“I know what your pets don’t,” she whispers, tracing fingers over the ropes.

“What do y–”

“I know... you ache.”

Her teeth drag across his rigidity, drooling down the twitching shaft. Balls remain cinched-up.

“Please...”

“I know,” she repeats, sitting down in his sightline. Two fingers heatedly find her cunt; he watches.

Smiling, she pulls them out to hover her glazed pungence over his lips; now fumbling for words that normally bark so easily. Her fingers dance down his chest, over long-dried splotches of crimson-colored wax, stippling in his growing pool of pre-cum.

“Only I know my husband’s secret edge.”