I pad barefoot across the cool floor, feeling utterly exposed. My heavy tits sway with each step, the sensitivity peaks . I open the refridgerator, the cold blast making me shiver. There it is, resting on freezer beside a bag of peas—the cucumber, now a solid, rigid, pale green shaft, glistening with a thin layer of frost. I wrap my fingers around it. It's so cold it almost burns. My face flushes with a heat that has nothing to do with the kitchen.
I carry it back to the living room, holding it like an offering. He's not there. "In here," his voice calls from my bedroom.
I find him standing by the foot of my bed, his shirt already off, tossed over my chair. My breath catches. He's so solid, his chest broad and dusted with dark hair, his shoulders powerful. His eyes rake over me, from my flushed face down to the frozen vegetable in my hand, and a slow, dirty smile spreads across his lips. "Bring it here."
He takes it from me, his warm fingers brushing mine, and sets it on the nightstand. Then his gaze sweeps around my room, taking in the bookshelf, the wardrobe, the large mirror positioned to the side of the bed. "Let's see how you keep my property, sweetie," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. He's talking about me. I'm his property now. The thought makes my cunt pulse.
"Open it," he says, nodding toward my wardrobe.
I move to the large wooden doors, my hands trembling as I pull them open. My collection of lingerie is inside—lacy things, satin things, things I've bought and never worn for anyone. He steps up behind me, his bare chest pressing against my back. One of his big, rough hands comes around to cup my right tit, squeezing the full, heavy weight of it, his thumb finding my nipple and pinching. At the same time, his other hand slides over the curve of my ass, kneading the soft, plump flesh of my cheek.
He kisses my shoulder, his lips hot, then nips at the skin with his teeth. I gasp, arching back into him. He peers over my shoulder into the wardrobe. "Look at all these pretty little things," he whispers, his breath hot in my ear. His hand leaves my tit and dips under my skirt, his fingers finding my slit with an unerring accuracy. He rubs gently, through my soaked folds, not entering me, just teasing. "All these silky scraps waiting for my attention. Which one's your favorite, Mia?"
"I… I don't know," I breathe, my hips pushing back against his hand.
"Pick one," he commands, his voice full of dark promise.
My eyes scan the colors. I reach out with a shaky hand and pull a sheer black thong from its hanger. It's barely there, just a string and two delicate triangles of lace.
He takes it from me, holding it up. "This one," he says, his voice dipping even lower. "Next time I take you out somewhere, you'll wear this. Just this. Under a little dress. And I'll know. I'll know my sweet girl has nothing but a piece of string covering her pretty, fat pussy." He brings the lace to his nose and inhales, his eyes closing for a second. "You'll blush the whole fucking time, won't you?"
I can only nod, a fresh wave of wetness soaking his fingers as they continue their slow, maddening circles. He lets the thong drop to the floor and spins me around. His hands find my waist, large and spanning, and he walks me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
A pair of my pajama pants are crumpled on the duvet. He picks them up and tosses them aside with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "You won't be needing these tonight, sweetie."
He sits on the bed and pulls me down to sit facing him. His eyes are locked on mine, hungry and dark. "Lay back. Spread those thick, pretty thighs for me. I want to see everything."
My heart hammers as I obey, scooting back until my head hits the pillows. I let my knees fall apart, exposing myself completely to him in the soft light of my bedroom lamp. He lets out a long, appreciative groan. "Fuck, Mia. Look at you." He crawls onto the bed, settling between my legs. His hands start at my ankles, rubbing up the strong, soft meat of my calves, over my knees, and up my inner thighs. "So soft. So fucking perfect." His thumbs brush the outer lips of my pussy, spreading me open wider. "And this… this beautiful, meaty cunt. So swollen already. So fucking wet for me."
He lowers his head and kisses my inner thigh, then the other. His stubble scratches deliciously. Then his mouth is on me, but not how I expect. He doesn't lick. He french kisses my pussy, his tongue plunging deep inside my hole in slow, wet thrusts. He's drooling, letting his spit mix with my own juices, making a filthy, wet mess of my folds. I cry out, my back arching off the bed. "Tastes so fucking good," he mumbles against me, his words vibrating through my sensitive flesh.
He pulls back, his chin gleaming. He reaches for the frozen cucumber. My eyes widen. He holds it up, the cold already causing a faint mist to rise from its surface. "Gonna loosen you up with this, sweetie," he says, his voice rough with lust. "Gonna watch your tight little hole learn to take it."
The blunt, icy tip presses against my entrance. I gasp at the shock of the cold, a sharp, intense sensation that borders on pain before melting into a deep, spreading numbness. He pushes, gently but insistently. The cold is a shock, but the stretch… oh fuck, the stretch is incredible. The rigid vegetable is thicker than his fingers. I moan, a long, low sound, as the first inch slips inside me.
"That's it," he coaxes, his eyes glued to where we're joined. "Take it for me. Such a good girl."
He leans down as he pushes it in another inch, his mouth finding my clit. The heat of his tongue against my swollen, hyper-sensitive nub is a shocking contrast to the deep, penetrating cold inside me. He sucks my clit into his mouth, flicking the hard little bud with his tongue, while his hand works the cucumber slowly, steadily deeper. The dual sensation is overwhelming. My hands fist in the bedsheets, my hips lifting off the mattress.
"You're swallowing it," he rasps against my clit, his words hot and wet. "Your greedy little pussy is sucking this frozen fuck right in. Look at you." He pushes it all the way, until the base is nestled against my outer lips. I'm so full, so stretched, the cold radiating through my core. He gives my clit a gentle, stinging smack with his fingers, making me jerk and clench around the foreign object. "Hear that? That's the sound of your cunt gulping it down, you nasty girl."
He starts to move it. A slow withdrawal, then a smooth, deep push back in. The cold drags against my inner walls, a sensation so intense it steals my breath. At the same time, he latches his mouth back onto my left tit, sucking the heavy weight of it, his tongue worrying my nipple. I grab his head, pulling him closer, my moans becoming loud, ragged things that echo in my quiet room.
"That's it, fuck yourself on it," he grunts, his own arousal evident in the strained sound of his voice. He releases my breast with a wet pop and looks down at me, a smirk playing on his lips. "You love it, don't you? You love having your hot little cunt stuffed with something cold and hard. My dirty, perfect girl."
The cold is a deep, aching presence inside me, a counterpoint to the burning heat coiling in my belly. He fucks me with the cucumber, his pace increasing, his other hand pinching and pulling at my nipples. The sensations merge—the icy fullness, the sharp pinch on my tits, the filthy, praising words he growls into my skin. It's too much. The orgasm builds, a terrifying wave, and then it crashes over me. I scream, my body bowing off the bed, my cunt clenching and fluttering wildly around the frozen intrusion. He works me through it, pushing the cucumber deep and holding it there as I shake and sob.
When the last tremor subsides, he slowly pulls it out. It emerges slick and glistening, covered in my juices. He brings it to his mouth and licks it, a long, deliberate stripe from base to tip, his eyes locked on mine. "So fucking sweet," he moans. Then he leans down and kisses my stomach, my hips, my inner thighs, his mouth worshipping every inch of me.
A glance at the clock tells me it's past one in the morning. I'm a boneless, trembling, thoroughly used mess. He pulls the covers back and guides me under them, then slides in beside me. He doesn't ask. He arranges me how he wants me, pulling me onto my side to his front. Then he nudges until he is half on my stomach. He hugs me, his hand finding my right tit, cupping and kneading it. His other arm wraps around my waist, his big hand possessively groping my ass. He nudges my top leg up and hooks it over his hip, opening me to him even in sleep.
His face is buried in my tits, his mouth finds one of my tits. He takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, rhythmically, like a child seeking comfort. His other hand continues to grope and smack my ass. It's possessive, intimate, utterly overwhelming.
I'm so sensitive, every touch sends little aftershocks through my spent body. I moan softly into my pillow. He just holds me tighter, his suckling becoming the steady, lulling rhythm that finally pulls me down into a deep, sated sleep.
I wake to sunlight streaming through the blinds. I'm naked, the sheets tangled around my legs. The space beside me in bed is empty, cool. He's gone. I stretch, my body aching in the most delicious way. I'm sore between my legs, my tits feel tender, and the memory of the night paints my cheeks a fiery red. I touch the space where he slept, a slow, shy smile touching my lips.