Eager Housewife: a smutty free-use romance (Filthy Scottish Kingpins Book 2)

12. Duncan

She makes dinner for me. We have a chef, but this weekend she told me she was arranging the food for our trip to the Lochside house in Scotland. She has insisted on cooking, and wearing a dress like a mid-century housewife. Blythe has the naughtiest smile tonight.

On a normal weekday evening, I rail my wife as soon as I walk in the door, but our time at Lochside is totally different. I almost look forward to her weekends off where we talk and spend time together without my lust making the whole thing filthy. It’s a break from some of the guilt.

Some.

This is our fourth weekend away, and we eat and drink at the solid oak table, flirting over the candles and the delicately-prepared food that I compliment extravagantly. It’s not as good as what the chef cooks, but I love that Blythe has done this. She preens at my compliments, and I can tell she’s pleased that I’m happy.

My gaze lingers on her waist when she gets up to clear our plates from the main course. I don’t help as I would usually, because she seems to have this idea about being my housewife that she wants to take care of me.

And far be it from me to remove any joy of my wife’s.

“Here’s dessert.” She gives me a proud smile as she places a perfect little creation of meringue and fruit and cake and flowers before me.

“That looks amazing. Nowhere near as good as you, but delicious all the same,” I tell her with a wink. Then I frown as I notice there’s only one portion. “What are you having for dessert? Didn’t you make yourself one?”

“Nope. I’m having a different dessert.”

“What is this bullshit!” I explode. “Is this about your weight? I’ve told you before…”

She’s laughing at me as lowers herself down before me and, ducking beneath the table, slides her little hands up my thighs.

“Blythe.”

Reaching for my belt, she undoes it with nibble fingers, and I can’t breathe.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my dessert.” She’s all sultry heat that goes right to the tip of my cock, where it’s straining in anticipation.

I grip the arms of my chair as she nudges herself between my knees.

“It’s your weekend off,” I said stupidly. We’re in Scotland, and I’ve grown accustomed to compartmentalising this time away from our passion during the week.

“I know.”

“Free use only goes one way,” I remind her. “I initiate sex. You don’t have to.”

“What if I want to?”

There’s no oxygen in the room. She wants to?

Her face is in shadow, so I can’t see her expression, but her hands push aside the fabric, and my erection bobs up, enthusiastic for this turn of events. She wraps a hand around the base, and I bite back a groan.

Pre-come beads at the tip.

Since we agreed this deal was about her getting pregnant, I haven’t asked for oral sex. I’ve given it to her, telling myself it was to make her ready to receive my cock, even as her honey coated my chin.

“You want to give me a blowjob?”

She leans forwards and my cock twitches as her warm breath shivers across the helmet.

“Do I need to tell you about the birds and the bees? That won’t get you pregnant.”

“I don’t care.” Then her lips touch, kissing the droplet of moisture at the tip, and I’m lost. My head falls back, and I let my hips flex upwards as she licks me, curious as a kitten.

I watch, amazed and so hard it hurts as she tastes me, then twitches her lips thoughtfully.

“Salty.”

I bark out a hoarse laugh.

She looks up, eyes wide. “Aren’t you going to eat your desert?”

“No.”

She scowls, looking like a grumpy mouse and I grin back.

“I’m the first man you’ll ever have between your lips, isn’t that right?”

She nods.

“Then I’m going to watch every second of my wife swallowing my cock.” I didn’t think I’d have this sort of treat, so I’ll relish it. I know what her pussy feels like—heaven—and I bet her warm, wet throat is just as good.

Pressing her lips to the length, she eases back and flicks her gaze between my face and my cock. “I don’t exactly know…”

“Put your mouth over the top. Suck me.”

Blythe complies eagerly, and it’s a second before, “Cover your teeth,” is a required instruction.

Then the first couple of inches of my cock are in her mouth and her hands caress the rest of my length and feels fucking amazing.

“My clever little wifey,” I say, and she hums with contentment. I groan in response and my god, nothing could ever be as beautiful as Blythe giving me this gift.

“Do you want my cock in every orifice? You’ve taken it in your pussy, plenty, haven’t you?”

“Mmm.” She agrees with another sound from low in her belly as she bobs and takes me deeper.

“Want my come down your throat too, my good little whore of a wife?”

She gets into a rhythm, and pleasure pools at the bottom of my spine.

“That feels amazing, Blythe. You’re doing such a good job.”

She looks up at me and I’m crazed. I love her so much.

“I want to paint you with my seed once you’re pregnant, bonnie girl. When you’re swollen with my baby, I’ll claim you again by coming over your luscious tits, and your pretty pink folds.”

I don’t think I’m going to last long. My wife isn’t experienced or expert, but I can see down her dress and see her eyes, the whites showing large, and her pupils dilated as she takes me more and more into her throat. And it’s not the blow job, exactly. It’s the fact it’s Blythe doing this for me. Unprompted.

She’s working at her task of getting me off—into her mouth, nothing in it for her—with single-minded dedication.

“Go on. Do it.” I comb my fingers into the hair at the back of her head and slowly press into her scalp, showing her the speed and depth I need. “Make me come. Get it all for yourself to swallow down, greedy girl.”

She whimpers in agreement as I move her faster on my cock.

“I’m going to put that pretty dessert onto your belly and force you to keep it still as I eat out your delicious pussy on this table once you’re finished, Blythe. I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until you come all over my face.”

She’s shaking with exertion.

“Are you wet for me, little slut?” My voice is raw as my control slips. I thrust upwards into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat hard. Then I’m unravelled.

“Blythe.” Her name is all I can say as orgasm sweeps over my body. My hands are fists in her hair, and it must hurt, but she doesn’t object as I pour into her.

No, my free use off-duty housewife swallows down every drop. And when I’m done, a cracked, destroyed, mess of a man, she sits back on her heels and smiles up at me.