ꪆৎina

You are, generally speaking, a very obedient wife. 

Happiest when orbiting Sammy’s daily needs. Coffee made the way he likes it. Shirts folded and stacked in his drawer. Lunch packed with a little note tucked beneath the napkin, be safe, handsome! written in bubbly ink with three hearts and a lipstick print beside it.

And every day when he came home, you abandoned whatever you had been doing and hurried toward him. He expected nothing less. One second you were leaping into his arms; the next, his hands were around your waist and your feet were dangling several inches above the floor as he carried you toward the kitchen. 

“What’d my girl do all day?”

And it's never suspicion. Sammy couldn't sound suspicious if he tried with his face buried against your neck and one palm already migrating beneath your dress to cup your ass.

He just wanted the daily briefing — what you grabbed at the store, who had called, what you streamed while folding laundry, whether you finally watered the basil — best delivered while you perched on the counter and he kneaded your backside, answering each fact with a thoughtful little mhmm. 

Obedience, unfortunately, becomes a far shakier virtue when the forbidden object is parked dead-center in the living room, looking off center. 

You manage a disciplined twenty, maybe twenty-two, minutes before drifting back to it. Pacing a circle, you judge the distance to the wall and scoff. Barely three feet. Not worth bothering Sammy. Plus, you weren’t going to lift it, merely scoot it across the rug. Scooting seems perfectly reasonable.

Sammy said leave it because you might hurt yourself. You’re not going to hurt yourself. Which means, technically, his concern is already handled. 

The key turns in the front door lock at the exact moment you wedge your shoulder beneath one corner of the cabinet.

You don’t hear it. You’re far too busy making a series of tiny, pathetic noises through clenched teeth, one foot braced behind you while the other slips uselessly against the rug. 

“What are you doing?”

You freeze mid-shove, cheeks hot. 

“Nothing,” you answer quickly.

“Looks pretty fuckin’ strenuous for nothing.” His boots stop inches from your bare foot. You peek up from beneath the cabinet, hair sticking to your forehead, dress bunched at your waist. Sammy sets his keys aside with exaggerated calm, then crouches, forearms on his knees, meeting your eyes at floor level. “Gonna try that answer again?”

You ease onto your knees, fingers fussing with the bunched cotton until it skims halfway down your thighs. Sammy’s eyes track the motion, lingering where the dress refuses to fall any lower.

The lift of his brow tells you he’s remembering exactly what color those panties were, and how little they covered when you were half-under the cabinet.

“Sammy, listen, I was being so safe.” You plant both palms on the hardwood, as if proving stability. “I slid it on the rug so the floor wouldn’t scratch, kept my knees bent, no twisting, no overexertion.” You point at the hulking thing. “It’s practically in the same spot, honest. I just wanted it to look… finished.” 

Sammy nudges your forehead with his. “What did I say last night?”

“That you’d handle it.” You chase his mouth with a soft peck. “I know, but you work so hard and I didn’t want you to have to —”

“Baby.”

Your lips skim his cheek again. “I just figured if I moved it now you could relax later and maybe we could order take-out and —” 

“Mrs. Bryant.” His voice dips, a velvet warning. Two fingers tilt your face up so you have to meet the steady, disciplined gleam in his eyes. “One more word and you’ll be explaining it bent over that cabinet instead of under it. Clear?” 

You swallow, gaze dropping to his mouth, and manage the softest little “Mm-hmm,” the sound barely a syllable, insurance against making the mistake of actual speech. 

He accepts the tiny assent with a nod, then folds his fingers around your wrist and pulls you upright. The instant your balance steadies, he gives your backside a sharp, proprietary smack that makes you yelp and bite your smile. 

“Atta girl. Now scoot over to the couch and sit pretty while I do the heavy lifting, yeah?” 

It takes him only ten minutes to shove the cabinet into place. The oak kisses the wall while he wipes his palms off his uniform and crooks a finger. 

“Come ‘ere.”

You pad over, contrite and already trembling. He folds you against his chest, broad hand sifting through your hair in a slow, soothing rake.

“Scared me,” he murmurs against your crown. “Didn’t like picturing my girl pinned under two hundred pounds of wood.”

“‘M sorry,” you whisper, suddenly feeling very guilty as your fingers fists the back of his shirt. 

“I know.” His tone softens, but the command that follows is pure authority. Knuckles brush the hem of your sundress, nudging it higher. “Why don’t you show me just how much.”

MARIA NOTE popping my sammy cherry everybody be nice im nervous

There were only two things he wanted in life: you and a baby. 

Maybe multiple babies, but everyone had to start somewhere. And Pope wanted to get started now. But you kept waffling, saying “I don’t know” and “maybe next year.” You’d told him next year about three years ago, and he was done waiting.

Lucky for him, you weren’t on any birth control. That had partially been his doing. You’d complained about side effects from your IUD, so Pope had suggested that you get rid of it, that he didn’t mind wearing condoms if it meant you were more comfortable. And you trusted him wholeheartedly. You’d never have guessed he had ulterior motives.

So here he was now, taking a thumb tack to every single condom you kept in your night stand drawer. He was methodical, poking five holes in each. Pope didn’t want them to break, though, that would alarm you and then he’d have to get Plan B. He wanted them to stay intact, but give just enough room for some of his little swimmers to leak out into you.

By the time he had finished, he only had a few minutes before you were due to arrive home from work, so he settled back on the bed to wait.

That was how you found him, sitting with his back against the headboard, hands folded in his lap and eyes locked on the door.

“Andy,” you set your purse on the dresser, smiling at him as you walked over to give him a kiss. “How was your day?”

Before you could peck him and move on, Pope was grabbing you by the hips and dragging you into his lap. You squeaked against his lips in surprise, laughing as you relaxed in his hold. His hands roamed over you, moving from your tits to your hips to your ass, like he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to grope.

“Miss me?” You were grinning ear to ear as you finally freed your mouth from his, but Pope didn’t stop, dropping his head to kiss and suck at your neck and using his hold on you to rock your core over his. You could feel how hard he was growing already.

Pope had been half hard since he began sabotaging your contraceptives, but seeing you waltz in none the wiser had all of his blood rushing south.

“Need you,” he grunted. Momentarily, he stopped painting your neck in bruises and bites to pull your shirt up and over your head. He quickly popped your bra clasp open after, dragging it down your arms and throwing it across the room.

“You can have me,” your hands dropped down between your bodies, yanking and unbuckling his belt to get his jeans open as fast as possible. “Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” Pope looked up at you with wide eyes as he guided you up onto your knees to remove your shorts and underwear. Once he had them gone, it struck you that he was still nearly fully clothed, his pants pulled just far down enough to free his length while you were naked. A shiver ran up your spine. Something about your states of undress were much more attractive than it should be.

“Yeah, Andy,” your fingers came to wrap around his cock, stroking over him slowly. Your fingers swiped through the precum leaking from his head. Holding eye contact with him, you brought those fingers to your lips, licking the salty fluid off of them.

Pope groaned before he was frantically yanking your nightstand drawer open and grabbing a condom. You’d seen him put on a condom a million times before, so while he went through the motions, you took your turn to leave your mark on his neck. Working the skin between your teeth, you drunk in every little groan and gasp that came from him as he working the latex down over his length.

You’d been planning on riding him, but before you could pull back and sink down, Pope was lifting you up and off of him, manipulating your body to land face down on the bed.

“Andrew-”

“Want you like this,” his body laid over yours, pressing you down into the mattress before you could push up or protest. His cockhead was running through your folds, trying to catch and push into your hole, but he kept missing. Pope grumbled in frustration, and then his weight shifted off your back.

You looked over your shoulder to find out exactly what he was doing, but you quickly found out when he was jerking your hips up, folding a pilow and propping your hips up on it. His body was back over you once he had you exactly how he wanted.

“Oh fuck-” his head dropped to your shoulder as he finally sank into you. He swore he could feel your wetness on the little bits of skin exposed by the microscopic holes. It was incredible. He’d truly mourned not being able to fuck raw after you’d had your IUD removed, but he knew he’d be able to again once he finally got you pregnant. “Feels good.”

Pope couldn’t help himself. His hips jerked and ground into you, chasing his own pleasure. He needed to cum in you now. He’d give you as many orgasms as you wanted once he was done, but right now his sole focus was finishing as deep inside you as he could. 

“Fuck, Andy,” you were whining and pushing back against each movement he made. He felt so good deep inside you.

Pope’s thrusting picked up in pace. He was already embarrassingly close. You were so warm and tight and perfect around him. He just couldn’t help himself. His pace stuttered, hips slamming into your ass as he pressed as deep inside you as he could get. 

Pope was used to the sensation of his cum filling up a condom, how the warm heat would spread down his shaft as emptied himself into it. This was different. He could still feel some of that wet heat trapped in the latex, but it was not nearly as much as before. As far as he could tell, his plan had worked perfectly.

He waited until the aftershocks were done and every drop had been wrung out of him by your walls before he pulled out. You hadn’t finished, and he felt guilty, but he also needed to cover his tracks, at least until those two pink lines showed up.

Thankfully, when his cock emerged from your cunt, the holes he’d pricked in it were more visible, but he was pleasantly surprised to see that it had overall held its shape without tearing but had let almost all of his release flood your depth.

He quickly stripped the condom off and threw it in the trashcan beside the bed before he was yanking your hips up.

You squeaked in shock as Pope pulled you up onto your knees. He could see some of his milky white release starting to drip from you. He couldn’t let you see that.

So he buried his face in your cunt. His tongue licked from your clit to your ass, cleaning up any trace of his cum that leaked out of you. It hurt his soul to not push that precious fluid deep inside you, but he had no choice for now.

He focused his efforts on your clit, trying to work you up to an orgasm as fast as possible. The foggier your senses were, the more likely he’d be able to get away with filling you once again, and his already hardening cock was aching for it again.

“Andrew! Fuck!” You were rocking back against his face, panting and moaning. 

Two of his fingers pushed into you, curling down to press into your g-spot as his lips circled your clit. He sucked the little bud into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. Your thighs were shaking and you buried your face into the mattress as you cried out.

“Cum,” Pope growled, doubling his efforts and intensity. 

You came, fluid squirting out around his fingers as your walls spasmed and clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop, fighting through your tightening insides and the tremors that wracked your body. You were whimpering, moaning his name, and reaching behind you to try and push him away when you started to come down.

“Oh my god,” he finally backed off, looking down at your slumped form as you tried to catch your breath. “Jesus Christ, Andrew.”

Pope leaned back to open the drawer again. You looked over your shoulder, expression incredulous as you watched him fish out a brand new condom. 

“Again!?” 

“Again.”

Pope was not going to stop until he got what he wanted.

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