So my Domme is gone for the weekend and she sends me this cute little text saying, “Go service Helen for the night.” I’m thinking jackpot. I’m locked, sure, but an evening of face-first pussy eating sounded like the kind of holiday weekend I can get behind. I even shaved. I even stretched my jaw. I was ready.
I show up at Helen’s place all smiles and kneeling energy, and who opens the door? Her boyfriend. Huge dude. Muscles on muscles. The kind of guy who looks like he could use me as a foam roller. I freeze for a second and he grins like he knows exactly what kind of disappointment is about to slam into me.
Helen waves me in and explains the plan like this is totally normal:
He wants to be a bull. But with his own girlfriend.
And my job? Assist.
Assist what?
Everything.
So instead of a nice evening between her thighs, my night becomes a full athletic support role. He’s on top of her in seconds, pounding away like he’s trying to drill through the mattress, and she snaps her fingers at me to crawl in and help.
Help means:
Keep him hard.
Lick her clit while he is inside her.
Hold her legs up.
Wipe the sweat off his chest.
Encourage him like he’s running a marathon.
Meanwhile my locked cock is trying its best to break out of the cage, but failing like a trapped ferret. Every time I think maybe, just maybe, Helen will toss me a mercy pussy, her giant boyfriend shifts and I get a faceful of pelvis instead.
Eventually they both start building up to the big moment. I’m licking, she’s moaning, he’s groaning like a foghorn. Then he finishes inside her, collapses onto the bed, and she pats my head like a dog who fetched something gross from the yard.
I know my cue.
I crawl in and clean the whole mess out of her.
And honestly?
Tasty. Guy deserves props on the diet. Clean finish, great flavor, no weird back-notes. Ten out of ten would slurp again.
So yeah. I thought I was going to get lucky.
Instead I became the world’s most overqualified sex butler.
My Domme is laughing about it already and she was not even there.
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