Epilogue
Emily
Five Years Later
“Let’s look at the pictures.” I wiggle the bare toes of my left foot against Roman’s balls while he holds my other foot on his knee, painting my toenails bright pink.
“You keep that up, I’m gonna have to start over. Now, quit.”
My belly still turns when he says that. Although my belly is a sight to behold right now.
That’s why my husband is painting my toenails, because I’m eight months pregnant, and I can’t see my own feet. Let alone reach them.
“It’s our anniversary tradition.” I pout, admiring his God-like body from my position on the deck chair on the balcony of our mountain cabin, up in Beartooth, where we’re celebrating our fifth anniversary with some peace and quiet before the next baby comes.
“Be still. I just have to get this last pinky toe. These little nails are fucking hard to paint without fucking it all up.”
He squints, his brow all tangled. My husband takes painting my toenails seriously.
But it’s not all selfless. Over the years, my hot cowboy and I have explored a lot of things, including all of our kinks and fetishes, and turns out… after holding back his stick from me for all those years, I can make him nut with my feet in 15 seconds flat.
He’s a foot man. And he loves my toenails painted.
“Mom and Dad send their love,” I say, checking the messages on my phone.
“They say they’ll be up with the kids by nine tomorrow.
So let’s get on with the shenanigans, as Carrie would say!
We’ve got straps and crops, and some good ole fashioned Daddy play to get out of our system before we have a house full of kids, parents, brothers and sisters, and in-laws by morning. ”
“Done.” Roman raises his hands, one holding the little pink bottle and the other holding the brush. He looks so proud, my heart practically bursts out of my chest. “Can’t wait to get these feet wrapped around my cock.”
He closes up the nail polish bottle, sets it aside, and runs his hands up and down his bare chest as he leans back in a huge manspread. I watch as he threads those thick, rough fingers together and rests them on his head, admiring me as I lie back in front of him.
Freshly painted nails, legs open, belly in the sunshine, tits dripping milk.
“You’re one hell of a woman.” He snaps his tongue over his teeth with a shake of his head, his cock reaching up past his belly button, thick and weeping, and ready, as usual. This man has the libido of 10 adolescent boys.
Since the wedding, our family has done just what I hoped they would do, and our circle has tightened, our bonds have strengthened, and we’ve expanded.
Carrie got married two years ago to a lawyer…
Shocker, right? They live down in Bozeman.
They’re both workaholics, but they love our brood, and dote on them and spoil them as much as we do.
They have no interest in breeding on their own, so they enjoy their time as Aunt Carrie and Uncle Bernard, and then are just as happy when they get in their Bentley and drive away to their nice, clean house.
Where they get to sleep through the night. I’m zero percent jealous.
As for Casey, he’s locked down his love. A gaming influencer that first came to his attention when she dogged the BuckTrack app when it blew up and filled Casey and Roman’s bank accounts with so many zeros, they stopped counting.
Casey was so proud of what they’d built, he started commenting on her posts and finally tracked her down at a conference somewhere and if I’m telling the truth, he was already in love with her by then.
Then were hot enemies for a while but it didn’t last. Now, they have a gaming empire, twins and are both in the doctorate program studying advanced intelligence technology while raising their two boys in a converted warehouse about a mile from campus.
We’ve all found our happy in different ways, but when we’re all together, our differences just make us love each other more.
We have three of our own. Little Roman came first, barely nine months after we got married. I do think it was that breeding bench that did the trick. Then we have Li, who came 13 months later, and our little Angel, who came 12 months after her sister.
I demanded a break after that.
Raising three under three-year-olds almost broke me, but Roman was there every step of the way. Every dirty diaper, every sobbing midnight breastfeeding, he was there.
Of course, he got reinstated, and he’s one of the top reigning and cutting pros on the circuit.
The checks that come in the mail every week, week after week, we can’t even spend the money fast enough. Our family is truly blessed in that area, and we’ve all set up foundations and charities to try to give back to the things that matter and the people that matter to us.
“Pictures first,” I say as Roman pushes up from his chair, spins, and I watch that cowboy ass and those tree trunk thighs carry him through the open glass doors into the house.
When he returns, he has our special black leather-bound scrapbook, with a strap lock around it because what’s inside… needs to be burned before we both die.
“Here you go.” He hands it to me as I sit up with a groan and pat the seat next to me as I open the heavy book.
“Awww, look!” I squeal. “Look at my face! I’m a mess. And you!” I chuckle, my belly bobbing. “Your face is so…serious.”
I mock his O face, the photos of us on our wedding night, consummating our union, bring us as much laughter as they turn us on.
We spend the next few minutes going through the photos, then Roman drops to his knees, spreading my legs as I put the binder down and lean back, ready to take what he gives. And, God, does he give good.
“God, your pussy makes me so fucking horny.” He groans and garbles into my open folds as an orgasm bucks through me.
I thrash and kick as he picks me up and carries me inside, across the wood floors and past the timber walls of our vacation house in the Beartooth mountains, into a guest bedroom.
From there, it’s footjobs and titty fucking, and finally, I clean off his cock with my mouth, gladly, willingly, and enthusiastically on my knees in front of my big cowboy.
I still ride barrels, but only for fun. Roman is my world, the kids are my life, and I don’t want to miss a minute of the messy life we’ve cobbled together.
Roman’s chest is heaving as I suck him off, watching through the window on the other side of the room as Ruby Tuesday and Cavalier munch grass in the pasture.
Our home is not far from both our parents’ ranches, but far enough away we’re not getting the grandparent pop-ins too often, because we still get down and dirty as often as parenting allows, and there are some things even a family as close as ours does not need to share.
“I have a surprise for you,” Roman says as I swallow down another load of his special gift.
“What?”
“A photographer.” He smiles, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
“Really?”
We’re both naked, of course, and when he reaches down to take my hand, my feminine parts start to tingle. He leads me to a door at the back of the house, where I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming.
Snort.
Inside, there is a bed and a wingback chair, on which is a man.
Who I don’t know.
But I know Roman does.
He wouldn’t indulge this little fantasy of mine without proper vetting, but immediately, desire runs hot through me, and one of my kinks starts to unfurl in front of me.
“Roman goes over and takes the gagged man by the hair. His hands are tied to his legs, eyes snapped wide. “You get to watch me fuck something you could never have. She’s gonna come on my Dick. Gonna eat that pussy. Then I’ll fuck her ass, and you’re going to sit there and watch, and all you need to know is you’re never, ever gonna have this. It’s all mine.”
God forgive me, ever since he brought that photographer in on our wedding night… having some poor, humiliated man watching us, knowing I belong only to my husband, letting my husband do all the filthy things to me…
It lights me up.
I’m still a wildcat, and there are things I never thought I would do.
But with Roman by my side, I’m always safe. I’m always accepted. I’m always loved.
“Fuck me, cowboy. Hard.”
“I plan on it, wife. Now, first...” He rolls onto the bed, extending his arms, those abs contracting, erection bobbing. “Sit on my face. Ride me like a good cowgirl. And don’t hold back.”
“I love you,” I manage, as he helps me into position.
I glance over at the poor volunteer watching, and I smile.
“I love you too, baby.” Roman’s muffled words vibrate into my body, as I brace my arms and get ready for a hell of a ride.
Yeehaw!