Becoming His Expensive Plaything (12/12)

Samantha giggled as she adjusted the white satin bow in her hair, the soft spring breeze catching the hem of her scandalously tight dress. It hugged her body with obscene intimacy—pure white, ruched in all the right places, sculpted to flaunt every exaggerated curve. The neckline plunged so low her breasts looked moments from bursting free, huge and heavy, jiggling with every tiny movement as if the dress was fighting a losing battle to contain them.

Her makeup was flawless. Thick, smoky eyeshadow framed her eyes, dark liner sweeping out into a dramatic wing. Her lashes were long and bold, fluttering with every blink, while blush gave her cheeks a soft, flushed glow that made her look just a little breathless. And her lips? Glossy, overfilled, pouty perfection. A fresh coat of baby pink shimmer made them shine under the sun, soft and kissable. Her nails—long, almond-shaped, painted a creamy nude—curled around the slender stem of a champagne flute as she posed for Victor’s camera, Paris twinkling behind her.

They were only a few days into the honeymoon, but it already felt like a dream. Paris. A rooftop lunch overlooking the Eiffel Tower. And her—posing pretty in white, still glowing from the ceremony. Victor had arranged everything, of course. Private, luxurious, impossible to forget. Samantha traced the rim of her champagne flute, her thighs already trembling.

The tablecloth brushed against Samantha’s thighs as she sat, but it was Victor’s hand doing the real teasing. His fingers slid under the hem of her dress, stroking slow circles into the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her breath hitched, and she let out a soft, involuntary whimper.

Victor smirked, eyes locked on the way her tits jiggled as she squirmed in her seat. “Mmm… look what you’ve done,” he said softly, brushing her thigh as he adjusted himself. She could see the thick outline of his cock straining against his slacks. “You’re bouncing all over the place, baby… got me hard just watching you. Think you can take care of that for me?”

She bit her lip, then glanced around the terrace. But no one could really see. And even if they could… she was already sinking to her knees.

Her manicured fingers worked at his zipper, a little clumsy, a little eager—she already knew what was waiting for her. His cock flopped free, thick and heavy, and slapped lewdly across her cheek, leaving a warm, slick trail that sent a needy shiver down her spine. Without a second thought, she pressed her tits around him, creamy mounds squeezing tight, her slow, practiced rhythm drawing a gasp from above. She flicked her tongue across the swollen tip with a teasing swirl, tasting him, moaning softly.

Victor grunted. “Fuck… just like that.”

The twitch in his cock was all the warning she needed. Samantha’s lips parted wider, and she took him deep—gagging once before swallowing him to the base, her throat working desperately as he came. Hot, thick, and so much. She swallowed it all. She always did.

By the time she sat back up, she was shaking. There was no pretending anymore—her throat still tasted like him, her ass throbbed with every breath, and her useless penis was leaking under the table, untouched, just from the thought of being bent over later tonight. She couldn’t focus on food, on conversation, on anything. Her thighs pressed together, but it only made the ache worse. She needed him inside her.

It wasn’t long before she got her wish.

Samantha’s palms were pressed flat to the edge of their hotel’s balcony, her blonde hair tangled in Victor’s grip as he drove himself into her ass—deep, relentless, claiming her all over again. Paris glittered around them, the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance like a spotlight made just for her.

Each thrust made her moan louder, even as she tried to bite her lip, to hold them in—she couldn’t. The sounds still spilled out in broken gasps, high and needy. Her massive tits bounced wildly over the balcony rail with every slap of his hips, nipples hard, swaying with each thrust. Her useless penis was sputtering helplessly, twitching, drooling all over the ledge as her body shook through yet another orgasm. Then another. And another. She couldn’t stop it—her legs were trembling, her eyes rolled back as her body kept cumming, over and over.

She gasped as he slammed in deep one last time, the thick heat of his release flooding her, just as she came with a desperate cry, her whole body trembling. Her legs buckled beneath her, muscles giving out as her arms clung weakly to the balcony railing, trying to keep herself upright. Her vision blurred, her moans melted into whimpers, and her mouth hung open in dazed, glossy bliss.

Below, the city bustled. Tourists strolled beneath them, lights blinked on the river, and far above it all, Samantha came undone on her husband’s cock.

This was her life now.

She leaned back against Victor’s chest, lips parted, smile lazy and dazed as she gazed out at the Paris skyline, still impaled on his cock, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Married. Marked. His perfect little plaything.