I finished the quarterly report early and grabbed my coat. In public I’m a hard-driving CEO whose word’s the fucking gospel, but as the elevator doors closed behind me, I felt my true self come alive. Tonight she would take control. My penthouse was quiet except for soft music; there she waited, leaning against the marble counter with that wicked smile. “You had a long day, didn’t you?” she purred, slipping her phone from behind her back. My pulse fluttered.
Before I could answer, she commanded, “Undress.” In a heartbeat I was naked – jacket, shirt, pants – all discarded. She reached out and traced her fingers down my chest, each touch sending shivers. “Good boy,” she whispered, her voice low and hungry. “Now crawl to me, you little bitch.” I obeyed instantly, heart pounding, the corporate mask completely gone. Crawling on all fours, I nuzzled between her legs. She laughed softly, the sound sending heat straight through me.
Her fingers flew over her phone screen. “Let’s see what tonight holds,” she murmured, opening the Ysos app. We shared an account hidden deep on our home screen, a key to our secret world. Side by side, we swiped through profiles – couples and singles, equally daring. She found him: a tall, muscular latin man. “Perfect,” she nodded, eyes gleaming with excitement. I bit my lip, both terrified and thrilled. Finally she set the phone aside. “He’ll be here in a few minutes,” she told me. I swallowed hard.
When the intercom buzzed, she planted a kiss on my neck. “Stay here,” she instructed, handing me my suit jacket. I was to meet him, but only on her terms. Minutes later I stepped into the elevator holding her hand. In the lobby stood the stranger – broad shoulders and a confident grin – exactly as on his profile. My heart pounded in my ears.
Upstairs, she didn’t wait. She pushed me down onto the plush rug and climbed on the couch, sauntering just out of reach. The man followed my eyes. My wife opened the man’s belt slowly, baring his thick cock. It throbbed with need. “Watch,” she ordered softly. Terrified and obedient, I knelt in front of him, one hand pressed against the wood floor. She guided my head to his lap. His cock brushed against my lips. My mouth went dry, but with a slight nod from her, I parted my lips and took him in.
Warm, wet, demanding – I suckled as she watched, hands gently stroking my hair. “That’s right, sweetheart,” she teased, her voice thick. “This is your husband. Swallow it all for me.” I obeyed. Tongue swirling expertly, I wrapped my lips around his base, taking him deeper inch by inch. She leaned closer, rubbing my back, urging me on. The sense of serving both of them – my beautiful, dominant wife and this stranger – sent electric thrills through me. Every muffled moan I made made her smile brighter. “You love this, don’t you? Such a greedy little puppy,” she murmured against my ear. I shivered. Under their touch I felt myself opening completely, utterly devoted.
Then, with a single command from her, I found myself bent forward, chest pressed into the rug. My breath caught as the stranger positioned himself behind me. A strong hand gripped my hips, steady but firm, while my wife held my gaze with a wicked smile. The first push made me gasp—stretching, filling, overwhelming. She whispered encouragements, stroking my hair as he pressed deeper inside. Every thrust broke me open further, until all that remained was pure submission. I moaned helplessly, pinned between his strength and her approval, my body trembling as I gave myself over completely.
I tasted him, salty and intoxicating, and as the stranger started to lift his hips higher, I knew what was coming. I continued until I felt hot liquid flood my mouth. I swallowed hard on her orders, savoring the mixture of pride and humiliation. Warmth spread through me as he spilled himself, and I let out a shaky moan. He patted my head; she beamed at me.
In the hush that followed, she helped me to my feet. My knees still trembled. She cupped my face, thumbs caressing my flushed cheeks. “Such a good boy,” she cooed, kissing my forehead. I felt dizzy, satisfied beyond words. My worlds had collided – the ruthless executive was gone, and only a blissful submissive remained.
Later, as we cleaned up together, she whispered into my ear, “I’m so proud of you, my little dog”. I shivered at the sweet, humiliating pet name. At 42 years old, wearing nothing but a silly grin, I realized I had never been stronger or more complete. Thanks to her guidance, I had found a freedom I never knew I craved. “I live to please you,” I replied, breathing in the scent of her hair. And as she wrapped me in her arms, I knew I meant it with my whole heart.