Anniversary Night With Wife's Bull
Hubby's blessing lets his wife get bred by her BBC bull on their anniversary.
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The fifth anniversary had already gone sideways in the best possible way.
Mark and Jenna had checked into the luxury downtown suite with every intention of a romantic night: candlelit dinner, a shared bath, maybe some gentle lovemaking while they laughed about how they were still the same horny idiots who’d banged in the coat closet at their own wedding reception. Instead, Jenna had spent the entire meal swirling her wine and dropping hints about Darius like she was laying out bait.
She’d been teasing Mark for months. Little comments in the car after training sessions. Texts at 2 a.m. that read “Darius spotted me on squats today and I swear the man is smuggling a traffic cone.” Mark had gone from shocked to curious to rock-hard in record time, until finally, over dessert, he’d looked his beautiful wife dead in the eye and said the words she’d been waiting for.
“Go ahead and invite him. Tonight. Tell your bull he has my enthusiastic blessing to fuck you stupid on our anniversary.”
Jenna’s fork had clattered against her plate. Her cheeks had gone bright pink, her nipples visibly stiff under the thin silk of her dress. She’d practically vibrated with nervous glee the entire elevator ride back to the suite.
Now they waited.
Mark paced. Jenna kept checking her reflection, tugging the hem of the tiny emerald-green babydoll she’d bought specifically for this. It barely covered the bottom curve of her ass and did nothing at all to hide how soaked she already was.
A firm knock sounded at the door.
Jenna squeaked—an actual squeak—and looked at Mark with wide, sparkling eyes. He grinned, gave her a little push, and she practically skipped across the room.
She opened the door.
Darius filled the frame.
At thirty-two, the man looked like he’d been carved out of onyx and pure sexual confidence. Six-foot-four, broad shoulders, shaved head, and a smile that suggested he already knew exactly how the night was going to end. In one hand he held an ice bucket with a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne. In the other, well… the massive, obvious ridge running down the inside of his grey sweatpants was doing the talking for him.
“Evening, Mrs. Bennett,” he rumbled, voice low and amused. “Happy anniversary. Your husband home?”
“He’s right here,” Jenna said, biting her lip. She stepped aside so Darius could see Mark standing by the minibar, half-hard already and not even pretending otherwise.