I got home before Marcus, like I had planned, already shedding my tie and kicking off my shoes. I needed to be here before him so I had time to pull the card I had written from the hidden drawer in my desk. I had first written it on a piece of paper several weeks ago, but then chickened out and tore it up. Rewritten it again several more times, and trashing it each time. This was a big step, more than we’d gone before. It wasn’t until one night while I was curled up in his lap watching TV, his hand gently holding the back of my head, that I decided I wanted to at least see where this went. So, I got a simple but elegant card and envelope and wrote down my offering for our anniversary weekend. I figured if it was on a card, it would be harder for me to want to back out.
I placed the card, addressed in my tight handwriting to Marcus, on the kitchen island as he came through the door. His jacket was over one shoulder, and looked tired, but I knew he’d perk up once he read the note. Overcome with a sense of nervous excitement, I gave him a kiss, and then handed it to him. Putting his keys down on the counter, he opened it with an eyebrow raised.
For our anniversary weekend away; I’ll be your free-use slut. Whatever you want to do, do it. No questions.
Marcus stared at the card for a long second. His thumb rubbed the edge the way it always did when he was turning something over. When he looked up there was heat, but also that careful hesitation I knew so well. There was also a tightness in his pants I knew well.
“You’re serious,” he said quietly, as he rubbed where his dick was pushing against the fabric. “Right now? We’ve still got to finish packing, load the car, three-hour drive…”
I nodded, already unbuttoning my work shirt. “Serious. Starting now. No questions.”
He exhaled, slow, like he was deciding how far to lean into it. Then he slipped the card back into the envelope and put it in one of the kitchen drawers. He turned around with a heat on his face and saud. “Alright. Strip. Fold your clothes neat.”
I stripped right there in the kitchen; shirt, pants, socks, underwear, folding each piece and setting the stack on the small breakfast table. The air felt cooler once I was naked. My cock was already filling just from the order. Marcus walked a slow circle around me, still fully dressed, and still fully hard. When he got behind me, he rested a hand lightly on the back of my neck.
“Are you my good boy?” he asked me. His hand tightened slightly around my neck.
“Yes sir” I said, my breath shaky. He kept me there a moment, then gave the side of my balls a light, experimental slap that made me jump.
“Sensitive,” he noted, softer. Another careful squeeze, firmer this time, rolling them in his palm until I hissed. “These are mine for the weekend. I can hurt them if I want.”
“Thank you sir” I said. He smiled and then told me to get up and help him finish packing. Every time I bent to zip something or reached for something he’d step in close behind me, reach around, and give my cock a few slow strokes, edging me right to the point where my hips stuttered, then stop dead and give my balls a warning squeeze.
“Not yet. You don’t come until I say. Maybe not till the cabin. Maybe not at all tonight.”
The denial settled in fast. By the time the bags were closed I was leaking a thin string onto the hardwood. Marcus made me drop to my knees and lick it up while he watched, one hand resting on my head.
“Good boy.” Marcus said.
Loading the car was where this arrangement had its first test. It’s one thing to be naked in your private living room, and another to load bags naked into a car where someone could see. Our garage was private, but the street was right there. He had me carry the heavy cooler naked, cock bobbing, balls still aching from the earlier attention. When I bent to set it in the trunk he stepped in close, pressed his clothed crotch against my bare ass, and reached under to pinch the skin of my sac hard enough to make me yelp.
“Quiet,” he said, though his voice was gentle.
“Neighbors don’t need to know my husband’s a toilet.”
He used the word like he was still getting used to it. Then he pointed at the ground telling me to kneel. He unzipped, pulled his cock out, and I wrapped my lips around it. After a second, the warm salty liquid filled my mouth, forcing me to take big gulps so that I could swallow it all. His hand gripped the back of my head tight so I couldn’t pull away, but I didn’t want to. Something about this felt natural, freeing even.
He finished with a grunt and a small push into my throat, and then just zipped up, walking back to our apartment. I kneeled there a little longer, thinking about how quickly he’s embraced this. My hand wandered to my cock, and I mindlessly started tugging.
“Stop” I heard Marcus call, his tone making me follow immediately. I hopped up, but he pushed me back down, then pushed my head down to look at his shoes. He didn't say or do anything else, but I understood. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute, he just walked away. I looked up and saw that he’d brought the last of our bags out, which I loaded into the car, the taste of his piss lingering in my mouth. Cock hard and ignored, the humiliation burned sweat across my face. Marcus came back out and tossed me a pair of soft sweatpants and a loose T-shirt for the drive.
“Put those on. No underwear. Plug goes in before we leave.”
He lubed the short thick plug himself, pressed it into me right there against the car while I braced on the open door, then locked a thin leather cock ring around my cock and balls so they were presented and already throbbing. The sweatpants tented obscenely the second I pulled them up.
The three-hour drive was pure torture and pure gift.
Marcus kept one hand on my thigh the whole way, occasionally sliding under the waistband of the sweatpants to edge me with two fingers; stroking the wet head, circling, stopping the second my breathing changed, giving my trapped balls a slow, firm squeeze that made me squirm in the seat. Every so often he’d lift his own arm and nudge my face toward his armpit.
“Breathe. Musk. Your husband’s. Remember who you belong to while we’re stuck in traffic.” I’d inhale, and the smell of his sweat would make me even harder. Then he’d shove my face away.
About an hour and a half in, he said he needed to piss again. I instinctually started looking for rest stop signs.
“No, we’re running late as it is. I don’t want us unloading in the dark” he said. Then, he unzipped again and his slightly hard cock flopped out. Marcus wasn’t wearing underwear either. He reached down to push his seat back just enough to let me lean over and wrap my lips around. “Don’t go spilling this one, don’t want my car smelling like your toilet mouth.”
I pushed my head deeper to make sure I could get it all, and inhaled the scent of his cock and balls. Sweaty from the drive, musky from the precum it seemed he’d been leaking. It didn’t take long for the familiar warmth to fill my mouth again. It wasn’t as salty this time, and he just kept going. That was when I remembered Marcus had drank three bottles of water since we left. He wanted this. The thought of that made my heart race. It was much harder to swallow at this angle, but I managed to keep everything in. He again finished with a grunt and then pushed me off his dick.
“Still good?” he asked, thumb brushing my cheek, the hesitation still there under the heat.
“Yes,” I rasped.
The remainder of the drive passed, with Marcys needing one more “bathroom break.” When he wasn’t steering with both hands up the curves into the forested mountains, he edged me and kept my balls aching with careful, deliberate attention. By the time the cabin finally appeared through the trees I was shaking, hard, soaked at the crotch of the sweatpants, plug heavy inside me, and completely, helplessly his.
Marcus parked, killed the engine, and looked over at me in the sudden quiet.
“We’re here,” he said softly. “Last chance to take the note back.”
I just reached for the door handle, already knowing the answer.
“No questions,” I whispered.
