trained. The bulge of him was visible in her elegant neck, distorting the smooth column with each brutal thrust.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His jaw clenched. The muscles in his arms stood out in sharp definition as he held her head steady and used it. And through it all, Eliane moaned with warmth and delight.

His balls tensed, slapping hard against her chin.

Grunting, thrusting, his load sprayed hot and filling down her throat. Her own orgasm—completely unbidden, and her pussy totally untouched by her fingers—hit her at the exact same time his seed touched the soft confines of her delectable throat.

Like she was trained for it.

Or no, deeper than that. Like she was born for it.

The thought was erased in white hot tones of relentless ecstasy, her entire being given over to pleasure as she sucked and slurped her Husband’s Cock clean. When her brain finally turned back on, she was softly kissing and tonguing his Cock, cleaning happily, humming a happy tune.

He was getting hard again. Already. His Cock stiffened as her eyes locked with his. Brenda, whimpering, had crawled over to their feet and was struggling to move back up his leg for more of her own dinner. Little drops of Cum had landed on his thighs. Eliana made a display of kissing them up and swallowing them down, casually sneering at Brenda and smiling at Samuel before the young beauty was able to get any.

Samuel rubbed his hands in Eliana’s thick hair for a long time. Stroking her like a favorite kitten. Staring at her and smiling as she licked him clean, clean, clean.

“You’re so important,” she whispered. “You’re so important. You’re everything.”

He liked that kind of talk a lot. So much that he never even got soft all the way before his Cock began to stiffen again. Stiffening with want for Eliana, his wife, his partner. She felt so proud.

Finally, though, he seemed to finish his dinner, and stood up and arranged his pants and then took Eliana by the hand.

“Come on. I want to show you what I promised,” he said.