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By (user no longer on site) OP
9 weeks ago
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Our Chapters 1–3 were about the slow build: the disaster that taught us caution, the ginger brickie who unlocked her hunger, Sir who left her fuzzy and contrite. Now this one is different. This one is raw impulse, wine-fuelled courage, and a reminder that sometimes the hottest moments happen when we least expect them.
It was a Saturday night. I was stuck at work on a late shift, deadlines don’t care about weekends. Princess was home alone, finishing a bottle of red, half-watching her show, half-feeling that restless itch she gets when the house is quiet and her mind starts wandering. Around 12:37am, my phone lit up:
“How about if I get a wee meet tonight? I’ll prob not manage it but if I do i promise to get lots of photos babe x”
"I'm currently chatting to a 36 yr old think he might be a go, he is only in Bangor"
"I've d*unk most of the wine and I'm torn between fucking and watching my show.”
I stared at the screen in work, that other part in me, the darker, prouder part started feeling that familiar rush. My girl, tipsy and horny, deciding on a whim to chase what she craves. I typed back fast:
“Go for it, baby. Be safe. Send me everything. I love you.”
She didn’t reply right away. I spent the next hour in a weird limbo: half-focused on work, half-checking my phone every thirty seconds. Then, just over an hour later, the update came:
“I had a meet he totally lied his profile said older he was 28 really enjoyed that and he was a sweetheart”
And then the video.
I had to step into the corridor to watch it. The screen filled with her on her side, legs apart and wide on our bed, his hand between them: four fingers deep in her pussy, then pulled them out to press one roughly into her ass, stretching her slowly, deliberately. You could hear her breathing, little gasps turning into moans as he worked her open. The camera capturing every slick, obscene detail. Her wetness glistened, her hips rocked instinctively toward his touch. No faces, no names, just pure, needy surrender.
I stood there in the hallway, cock straining against my jeans, chest tight with pride and possessiveness and something almost painful. She didn’t wait for permission or perfect timing. She felt the want, acted on it, and let a stranger stretch her open while I was miles away earning a living. The trust in that moment, knowing she’d send me the proof, knowing she’d still be in our bed, exhausted, sore and used when I come home, was overwhelming.
She texted again:
“I just really wanted fucked hard and thats what I got”
No apologies, no hesitation. Just her honest, unfiltered desire. She got what she needed: hard, fast, deep. He was younger than advertised, but gentle in the right ways and didn’t push past her limits, left her satisfied and smiling.
When I finally stumbled through our door around 6am from work, met her in bed where she smelled faintly of wine and sex, eyes sleepy, cheeks flushed and waiting.
I didn’t ask questions right away. I just pulled her close, kissed her slow and deep, tasted the night on her lips. Then I took her, right there in bed: I felt how swollen she was, how slick, how ready again. I fucked her slow at first, letting her recount every detail between moans: how he’d kissed her neck, how he’d pinned her wrists, how he’d stretched her just right until she came hard around his fingers and then his cock.
Hearing it while I was inside her broke something open in me. Pride that she’s brave enough to chase this. A flicker of that old jealousy (another man had her tonight, filled her, made her cum). But mostly love, so much love, for the woman who trusts me enough to be this free, this filthy, this honest. When I came, it was with her whispering “I missed you” against my mouth, and I held her tighter than ever.
She fell asleep curled into me, still a little wine-flushed, still marked by the night. The next morning she sent me the video again, just to tease. We watched it together over coffee: her giggling at how eager she looked, me quietly proud that she’s mine to reclaim every time.
That impulsive late-night meet reminded us both why we do this: because she deserves to feel wanted, taken, satisfied: whenever the urge hits. And because I get to be the one who holds her.
Stay wicked,
The Devil & his fearless, wine-d*unk Princess.
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