Domestic Training
by @junaA thirty-year-old unemployed man is sent by his wife to do repairs at her divorced mother’s house, where he quickly learns the forty-eight-year-old beauty is a dominant force. She blackmails him into becoming their shared pussy slave, starting with forcing him to masturbate while smelling her crotch and ruining his orgasm at the last second. By the time his wife discovers the arrangement, he has already been trained to lick her awake each morning, service her after dinner, and never come without permission—his only purpose now is housework and eating them both for the rest of his life.
MEET THE CHARACTERS
EXPLORE CHAPTERS
Under the Sink
He could smell her. That close. She'd spread her legs just enough that his peripheral vision caught pink flesh, wetness glistening. 'Don't you dare look away from your work,' she said softly. 'That's what got you in trouble, isn't it? Not paying attention to what's right in front of you.' His hand trembled on the wrench. He was hard, aching, and she knew. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. And he couldn't look away.
The Oven's Heat
He's bent over the open oven, scrubbing baked-on grease, and she's behind him—close enough that her breath ghosts across the back of his neck. She tells him he missed a spot, and when he twists to look, her skirt rides up her thigh, and he sees the dark thatch of hair between her legs, inches from his face. 'Clean it properly,' she says, and her hand presses his head back toward the oven, but her fingers linger in his hair, and he understands: this is a test. He's not just cleaning the oven. He's learning to obey.
The Morning Assignment
It's 6 AM. The bedroom is dim, gray light filtering through the curtains. Sophia is still asleep, her back to him, the sheet tangled around her hips. He remembers Elena's instructions: 'Wake her with your mouth. Don't stop until she comes. Then get breakfast ready.' His hands shake as he pulls down her underwear, his breath shallow as he lowers his head between her thighs. She stirs when his tongue touches her, a soft sound escaping her lips, and he thinks of Elena's phone, of the photos, of the way she smiled when he came on her floor. He licks deeper, tasting the salt of his wife's skin, and when Sophia's hand tangles in his hair, he feels something dark and warm bloom in his chest—shame, yes, but something else too. Something that feels like purpose.
His Wife's Hands
It's midnight. Sophia wakes to find him hard against her thigh, and she rolls toward him with sleepy surprise, her hand sliding down his stomach. He wants to let her. He wants to forget Elena's rules. But when Sophia's fingers wrap around him, he feels her mother's presence like a third body in the bed—the memory of her voice, her instructions, her promise. He stops Sophia's hand, his voice rough with denial. "Not tonight. I'm too tired." She pulls away, hurt and confused, and he lies awake staring at the ceiling, his cock aching, his soul split in two. He texts Elena: I did what you said. Her reply comes immediately: Good boy. Tomorrow you'll do more.
His Afternoon Training
Elena makes him kneel in her living room, his forehead pressed to the carpet while she sits above him on the sofa, bare legs crossed, her scent filling his lungs. She tells him to describe exactly how Sophia's pussy tasted that morning—every detail, every sound she made, every moment he felt powerful. His voice breaks halfway through, and she rewards him with her foot against his aching cock, pressing just hard enough to make him gasp, then pulling away. 'You don't come,' she reminds him. 'Not until I decide you've earned it.' He nods against the carpet, tears blurring his vision, and feels something inside him settle into place—the shape of his new life, finally fitting.