Husband's Blessing: His Wife's Tailor Takes Her Measurements

Michael had rehearsed the words a dozen times in his head before he finally said them out loud over breakfast. Sophia sat across from him in one of his old T-shirts, the hem riding high on her bare thighs, her dark hair still messy from sleep. She was twenty-eight and fucking radiant, the kind of woman who turned heads without trying. He watched the way her lips closed around the rim of her coffee mug and felt that familiar twist low in his gut—the one that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with the filthy pictures he kept locked behind his eyes.

“I made an appointment for you,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Victor’s shop. Three o’clock. He’s going to cut you a custom evening gown for the charity gala.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow. “Victor? The old guy on Maple? He’s expensive as hell, Michael.”

“He’s the best. And I already paid the deposit.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “I want you in something that fits like a second skin. Something that makes every man in the room hard just looking at you.”

She laughed, low and warm. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m serious.” He squeezed her fingers. “Sophia, look at me.” When her green eyes met his, he let the mask drop. “I want you to flirt with him. Really flirt. If the chemistry’s there… let it go further. All the way, if you want. I’ll know. I’ll be waiting to hear every filthy detail when you get home. Or better—when I watch.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away. He saw the spark catch behind her eyes, the same spark that always lit when he fed her his darker cravings. She bit her lower lip, considering.

“You’re really giving me your blessing to fuck the tailor?”

“I’m begging you to.” His cock was already thickening under the table. “Victor knows the arrangement. We talked. He’s discreet, he’s skilled with his hands, and he’s been looking at you like he wants to eat you alive every time we’ve walked past his window. I want you to walk in there, take your clothes off for him, and let him measure every inch. Let him touch you the way I know he will. And if it feels right… ride his cock while I sit at home stroking myself raw thinking about it.”

Sophia’s breath hitched. She nodded once, slow. “Okay. I’ll go. I’ll see what happens.”

By three o’clock she was standing in front of the narrow brick storefront, heart hammering against her ribs. The gold lettering on the glass read Victor Lang – Bespoke Tailoring. She pushed the door open and the little bell above it chimed. The shop smelled of wool, cedar, and expensive cologne. Rolls of fabric lined the walls in deep jewel tones. At the back, behind a heavy oak counter, Victor looked up from a half-finished jacket.

He was older—mid-fifties, silver threading the dark hair at his temples, shoulders still broad under a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His hands were large, long-fingered, the hands of a man who worked with precision. When he smiled, it was slow and knowing.

“Mrs. Harlow. Right on time.” His voice was deep, lightly accented. “Michael said you’d be coming for a gown. Something… special.”

Sophia’s pulse kicked. She set her purse down. “He told me you’ve already spoken.”

“We have.” Victor came around the counter, wiping his hands on a cloth. His eyes dragged over her simple sundress, lingering on the swell of her breasts, the flare of her hips. “He was very clear about what he wants for you. And what he’s willing to share.” He gestured toward the fitting area screened by heavy velvet curtains. “Shall we begin the measurements?”

She followed him behind the curtain. A raised platform sat in the center, ringed by tall mirrors. A padded bench held measuring tapes, chalk, pins. Victor closed the curtain with a soft rasp of fabric on fabric, sealing them in.

“Dress off,” he said quietly. “Bra and panties too, if you don’t mind. I need the true line of your body.”

Sophia’s fingers trembled only a little as she reached back and unzipped. The sundress pooled at her feet. She unhooked her bra, let it fall, then hooked her thumbs in the lace of her panties and slid them down. She stepped out naked, nipples already tight from the cool air and the heat of his gaze.

Victor didn’t pretend not to look. His eyes roamed her full breasts, the soft curve of her stomach, the neat dark triangle between her thighs, the long legs Michael loved to spread. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Even better than I imagined.”

He picked up the soft yellow measuring tape. “Arms out.”

She lifted them. He stepped in close—close enough that she felt the warmth radiating off his chest—and looped the tape around her back, bringing it under her breasts. His knuckles brushed the sensitive undersides as he pulled it snug. He held the number a beat longer than necessary, thumb stroking once across the underside of her left breast before he released.

“Thirty-six,” he said, voice rougher. He jotted it on a small pad, then returned. This time the tape went higher, circling her chest right over her nipples. He cinched it slowly. The fabric dragged across the stiff peaks; she sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers lingered, adjusting, the pads of his thumbs grazing her nipples in deliberate, feather-light circles until they hardened fully under his touch.

“Sensitive,” he observed. “Good.”

He moved lower. The tape snaked around her waist, then her hips. He crouched in front of her, eye level with her pussy, and measured the circumference of each thigh. When he slid the tape up the inside of her leg, the back of his hand pressed firmly against her folds. He left it there, warm and solid, while he read the number. Sophia’s clit throbbed against his knuckles. She could feel how wet she was already getting, the slickness gathering.

Victor stood, but he didn’t step back. Instead he reached around her again, this time measuring from the nape of her neck down the length of her spine to the cleft of her ass. His free hand settled on her hip to steady her, fingers splayed wide, thumb stroking the soft skin just above her pubic bone. Every brush of his skin on hers sent fresh sparks racing through her.

“Michael wants the gown to cling,” Victor said against her ear. His breath was warm. “He wants every curve on display. He wants men to imagine peeling it off you. Including me.” The hand on her hip slid forward, cupping her mound openly now, two fingers parting her lower lips to find the wet heat waiting there. He didn’t push inside—just held her open, letting the cool air kiss her clit while his middle finger rested heavily against it. “And he wants me to take my time with these measurements. To make sure the fit is perfect.”

Sophia’s hips twitched forward against his hand before she could stop herself. A soft, helpless sound escaped her throat.

Victor smiled against her hair. “There it is. That little spark.” He rubbed once, slow and filthy, coating his finger in her slickness, then brought it up and painted a wet stripe across her lower lip. “Taste how ready you already are for this.”

She did, tongue flicking out, tasting herself and the faint salt of his skin. Her heart slammed so hard she felt dizzy.

He turned her to face the mirrors fully. She watched their reflection: her naked body flushed pink, his larger frame behind her, one hand still possessive on her hip while the other brought the tape up between her legs from behind. He measured the rise from crotch to waist, the soft fabric nestling right along her slit. Every tiny adjustment dragged the tape over her clit. He did it again. And again. Deliberate. Unhurried. Until her thighs were trembling and a visible sheen of arousal glistened on her inner thighs.

“I think I have everything I need for the pattern,” he said at last, voice thick. He set the tape aside but didn’t release her. Both hands settled on her waist, then slid up to cup her breasts, rolling her nipples between skilled fingers. “But I want one more measurement. How wet my cock is going to get when I finally push inside this pretty cunt Michael’s lending me.”

Sophia’s head fell back against his shoulder. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against the small of her back through his trousers. The mirrors showed everything—her parted lips, her arched back, his hands mauling her tits while one thick thigh nudged between hers, opening her stance wider.

“Michael said if the chemistry was there…” she whispered.

“It’s here.” Victor’s mouth brushed the side of her neck, teeth grazing. “And we’re just getting started with the fitting, Sophia. By the time I’m done measuring you properly, you’re going to be dripping down your legs and begging me to stretch you open on the cutting table.” His fingers pinched her nipples harder, twisting just enough to make her gasp. “But not yet. First I want you aching. I want you so worked up that when I finally fuck you, you’ll come the second I bottom out.”

He released her breasts only to spin her around and drop to one knee again. This time there was no pretense of measuring. He gripped her ass cheeks, spread them, and dragged the flat of his tongue through her soaked folds in one long, filthy lick from perineum to clit. Sophia cried out, hands flying to his silver-streaked hair. He licked her again, slower, savoring, then sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked hard while two thick fingers finally pushed inside her cunt and curled.

She was so wet the sounds were obscene in the quiet shop. Victor ate her like a man who had all afternoon and every intention of using it. His tongue worked her in firm circles while his fingers pumped, stretching, scissoring, preparing. Every wet suck and filthy groan vibrated straight through her core. In the mirrors she watched herself rock against his face, watched her own juices shine on his chin, watched the raw hunger in his dark eyes when he glanced up at her.

Just as her thighs started to shake toward climax he pulled back, leaving her empty and throbbing. He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiled that slow, knowing smile again.

“Measurements aren’t finished,” he said roughly, already unbuckling his belt. “Not until I’ve checked the depth. Not until I’ve felt exactly how this tight little wife-pussy hugs a real cock. Turn around, hands on the mirror. Arch your back for me, Sophia. Let’s see how deep Michael’s gift can take me before I decide whether to fill you up or save that load for later.”

Sophia’s legs were unsteady as she obeyed, palms flat against the cool glass, ass pushed out. Behind her she heard the rasp of his zipper, the soft thud of trousers hitting the floor. The thick, heavy slap of his cock against her wet cunt made her moan out loud. He rubbed the fat head up and down her slit, coating himself, teasing her entrance without pushing in yet.

“Michael’s going to love hearing how red your ass is when I spank it between thrusts,” Victor growled, one hand already raising. “He’s going to love knowing his wife came in here for a dress and left with her cunt reshaped around another man’s dick.” The first sharp crack of his palm landing on her cheek echoed. The sting bloomed hot and perfect. He lined up again, the blunt pressure of his cockhead starting to stretch her open—

And the shop bell out front chimed cheerfully as another customer walked in.

The cheerful chime sliced through the charged silence like a blade. Victor froze mid-thrust, the blunt head of his cock kissing Sophia’s slick entrance, her ass still blooming hot from his palm. She bit down on a moan, palms splayed against the cool mirror, thighs quivering as fresh wetness dripped along her inner thighs.

“Stay,” he rasped against her ear, voice tight with frustration. “Not a fucking sound.”

He eased back, the heavy slap of his spit-slick cock leaving her empty making her hips jerk helplessly. Sophia watched in the glass as he stuffed the thick, veined length into his trousers, the fabric tenting obscenely while he buckled his belt with practiced speed. One last squeeze of her ass cheek—possessive, promising—and he slipped through the velvet curtain.

Sophia stayed frozen, naked and throbbing, every nerve screaming. She could hear the murmur of voices beyond the heavy fabric: Victor’s deep accent rolling out a practiced greeting, the customer’s lighter reply about needing a suit adjusted by Friday. Her cunt clenched around nothing. Michael’s words from breakfast echoed in her skull—let it go further... ride his cock—and the ache between her legs only sharpened. She pressed her forehead to the mirror, watching her own flushed reflection, nipples diamond-hard, pussy lips glistening and parted. The interruption only fed the fire. She was dripping for it now, shameless.

Victor’s tone sharpened out front. “I’m in the middle of a private fitting that cannot wait. Come back tomorrow morning. Yes—first thing.” The bell chimed again as the door shut hard. A decisive click of the lock followed, then the scrape of the “Closed” sign flipping.

He shoved the curtain aside and stalked back in, eyes raking over her arched body still obediently posed. “Fucking timing,” he muttered, already unbuckling again. But instead of freeing his cock immediately he snatched up the yellow measuring tape once more, the pretense sliding back into place like a second skin. “We weren’t finished. Michael wants precision.”

Sophia turned slowly, heart hammering. Victor stepped in close, the heat of him rolling over her bare skin. He looped the tape high around one thigh, knuckles dragging deliberately along the soft inner flesh, higher, higher, until the back of his hand nestled flush against her soaked folds again. He held it there, rubbing slow circles that smeared her cream across his skin while he pretended to note the number.

“Wider,” he ordered.

She parted her stance. His free hand skimmed up the outside of her other thigh, over the flare of her hip, spanning her waist with possessive fingers that kneaded the soft give of her flesh. Every pass grew bolder—thumbs dipping into the hollows beside her navel, then rising to cup the heavy undersides of her breasts, lifting them, squeezing, the measuring tape forgotten against her ribs as he rolled both nipples between finger and thumb until they throbbed.

Sophia’s breath stuttered. Visible shivers raced across her skin; her pussy fluttered, a fresh bead of arousal sliding down one thigh. She met his eyes in the mirror and let the flirtation pour out, voice husky.

“My husband wants me to enjoy myself,” she whispered, rolling her hips so his knuckles dragged harder across her clit. “He told me—said I should take everything you give. Said he wants to hear how wet I got for you while you measured every filthy inch.”

Victor’s nostrils flared. The tape dropped. Both hands claimed her breasts fully now, mauling them, pinching and tugging her nipples in rough twists that shot sparks straight to her cunt. “That so?” He ground the hard ridge of his cock against her ass through the fabric. “Then tell me more, Mrs. Harlow. Tell me exactly what Michael’s lending me tonight.”

She pushed back against him, openly grinding, the words tumbling free in a breathy rush. “He wants you to stretch me. Wants your cock rewriting the shape of me so when I walk into that gala every man smells how freshly fucked I am. He wants me dripping your cum down my thighs under the gown you’re going to sew for me.” Her hand snaked behind, palming the thick bulge, squeezing until he groaned. “I’m already aching for it. Look how wet you’ve made his wife just from your hands.”

Victor spun her, slammed her back against the mirror, and crushed his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss that tasted of her own earlier arousal. His tongue fucked deep while one hand shoved between her legs, two thick fingers plunging into her cunt without warning, curling hard against that swollen spot that made her knees buckle. She moaned into his mouth, fucking herself on his hand, the wet squelch obscenely loud.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he growled, breaking the kiss to bite along her jaw. “Dripping down my wrist like a bitch in heat. Michael’s a lucky bastard.”

Desire boiled over—hers, his, the shared filthy knowledge of the man waiting at home stroking himself raw. Sophia shoved at Victor’s chest just enough to drop to her knees on the raised platform. The polished wood bit into her skin as she tore his belt open, yanked the zipper, and freed the heavy, veined cock that slapped against her cheek. It was thicker than Michael’s, longer, the fat head already leaking clear precum. She licked a broad stripe up the underside, tasting salt and musk, then opened wide and sank down, taking him to the back of her throat in one greedy swallow.

Victor cursed, fist twisting in her dark hair. “Fuck—yes. Suck it. Show me how Michael’s good little wife takes a cock that isn’t his.”

Sophia moaned around the thick shaft, the vibration making his hips jerk. She bobbed wetly, spit slicking her chin, one hand cradling his heavy balls while the other pumped what she couldn’t swallow. Every downward slide she hummed the words around him, the confession filthy and raw: “I need to be fucked with my husband’s blessing—need this cock splitting me open while he sits at home knowing exactly who’s rearranging his wife’s cunt—”

She gagged herself deeper, eyes watering, throat fluttering around the head. Victor’s hips started to rock, fucking her face in short, controlled thrusts, the wet gluck-gluck of her eager mouth filling the curtained space. Her free hand dropped between her own legs, two fingers plunging into her dripping pussy in time with every thrust into her throat. She was so close already, clit swollen and screaming, juices coating her palm.

Victor pulled free with a wet pop, the fat cock glistening, strings of spit connecting her swollen lips to the tip. He smeared the head across her mouth, painting her. “Not yet. On your feet. I still need to check the fucking depth of this greedy hole Michael’s sharing.”

Sophia rose on shaky legs, lips shiny, chest heaving. He bent her back over the padded bench, ass high, and dragged the measuring tape one last teasing time along her slit before tossing it aside. The blunt head notched against her entrance again—thicker, hotter, ready to sink home—while his palm cracked down on her already-reddened cheek hard enough to make her cry out in pure need.

The shop was locked. The mirrors waited. And Michael’s blessing hung thick in the air between every filthy thrust they were about to take.

Victor slammed home in one brutal thrust, burying every thick inch of his cock balls-deep in Sophia’s soaked cunt. She cried out, palms skidding across the padded bench as the sudden stretch ripped a ragged moan from her throat. He didn’t give her time to adjust—just gripped her hips hard enough to bruise and started pounding, deep and rough, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the mirrors.

“Fuck—yes, take it,” he growled, slamming into her again, the heavy work table shuddering under them as he shifted her forward onto the broader oak surface strewn with fabric scraps and chalk. Sophia’s tits dragged across the cool wood with every savage stroke; her clit throbbed against the edge each time his balls slapped her. She was dripping, juices smearing down her thighs and coating his cock in glossy streaks.

“Harder—please, Victor, fuck me harder,” she gasped, pushing back to meet him. The words tumbled out filthy and desperate. Michael’s blessing burned in her mind, the image of her husband at home stroking himself raw while another man’s dick reshaped her pussy. “Stretch me—use me like he told you to. God, you’re so thick—”

Victor’s palm cracked across her ass again, then again, leaving hot handprints as he drove deeper, angling up to drag over that swollen spot inside her. Sophia’s vision blurred. Every rough thrust punched the air from her lungs; she begged between gasps, voice breaking. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—fill me, ruin me for him—” Her cunt clenched greedily around him, the wet sounds obscene, her cream frothing at the base of his cock. Interior heat coiled tight; she was already teetering, the raw friction and the knowledge of Michael’s approval shoving her higher.

He reached under, pinched her clit between two fingers and rubbed in time with his punishing rhythm. Sophia shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her in violent waves, pussy spasming hard around his invading length, juices squirting out around his shaft to splash the table. She sobbed his name, still begging for more even as she came, hips jerking wildly.

Victor didn’t ease up. He fucked her straight through it, deep strokes turning her moans into broken cries, until her legs threatened to give. Then he pulled out with a wet pop, spun her around like she weighed nothing, and shoved her onto her back across the work table. Measuring tools clattered to the floor. He hooked his arms under her knees, spread her legs obscenely wide, and slammed back into her cunt in one savage thrust.

Sophia’s eyes locked on his. The mirrors on every side reflected the filth—her dark hair fanned out, lips parted and shiny, his thicker cock disappearing into her stretched, glistening pussy over and over. He pounded her hard in missionary, hips snapping, the table creaking under the force. Her full tits bounced with every brutal thrust, nipples tight and aching; he leaned down and sucked one into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make her arch and scream.

“Look at me while you cum on it,” he ordered, voice rough. “I want to see Michael’s wife lose it on my cock. Tell him later how you came staring into another man’s eyes.”

She couldn’t look away. Pleasure detonated again almost immediately—her second orgasm crashing harder than the first, cunt milking him in rhythmic pulses as she gasped and shook. “I’m cumming—fuck, Victor, I’m cumming on you—” Juices gushed around his driving shaft; her walls fluttered and squeezed, trying to pull him deeper. He kept hammering through it, the wet squelch loud, her tits bouncing wildly, the underside of his cock dragging perfectly over her clit with every withdrawal.

A third climax built fast, fed by the raw intensity and the eye contact that made everything dirtier. Sophia’s hands clawed at his shoulders, nails digging in. “Again—I’m gonna cum again—don’t pull out yet, keep fucking me—” She came screaming, body bowing off the table, pussy convulsing so hard her vision whited out. Victor snarled praise, calling her his greedy little hotwife, Michael’s perfect shared cunt, while he pistoned through the aftershocks, prolonging every spasm until she was trembling and oversensitive, still begging for more even as tears of pure overload pricked her eyes.

He lasted only a few more vicious thrusts. Then he yanked free, fist pumping his glistening cock once, twice. Thick ropes of cum erupted across her stomach and breasts in heavy, pearly stripes—hot splashes painting her skin, pooling in her navel, streaking over her nipples and dripping down the sides of her tits. Sophia moaned at the heat of it, watching the mess mark her, feeling utterly claimed under Michael’s blessing. Victor milked the last spurts onto her lower belly, then dragged the head through the thick load, smearing it deliberately across her skin.

For a long moment the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant traffic outside the locked shop. Sophia lay sprawled on the work table, legs still spread, cum cooling on her flushed body, her thoroughly fucked pussy twitching and leaking her own release down onto the wood. Victor’s dark eyes raked over the sight with open hunger, but he wasn’t finished with her—not completely. He reached for a scrap of soft measuring cloth and wiped his cock slowly, then pressed two fingers into the mess on her stomach, scooping a thick glop of his cum and pushing it down between her legs, rubbing it over her swollen clit and into her open cunt.

“Still need to make sure the gown sits right,” he murmured, voice thick with lingering lust. “Michael wants it clinging. After this… every seam’s going to know exactly how my cum looks drying on his wife.” He leaned in, kissed her hard and filthy, tasting her sweat, then nipped her lower lip. “We’re not done measuring, Sophia. Not until I’ve had you again bent over the cutting bolts—and not until you walk out of here with my load still leaking down your thighs under that sundress. You’re going to call him on the way home. Put him on speaker while I finish fitting you properly.”

Sophia’s pulse kicked fresh heat low in her belly. The tension coiled tighter instead of releasing; she could already feel the next round building as his cum-slick fingers kept teasing her oversensitive entrance, promising more. Michael’s voice would be in her ear soon, listening to every wet detail while Victor took her again. She arched into the touch, tits still striped white, and whispered, “Yes… make me tell him everything.”

Victor’s cum-slick fingers kept circling her swollen clit, dipping just inside her stretched entrance to push more of his thick load deeper. Sophia arched harder against the work table, the sticky stripes across her tits and belly already cooling, her pulse hammering fresh heat low in her core. She reached for her phone in the discarded purse on the floor, thumbs shaky as she pulled up Michael’s contact and hit speaker.

The ring cut through the shop once, twice. Michael answered on the third, voice already rough. “Sophia? Fuck, baby, tell me.”

“He’s still inside me with his fingers,” she breathed, locking eyes with Victor as he shoved a third digit into her cunt, scissoring slow and filthy so the wet squelch carried clear over the line. “Victor just painted me, Michael. Thick ropes all over my tits, my stomach—pooling in my navel. I’m dripping his cum and mine down onto the cutting table while he fingers it back into me.”

Michael groaned loud, the unmistakable slick sound of his fist working his cock coming through. “Christ. How did it feel? Did he stretch you good?”

Victor curled his fingers hard against her g-spot, free hand mauling one cum-streaked breast, pinching the nipple until she yelped. “Thicker than you,” Sophia gasped, hips bucking. “Longer. He bent me over the bench first, spanked my ass red, then slammed me full while I begged for it. I came three times already—squirting around him, screaming his name. He made me look him in the eyes for the last one. Said to tell you how your wife lost it staring at another man’s face while he ruined me.”

“Fuck yes,” Michael rasped. “Keep going. Put the phone where I can hear every slap.”

Victor yanked his fingers free, flipped her onto her stomach across the oak, and mounted her from behind in one brutal thrust. His cock—still half-hard, slick with their mixed mess—drove deep, balls slapping her clit as he started pounding hard enough to rock the table. Sophia cried out, the phone propped against a bolt of fabric so the wet smack of skin filled the speaker. “He’s fucking me again right now—raw, deep, using me like you told him to. Feel how open I am for him, baby? He’s reshaping me. Every thrust drags over that spot and I’m already clenching—gonna cum again while you listen—”

Victor gripped her hips, slamming harder, the mirrors catching every filthy angle: her ass rippling under his palms, cream frothing at the base of his cock, fresh cum from her earlier loads smearing across the wood. “Tell him how greedy this cunt is,” he growled, loud enough for the phone. “How it milks me even after I already dumped a load on her. Your wife’s a perfect hotwife slut, Michael. Soaking my dick, begging for more.”

Sophia’s third—no, fourth—orgasm crashed over her mid-thrust, pussy spasming violently around Victor’s length, juices squirting out to splash his thighs. She sobbed into the table, body jerking, nails scraping chalk dust. “I’m cumming—fuck, I’m cumming on him again while you stroke that cock at home knowing exactly who’s balls-deep in me—”

Michael’s breathing turned ragged, curses tumbling. “Don’t stop. Make her take it. I want her walking funny.”

Victor fucked her through the waves, then pulled out, spun her onto her back again, and shoved back in missionary. He hooked her knees over his elbows, folding her nearly double so his cock speared even deeper, the head battering her cervix. Sophia’s tits bounced wildly under the streaks of cooling cum; he leaned down and licked a broad stripe through one pearly rope, then crushed his mouth to hers, sharing the taste while he hammered. The phone caught every wet gluck, every slap, every broken moan.

“Another,” Victor ordered against her lips, reaching between them to rub her clit in rough circles. “Give your husband one more. Cream all over the cock he lent me.”

She shattered again almost instantly, vision whiting, cunt convulsing so hard she nearly pushed him out. Victor snarled and drove through it, lasting another dozen savage strokes before he yanked free and fist-pumped fresh ropes across her already-marked stomach and mounds. Hot splatters joined the first load, thicker this time, dripping down her ribs, coating her nipples in fresh white. He milked the last onto her open, twitching pussy lips, smearing the head through the mess so it glistened obscenely.

Sophia lay boneless, chest heaving, body a wreck of flushed skin and dripping cum. Victor picked up the phone, voice steady despite the rasp. “She’s thoroughly measured, Michael. Every inch. Gown’s going to cling like sin after this. I’ll have the first fitting ready next week.”

Michael’s laugh was pure filthy joy. “Proud of you both. Sophia—baby, you did perfect. I’m still hard as hell. Get home so I can taste him on you.”

The call ended. Sophia pushed up on shaky elbows, still sprawled and leaking. She grabbed her phone, switched to video, and hit record. The short clip panned slow over her cum-covered tits, the thick stripes drying sticky across her belly, her puffy, used pussy still oozing mixed juices down her thighs. Her voice came husky on the audio: “Your wife got measured thoroughly.” She sent it.

Michael’s reply pinged almost instantly. The text glowed: Fuck I’m so proud of you. So turned on I can barely type. Schedule another fitting soon. Want you back there leaking for him again. Love you, my perfect hotwife.

Sophia smiled at the screen, then up at Victor. He stood between her spread legs, cock still heavy and glistening, eyes dark with leftover hunger and open approval. Heat flickered low again—anticipation already coiling for the next time Michael’s blessing would drop her back into this shop, bent over fabric bolts, stretched wide while her husband stroked himself raw to every filthy update. The gown, the gala, the endless fittings… all of it just excuses for more of this raw claiming.

She sat up fully, cum cooling and sticky on her skin, thighs shiny. Victor handed her the sundress. She stepped into it without bothering to wipe clean, the thin fabric clinging immediately to the mess, outlining every streak and the swollen lips of her cunt. Bra and panties stayed in a heap; no point. She slipped on her shoes, gathered her purse, and leaned in for one last deep, filthy kiss—tongues sliding, tasting sex and satisfaction.

Victor cupped her ass through the dress, squeezing. “Next week. Don’t wash too hard.”

Sophia nodded, still smiling that secret, sated curve of lips, body flushed and dripping under the cotton. She walked out through the velvet curtain, past the locked door he unlocked for her, the little bell chiming soft as she stepped onto the sidewalk and left the shop behind.