Tuesday morning, Nick woke up from a very erotic dream of Mary in a see-through nightgown, getting into his bed and seducing him, of him licking her down there, and her going down on him. Just thinking about it made him hard.

While he was getting dressed, he could hear Mary humming downstairs, making breakfast. His memories of last night were still a blur, but he thought he remembered Mary’s hands on him and the taste of her wet pussy. It would have just been a dream, though.

Nick couldn't shake the feeling that things were changing in the house. From the start, Mary had seemed quite bossy, but now she was even more so in the way she talked and treated him. She also seemed increasingly flirty. But what was weirder was that he found himself liking her dominant, flirty behaviour more and more.

Mary gave him a warm smile when he walked into the kitchen. "Good morning, darling boy," she said as she turned and kissed him on his cheek. Her silk robe was loose, letting him catch glimpses of her tanned skin as she moved between the stove and the fridge. "You look like you've seen a ghost," she teased, pushing a plate of scrambled eggs his way. The smell of coffee mixed with something flowery, maybe her perfume or the fresh air from the open window.

Nick paused before sitting, and his fingers grazed hers when he took the fork. A jolt went through him, and he nearly dropped it.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his face flushing. Mary just laughed, leaning against the counter.

"Relax. You're wound up too tight." The sunlight caught the silver in her hair, making it shine.

The toast popped, making him jump. Mary buttered it without looking, her robe gaping further as she reached across the counter. Nick's heart thumped when he saw the shadow between her breasts. He swallowed hard, holding onto his coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

"You were quite the sleepyhead last night," she said, stirring cream into her own mug. Her voice was light, but her eyes watched him like a cat playing with a mouse." I had to help you up the stairs and get you into bed." She chuckled, but the way she bit her lower lip wasn't playful at all.

Nick's stomach dropped. Had she... no, that couldn't be. His fingers twitched on the fork. "I just suddenly felt so tired," he mumbled, staring at his eggs for answers. The dream, or was it, flashed in his mind: her weight on the mattress, the slick heat of her tongue on his cockhead. He shifted in his chair, feeling uneasy.

Mary’s eyes stayed on the flush creeping up his neck. "Mmm. You were fast asleep when I checked on you later." She took a slow sip of coffee, leaving a faint red mark on the rim.

Nick’s fork scraped loudly against the plate. The memory of her thigh pressing his wrist into the sheets, the musky smell of her arousal filling his nose, came back with startling clarity. His pulse pounded in his throat. "I had some strange dreams, just... weird stuff. You know how dreams are."

Mary’s robe rustled as she came around the counter, her hips swaying slowly and on purpose. "Oh, I do," she purred, refilling his coffee. The steaming liquid shook in the cup as her fingers brushed his shoulder. "I’d love to hear about yours." Her thumb traced his collarbone through his thin shirt, staying there a little too long.

Nick's breath caught. Her scent filled his senses. He could still feel the phantom touch of her nails raking down his back, the way she'd gasped his name into his mouth. But the morning light made it all seem impossible. Just... confusing, he groaned, gripping the table. His trousers felt tighter than before.

Nick practically bolted from the kitchen, muttering something about missing his train if he didn't hurry. The morning air hit him like a slap as he rushed down the garden path, his pulse still throbbing where Mary's thumb had pressed into his collarbone.

The train platform was crowded with commuters, but all he could see was the way her robe had gaped open when she leaned over him, the teasing sway of her hips as she'd refilled his coffee. His hands shook as he fumbled for his ticket.

In the office, the spreadsheet blurred in front of Nick’s eyes, columns of numbers dissolving into meaningless static. He blinked hard, rubbing his temples, but the figures refused to make sense. Every time he tried to focus, his mind drifted back to the way Mary’s silk robe had slipped open at the waist, the soft curve of her hip bone catching the morning light. His leg bounced under the desk, restless, his skin prickling with a heat that had nothing to do with the office’s stifling air conditioning.

Later, the train ride home was a blur of flickering streetlights and the dull hum of tired commuters. Nick slumped against the window, his forehead pressed to the cool glass, but it did nothing to soothe the feverish thoughts swirling in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them, the photos he had discovered in the wardrobe. Sun-drenched shots of Mary sprawled nude on a lounge chair, the curve of her waist disappearing into shadow, her breasts full and tipped upward as if offering themselves to the lens. His fingers had trembled when he’d shoved them back, but not before memorising every inch.

Nick fumbled with his keys at the front door, his pulse hammering loud enough to drown out the sound of traffic behind him. The house was silent. Mary must be out, but he still crept up the stairs like a thief, each creaking step tightening the knot in his stomach. His room smelled faintly of her perfume, and he realised with a jolt that she must have been in here while he was gone. The wardrobe door stood slightly ajar, just as he'd left it.

The box was also where he had left it, at the back of the wardrobe. His fingers trembled as he pulled it free and emptied it on his bed. The glossy edges of the photographs and magazines caught the late afternoon light.

Nick’s fingers trembled as he spread the photos across his bed. The first image was arousing enough, showing Mary sprawled on the sun lounger, her fingers teasing the damp cleft between her thighs, but the next was hotter still. Her lips parted around the stem of a wine glass, her other hand pinching one nipple while her legs draped open, inviting. The pulse in his groin throbbed insistently, hot and insistent. His zipper dug into his erection, the pressure unbearable.

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But his hands moved before his brain could stop them, pulling his belt open with a clatter of metal. His jeans pooled around his ankles, followed by his briefs. The air, cool against his swollen cock, which was already leaking at the tip. One shaky hand wrapped around himself, his grip slick with pre-cum as his thumb swiped over the flushed head. A ragged groan escaped his lips.

The next photo nearly undid him. Mary on her knees, her back arched, the swell of her buttocks framed by the delicate lace, with someone else’s hands gripping her hips. His strokes quickened, his breathing turning shallow. The image blurred as his vision tunnelled, fixated on the dark, glistening folds barely hidden between her thighs. He could almost smell her, that heady musk from his dream, the salt-sweet taste of her skin. His free hand fumbled for another photo, scattering them in his haste.

Nick's fingers tightened around his cock, the friction sending electric jolts up his spine. The photo trembled in his other hand, Mary's hungry gaze frozen on glossy paper as if she could see him now. See the way his hips jerked into his own grip, the desperate rhythm of his palm sliding over slick flesh. A bead of pre-cum smeared across the curve of her parted lips in the photograph, and the obscene parallel made his balls draw up tight.

The fantasy hit him like a wave, Mary straddling him, her full breasts swaying as she rode his cock with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. In his mind’s eye, her fingers dug into his chest, nails leaving crescent moons on his skin, her breath coming in ragged little gasps as she tightened around him. His hand moved faster, the slick sound of his fist working his cock filling the quiet room. The photos trembled against his thigh, her smirking lips and spread legs fuelling the fire in his gut.

Nick's back arched off the mattress as his fingers dug into the sheets, his mind drowning in the fantasy of Mary straddling him, her thighs gripping his hips, her slick heat swallowing him whole. The photos were forgotten now, replaced by the vivid image of her heavy breasts swaying just above his face, their weight brushing his lips with every roll of her hips. He could almost taste the salt of her skin, feel the stiff peaks of her nipples dragging across his mouth as she leaned forward, her hands braced on either side of his head.

Her voice, low and throaty, purred in his head. "You like that, don't you, darling boy? Being used like this?" His cock twitched violently in his grasp, pre-cum slicking his frantic strokes. In his mind, Mary’s hips drove faster, her thighs trembling as she chased her own pleasure, her breasts jolting with every thrust. The fantasy was so visceral he could hear the wet slap of skin on skin, could see the flush creeping down her chest as she ground herself against him, taking what she wanted.

Nick’s thighs tensed, his toes curling into the bedsheets as the heat in his groin coiled tighter, unbearable. His hand moved faster, slick with pre-cum now, his grip tightening around his throbbing cock just the way he imagined Mary would. Firm, knowing, relentless. The scattered photographs blurred at the edges of his vision, but her image was burned into his mind, the arch of her back, the sheen of sweat between her breasts, the way her mouth would part around a moan as she took him deeper.

A strangled gasp tore from his throat as the first wave hit him. White-hot pleasure seared up his spine, his hips jerking off the mattress as his release spurted thick and hot across his stomach. His fingers kept working, milking himself through the aftershocks until his muscles trembled with oversensitivity. The room smelled of sweat, the air thick with the echoes of his ragged breathing.

The sound of the front door clicking shut punched through Nick’s post-orgasmic haze like a bucket of ice water. His spine snapped straight, his still-dripping cock twitching pathetically against his thigh as Mary’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. Too close, far too close. The photos. Fuck, the photos. He lunged for them, his cum-streaked stomach pressing against the crumpled sheets, fingers scrambling to gather the incriminating glossies before they could betray him. One slipped from his grasp, fluttering to the floor just as the kitchen light flicked on downstairs, casting a yellow glow up the staircase. The photos were shoved haphazardly into their box, one corner bent from his frantic haste.

Nick’s breath came in ragged bursts as he shoved the box back into the wardrobe with trembling hands, the door creaking ominously loud in the silent house. He barely had time to kick his trousers over the damp spot on the bed before Mary’s voice floated up the stairs, honey-sweet and laced with something darker.

"Nick? Are you home, darling?"

The clink of grocery bags settling on the counter sent another jolt of panic through him. He had lost track of time. He wasn’t ready. Not with the evidence of his shame still cooling on his skin, not with the memory of her photographed thighs seared behind his eyelids.

Nick’s throat tightened around the lie as he shouted back, "Just... just taking a shower!" His voice cracked mid-sentence, betraying him.

He rushed to the bathroom. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the house. He fumbled with the lock, his fingers slippery with sweat and still faintly sticky with his own release. The shower hissed to life, steam curling around the edges of the mirror before he'd even stripped off his shirt. His reflection stared back at him in the fogging glass: pupils blown wide, lips swollen from biting back moans, his face flushed.

The hot, scalding water hit Nick’s chest like a punishment, sluicing away the evidence of his guilt in milky rivulets that swirled down the drain. He scrubbed at his stomach with a soapy loofah, the coarse texture biting into his oversensitive skin, but the phantom sensation of Mary’s hips grinding against him lingered. His cock twitched pathetically against his thigh, still half-hard despite his earlier release. The steam thickened, wrapping around him like the heat of her imagined breath against his neck.

The soap slipped between Nick’s fingers as he dragged it down his stomach, the lather catching on the wiry trail of hair leading to his still-sensitive cock. The water scalded his shoulders, turning his skin pink; he barely noticed. His mind was already reconstructing Mary’s smirk from the photos, the way her hips had arched off the sun lounger in shameless invitation. His breath hitched as his soapy palm grazed his half-hard length, the touch sending a jolt through him despite the raw oversensitivity.

Nick’s fingers lingered against his cock, soap making them glide effortlessly over the flushed skin. The water was too hot, nearly scalding, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn it down. The sting matched the burn of shame curling low in his gut, the way his body still throbbed despite the mess he’d already made of himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image of Mary’s sprawled thighs, the dark thatch of curls between them, flickered behind his eyelids as if a film reel stuck on repeat. His breath caught as his thumb swiped over the head of his cock, the touch sending sparks up his spine even as his muscles ached with oversensitivity.

The steam curled thick around Nick’s shoulders as he leaned against the cold shower tiles, his forehead pressed to the cool ceramic. The water was too hot, scalding, but the sting was the only thing anchoring him to reality. His hand moved almost on its own, slick with soap and pre-cum, fingers tightening around his cock with a desperation that bordered on violence. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to silence the groan bubbling in his throat.

The fantasy came unbidden, sharper than before: Mary stepping into the shower behind him, her bare skin sliding against his back, her nails raking down his chest to circle his nipples. In his mind, she nipped at his earlobe, her voice dripping with amusement as she murmured, "Couldn't wait for me, could you?" His hips jerked forward into his fist, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The spray of water drowned out the wet slap of skin on skin, but nothing could disguise the way his balls tightened, already drawing up close to his body.

Nick’s fingers slipped lower, cupping his sac with a rough squeeze, the ache shooting straight to the base of his spine. The fantasy shifted, Mary on her knees now, her mouth watering as she gazed up at him, her tongue darting out to catch a bead of pre-cum before swallowing him whole. His knees nearly buckled at the imagined heat of her throat, the way her lips would stretch around his girth. His strokes turned frantic, his thumb pressing insistently against the sensitive underside of his cockhead, smearing precum in frantic circles.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open froze him mid-stroke. His heart lurched into his throat, his cock twitching violently in his grasp.

"Nick?" Mary’s voice, laced with false innocence, drifted through the steam.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't need anything." The shower curtain rustled, just a fraction, but enough to send a bolt of panic through him. His back tensed, waiting for the fabric to be yanked aside, for her to see him like this.

But the moment stretched, the only sound was the drumming of water against tile. Nick exhaled shakily, his grip loosening slightly, though his cock still throbbed in his hand.

"You know, darling boy," Mary murmured, her voice closer now, "I could hear you moaning from downstairs."

The words hit him like a slap, sending a fresh wave of heat to his cheeks. His fingers twitched around his length, torn between shame and the undeniable thrill of being caught.

Nick held his breath as Mary's fingers trailed along the outside of the shower curtain, not touching, just gliding close enough to make the plastic tremble.

"Dinner's almost ready," she purred, her voice dripping with amusement. "Don't keep me waiting, darling boy."

Her footsteps retreated, but the tension in the air didn't. Nick's cock twitched against his thigh, still half-hard despite the scalding water and the humiliation burning through him.

The shower handle squeaked as Nick turned it off, his fingers pruned and raw from the scalding water. Steam billowed around him as he yanked the curtain aside, his pulse still hammering in his throat. The bathroom mirror was fogged opaque, sparing him the sight of his own guilty expression. He grabbed his towel with shaking hands, the terrycloth rough against his oversensitive skin. Every stroke of the fabric against his thighs felt like an accusation.

Dressing was a clumsy affair, his boxers catching on damp legs, his shirt sticking to his still-wet back. He paused at the door, inhaling sharply before twisting the lock. The hallway was empty, but the smell of garlic curled up from downstairs, rich and unmistakable. His stomach growled despite the nerves coiling tight in his gut. Each step creaked louder than usual as he descended, his grip white-knuckled on the bannister.

Mary stood at the stove, her back to him, stirring something that sent up fragrant curls of steam. She’d changed into a sleeveless emerald-green dress that clung to her hips, the fabric shimmering under the kitchen lights. Without turning, she said, "Feeling cleaner now, darling?" Her voice was light, but the edge beneath it made his breath catch. The wooden floorboards groaned under his hesitant steps.

"Ah, there you are, dear boy, set yourself down, and I will serve dinner."

The clink of Mary’s wine glass against her plate echoed in the silence between them. Nick stared at his pasta, twisting his fork through the strands without lifting a bite. The scent of garlic and basil should have been comforting, but all he could smell was her perfume—something dark and floral, clinging to the air between them like a dare.

Nick's fork scraped against the plate as he pushed a stray noodle around, his pulse throbbing in his fingertips. Mary's knee brushed his under the table—accidental, probably—but the contact sent a jolt up his thigh. She took a slow sip of wine, her lips leaving a smudge of red on the rim. "You're quiet tonight," she murmured, eyes flicking to his untouched food. "Still thinking about those dreams of yours?"

Nick's fork clattered against his plate. "Dreams?" he echoed, voice cracking like dry kindling.

Mary’s smile widened as she leaned forward, the neckline of her dress dipping dangerously low. "Mmm, yes. The erotic ones where you wake up with your sheets tangled around your waist." Her fork twirled lazily in her pasta, the tines catching the light. "The ones where you say my name in your sleep."

The blood drained from his face, leaving his skin prickling with cold sweat. "I—what?" His voice cracked like a teenager's, the sound mortifying in the quiet kitchen.

Mary's words struck Nick like a physical blow, causing his fingers to clench around his fork and his knuckles to whiten, his breath caught as Mary chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, dabbing her lips with a napkin, "don't look so horrified. I'm just teasing you. But isn't that what young men do? Dream about older women, such as their teacher or manager...or their landlady?" Her fingers toyed with the stem of her wine glass, tracing idle circles that made his stomach tighten.

Nick’s pulse hammered in his throat, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. The pasta slid off, splashing red sauce onto the tablecloth like a bloodstain. "That’s not—" His voice sounded strangled, too high-pitched. He forced a swallow, tried again. "I don’t—"

Mary’s fingers brushed his wrist, the contact electric even through the cuff of his shirt. "Relax," she murmured, her voice softening as she leaned back in her chair. "I’m sorry, darling. That was unfair of me." The apology should have eased the tension in his shoulders, but the way her thumb traced idle circles over his pulse point kept his blood thrumming hot beneath his skin, and what's more, he could feel himself becoming aroused.

Mary's thumb lingered on Nick's wrist, her fingers warm against his clammy skin. "Really, darling boy," she murmured, her voice softening like melted chocolate, "forget I said anything." She withdrew her hand slowly—too slowly—letting her fingertips trail across his palm in a way that made his breath catch. The apology hung between them, gauzy and insubstantial as the steam still curling from their plates. Nick stared at the half-moon imprint her nails had left on his skin, the ghost of her touch burning brighter than any words.

Mary stood up, and stacked their plates with deliberate care. Her fingers lingered on the rim of his dish, thumb brushing a smear of sauce before she lifted it away. Nick watched the sway of her hips as she carried them to the sink, the emerald fabric clinging to the curve of her backside with every step. The kitchen tap hissed to life, water splashing against porcelain, but he couldn't tear his gaze from the strip of bare thigh revealed by her hitched-up hem.

"Why don't you relax in the lounge, darling boy?" she called over her shoulder, not turning. "I'll join you in just a moment." Her voice was light, but the way she emphasised "join" sent a jolt through him.

The leather couch sighed under Nick’s weight as he sank into it, his fingers drumming against his thigh in uneven rhythm. The lounge smelled faintly of Mary’s perfume—something expensive with a dark, velvety undertone that made his mouth water. He stared at the blank television screen, his reflection warped and ghostly in the black glass, until the click of heels on hardwood pulled his attention to the doorway.

“You still look tense, darling,” she murmured, her voice syrup-thick. The couch dipped as she settled beside him, closer than necessary, her thigh pressing warm against his. The hem of her dress rode up as she crossed her legs, revealing a teasing sliver of lace-edged stocking. Nick’s throat went dry.

Mary's fingers hovered near Nick's collar, the heat of her touch radiating through the thin cotton before she even made contact. "You're wound tighter than a grandfather clock, darling boy," she murmured, her breath warm against the nape of his neck. "Let me help with that."

Nick's protest died in his throat as her thumbs dug into the knot between his shoulder blades, the pressure just shy of painful. A groan escaped him before he could stifle it, his spine arching into her hands like a cat stretching toward sunlight. Mary chuckled low in her throat, the sound vibrating through his bones as her fingers worked downward, tracing the ridges of his vertebrae through the thin fabric.

Nick's cock throbbed against his thigh, trapped beneath the fabric of his jeans, each pulse of blood making the denim feel tighter, more suffocating. Mary's fingers danced along his shoulders, her nails scraping lightly—just enough to send shivers down his spine—before she pressed her thumbs into the tense muscles at the base of his neck. His breath froze when her knee brushed against his thigh, the contact fleeting but electric.

"Still so tense," she murmured, her lips hovering near his ear. The warmth of her breath sent another jolt through him, his cock twitching in response. He swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the couch to keep from reaching for her. "You really should relax, darling boy." Her voice dripped with amusement, as if she could feel the way his body reacted to her proximity, the way his pulse hammered beneath her fingertips.

Nick started to relax as Mary's fingers kneaded deeper into his muscles, the tension unravelling under her skilled touch. His eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of her body beside him and the rhythmic pressure of her hands lulling him into a drowsy haze.

"That's it, darling, just relax, let Mary work all that tension away," She murmured, her voice soft as silk against his ear." She murmured, her voice soft as silk against his ear. Her thumbs circled the base of his skull, coaxing another groan from him as his head lolled forward. The room blurred at the edges, the lamplight casting golden halos around her silhouette. He hadn't realised how exhausted he was until now, his limbs turning liquid under her ministrations.

Nick's breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling in time with the steady push of her palms down his spine. The friction of her stockinged thigh against his sent little sparks through the fog of his relaxation, but even that sensation dulled into something warm and distant. His fingers, which had been gripping the couch cushion so tightly, slackened, sinking into the plush leather. He felt relaxed and yet so aroused.

Mary's fingers lingered at the base of his neck, her thumbs tracing slow circles that made his eyelids flutter. "You're practically asleep sitting up, darling boy, perhaps you have been working too hard," she murmured, her breath warm against his temple.

"Let's get you upstairs." Her fingers splayed possessively across his hipbone, thumb tracing circles through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Each stair was an ordeal, Nick's legs moving like lead weights while Mary guided him with firm pressure. His mind relaxed, but his body filled with arousal, every brush of her body against his sending fresh waves of heat pooling low in his belly.

Nick stumbled when they reached his bedroom door, his back hitting the wall with a thud that should have hurt but registered only as distant pressure. Mary crowded against him, her thigh sliding between his legs to keep him upright, the contact drawing a ragged groan from his throat. Her fingers worked his belt open with practised ease, the leather hissing through loops. "Shhh," she soothed, her other hand palming the obvious bulge straining against his zipper. "Just helping you get comfortable."

Mary's fingers were cool against Nick's skin as she peeled his shirt up his torso, her nails scraping lightly over his ribs. The fabric caught under his arms, trapping him for a breathless moment before she tugged it free with a whisper of cotton over his ears. His arms fell limp at his sides, muscles slack.

The elastic of Nick’s boxers snapped against his hips as Mary hooked her thumbs into the waistband, her fingers cool against his burning skin. His cock sprang free, already fully erect and flushed a deep red, the tip glistening with pre-cum. A shudder ran through him as the air hit his overheated flesh, the sensation almost too much to bear. Mary’s breath caught, just slightly, before she recovered with a low, throaty chuckle.

“Well,” she murmured, her gaze dragging over him with deliberate slowness, “someone’s eager."

Mary’s fingers lingered at the base of Nick’s cock, her thumb swiping lazily through the bead of pre-cum pooling there. The scent of him, musky, salt-sharp, filled the space between them as she straightened, her lips quirking at the way his hips twitched upward, chasing her touch even in his current state.

"Rest, darling boy," she murmured, trailing her nails down his inner thigh just hard enough to leave faint red trails. "I’ll be back before you know it." The door clicked shut behind her as she went to her room.

Her bedroom smelled of expensive perfume and the lingering spice of arousal, her own. Mary unzipped the emerald dress with practised ease, letting it slither down her body to pool at her feet like shed skin. The full-length mirror caught her reflection, her aroused nipples peaking beneath the silk of her bra, her skin faintly flushed.

She unhooked the front clasp with a single twist of her fingers, her breasts spilling free, heavy and ripe in the lamplight. The nightie she chose was scandalously short, black lace clinging to every curve, the hem barely skimming the tops of her thighs. She paused, considering, before peeling off her panties with a slow drag of fabric against damp skin. No point in modesty now.

Mary's fingers traced slow circles over her belly, dipping lower until they found the heat between her thighs. She sighed as her fingertips brushed through slick folds, already swollen with anticipation. The scent of her arousal rose in the warm air, musky, ripe, unmistakable. Her middle finger slid inside with practised ease, curling slightly to press against that sweet spot that made her breath hitch. "Mmm, fuck," she whispered to the empty room, her hips rocking against her own hand. The mirror reflected every obscene detail, the glistening wetness coating her fingers, the way her thighs trembled as she added a second digit.

She withdrew her fingers with a slow drag, holding them up to the light where her juices shone like honey. A wicked smile curved her lips as she imagined Nick's reaction if he could see her like this, spread open, dripping, utterly unashamed. Her free hand squeezed her left breast, pinching the nipple until it stood taut and aching. The sting radiated through her, merging with the throbbing pulse between her legs until she couldn't tell where one sensation ended and the other began.

The bedside drawer slid open with a sharp jerk of her wrist. Inside, nestled among silk scarves and forgotten receipts, lay her favourite toy. Thick, veined, and realistically heavy in her palm. Mary wasted no time slicking it with her own wetness, the cool silicone warming quickly against her feverish skin. She positioned the tip at her entrance, teasing herself with slow, shallow thrusts that made her inner walls flutter in protest. "Oh, Mary, you are such a greedy bitch," she murmured, pushing deeper until the toy bottomed out inside her with a satisfied sigh.

Her hips began moving of their own accord, riding the toy with slow, deliberate rolls that sent sparks dancing behind her eyelids. The head of it brushed against her G-spot with each inward stroke, sending jolts of pleasure radiating outward to her fingertips, her toes, the roots of her hair. One hand remained tangled in her breast, kneading the soft flesh while the other worked the toy faster, harder, until the wet slap of silicone against flesh filled the room. The mirror fogged slightly with her exhales, obscuring nothing, hiding nothing. Mary enjoyed watching herself in the mirror, or indeed on film!

Down the hall, Nick relaxed on his bed. His overheated skin was leaving damp streaks on the cotton. Every nerve ending felt raw, exposed, his cock aching with a need that bordered on agony. His heart raced when he heard the creak of floorboards. Mary's footsteps approaching, the rustle of curtains morphed into the whisper of fabric sliding from her shoulders.

The door creaked open on oiled hinges, moonlight slicing across Nick's twitching thighs. Mary lingered in the threshold, silhouetted by the hall light, her lace nightie translucent where it clung to the sweat-slick curves of her body. Nick gasped, despite his relaxed state, his cock jutted obscenely from his hips as he writhed against sweat-damp sheets.

"Still so hard for me, oh, the wonders of young men," Mary cooed, clicking her tongue as she padded forward. The mattress dipped under her knee, Nick's hips jerking instinctively toward the heat radiating from her bare skin. Her fingers traced the straining veins along his shaft, feather-light, just enough to make him whimper.

Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent electric jolts straight to his groin. Mary straddled his thighs, the damp heat of her cunt pressing against his knee as she leaned forward. Her breasts swayed above his face, the scent of her arousal thick and musky.

"Look at you," she cooed, thumbing the slit of his cock, smearing pre-cum across the flushed head. Nick's back arched off the bed, a strangled moan tearing from his throat. Mary chuckled, low and throaty, her other hand sliding up his chest to pinch a nipple, hard. "Such a desperate little thing, so horny. I could do anything to you right now, couldn't I?"

The mattress springs groaned as she shifted higher, her thighs bracketing his hips now. Nick's hands twitched at his sides, whether to push her away or pull her closer, even he couldn't tell. Mary caught his wrists, pressing them into the pillows above his head with effortless strength. Her teeth grazed his earlobe as she whispered. "No touching, darling boy. This is my show."

Mary’s thighs bracketed Nick’s head like a velvet vice, the heat of her radiating through the thin lace of her nightie as she settled her weight against his collarbones. His breath quickened. She shifted slightly, the lace rasping against his cheeks, the scent of her arousal flooding his nostrils: musky, sweet, with an underlying acidity that made his already-throbbing cock twitch against his stomach.

Mary's fingers tangled in Nick's sweat-damp hair, her grip tightening just shy of pain as she lifted his head from the pillow. His nose bumped against the damp lace first, the fabric sheer enough that her heat bled through instantly, before she arched her hips higher, dragging his face into the bare slickness of her. The lace rucked up, shoved aside by her own impatient fingers, and suddenly there was nothing between his parted lips and her swollen lips.

Mary's hips rolled in slow, deliberate undulations, the wet heat of her cunt smearing across Nick's slack mouth. His tongue lolled out instinctively, thick and clumsy, dragging along her swollen folds with the lazy rhythm of a tide lapping at shore. She sighed, her fingers tightening in his hair, her thighs trembling slightly as she adjusted the angle. "There," she murmured, grinding down harder, "just like that, darling boy."

Nick's nostrils flared against her inner thighs, the scent of her arousal thick enough to taste, salt and musk and something darker, something primal that bypassed his fogged mind entirely and went straight to his cock, which twitched against his stomach, leaking another bead of pre-cum. His tongue moved in slow circles, tracing the slick ridge of her before dipping shallowly into her entrance, the taste exploding across his palate like overripe fruit.

Mary moaned, low and throaty, her hips stuttering forward as his tongue caught her clit in a clumsy, dragging pass. The lace of her nightie was rucked up around her waist now, the fabric damp where it pressed against his forehead, the rough texture contrasting with the silken heat of her skin. She rocked faster, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her grip on his hair bordering on painful. "Oh, you sweet thing," she panted, "you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this."

Nick's jaw ached from the stretch, his tongue heavy and slow, but Mary didn't seem to mind; if anything, his fumbling strokes seemed to drive her higher, her thighs clamping around his head as she rode his face with increasing urgency. Her fingers left his hair to brace against the headboard, her nails digging into the wood as she arched forward, grinding down hard enough to force a choked groan from his throat.

The room smelled of sex and sweat, the air thick enough to choke on. Mary's moans grew louder, more insistent, her hips jerking erratically as she chased her pleasure against his mouth. "Almost there, darling boy," she gasped, her voice ragged at the edges, "just a little...oh yes...just like that!"

Her thighs trembled, her whole body tensing as she came, her cunt pulsing against his tongue, the taste of her flooding his senses, salty and sharp and impossibly heady. She shuddered through it, her fingers tightening in his hair hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, her hips still moving in slow, lazy circles as she rode out the aftershocks.

When she finally pulled away, Nick gasped for air, his lips slick with her, his chin glistening. Mary sighed, stretching like a satisfied cat before sliding down his body, her fingers trailing over his chest, his stomach, coming to rest just above his throbbing cock. "Good boy," she murmured, her thumb brushing over the head of his cock, smearing the pre-cum gathered there. "Now, let's see if I can't return the favour."

Mary's hand wrapped around his length, her grip firm, her fingers slick with his arousal as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb swirling over the head with each upward pass. Nick groaned, his hips jerking helplessly into her touch, his body responding to her. She watched his face, her lips parted slightly, her breath coming faster as she took in every twitch, every gasp.

Her strokes grew faster, her grip tightening just enough to make his toes curl, his back arching off the bed. She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, "Cum for me, darling boy. Let me see you fall apart." Her words sent a shiver down his spine, his cock pulsing in her hand, his balls drawing up tight.

Nick came with a strangled cry, his release spilling over her fingers, his body jerking uncontrollably as pleasure ripped through him. Mary didn't stop, her hand moving relentlessly, milking every last drop from him until he was panting, spent, his body limp against the sheets. She lifted her hand, examining the sticky mess coating her fingers before bringing them to her lips, sucking them clean with a hum of satisfaction.

"Delicious," she murmured, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop at the corner of her mouth.

The door clicked shut with surgical precision, the sound barely louder than a whisper. Nick's eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus on the retreating silhouette through the haze, Mary's hips swaying deliberately, her bare shoulders gleaming in the sliver of hallway light before darkness swallowed her whole. His fingers twitched against damp sheets, his body still thrumming with aftershocks, but his limbs felt filled with wet cement. The scent of sex and her perfume clung to the air.

Exhausted, Nick's eyelids drooped. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was the press of her lips against his temple, the whisper of her breath as she murmured, "Sweet dreams, darling boy."