Login

Orange You Glad We Wed

by Troublesome Beast

Chapter 2: Chapter 2 - Meeting for the (Power) Exchange

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

The door to the CEO’s office was shut tight, and the well-padded walls ensured that not a note of sound escaped. Most of the employees of Orange Holdings had thought they had an idea of what was going on, of course. The only sweetness in their boss mare’s life was her husband. Of course they were clinking wine glasses and talking about potential grandchildren, right?

The wine, at least, was present. Or had been. The empty bottle and two well-drained glasses were waiting discretely by the door to be picked up later.

"And then your father, sweet man that he was…"

"Sweet, hah! You didn't grow up on the Acres with the old bushwhacker. Quiet, yes, and doting on dear Mama, but I can't help believe that I learned as much about cutthroat discipline from him as with your mother, and she believed in sending fools home short a few body parts!”

Juicy guffawed lightly, leaning back in her broad office chair. She felt nostalgic today, wearing her favorite power suit and pencil dress, one of her customary gold chokers with orange and green garnets dotting it. The voluminous swell of her immense breasts and the dangling jewels hanging from the choker stopped moving a little bit after the rest of her, and she grinned over at her husband, relaxing her forearms along the armrests. "Well, I'll admit, when your aunt tried to order him with that picnic…"

Robe settled loosely about him-- though the looseness did little to conceal the intensely oversized shape of his vast stallionhood-- as he sat on the edge of her broad orangewood desk, careful of the pictures of family, of course. Mosely snorted. "Were you even paying attention to that little fracas?” he asked. “I seem to remember a certain Manehattanite temptress who kept putting her roaming paw down my trousers.” Smiling, he squeezed Juicy's right hand lightly with his left.

She turned briefly, tucked away the last letter into her outbox, then lifted his hand up to her lips and kissed his fingers lightly, sucking lightly on each tip. "Temptress, was I?” she growled at him. “Who was it, exactly, that kept ‘accidentally’ bumping a certain smuggled python against my sensitive rump?" She glared at him, then squeaked happily as he pulled her bodily out of her chair. Grinning maniacally, she squealed all the happier when he spanked the plush tush in question right through the silk pencil skirt of her beautifully well-tailored business suit. "Mosely! We are at work!" She harumphed at him and wriggled her broad behind, her vast hips completing the impression of an hourglass figure set out to time the entire day.

Eyes twinkling and hand giving her absurdly curvaceous right hip a lovingly possessive squeeze, Mosely sighed and kissed her on the neck lightly. Possessed of a fey, nostalgic mood, he slid off the desk to his feet, following her. "Pfagh, darling,” he replied. “Don't you remember, back in the day, when I was interning with your mother's orchard assessment team, our little tête-à-tête in that one unused office?" He chuckled softly, looking around.

Hers was definitely a lived-in office. It was background to Juicy, outlining her clanmother life just as thoroughly as the bedroom did their private. Oh, perhaps a little more emphasis on “important” and imposing artwork, but family, both Orange Clan and Apple, were pictured everywhere. She fit here, her square shoulders, the skeptical, determined glare, the way her vastly fertile and overripe body seemed merely like one more aspect of her power and mistressy. Here, she was princess and regnant, and her power suit was-- not camouflage-- but a kind of visual song, enhanced by the chorus of the room, drawing all eyes to her and her will. Clues to her conquests were everywhere; various little plaques and certificates, the subtler the better, indications of her power and who had been forced to thank her for smacking them down in the cutthroat Fence Street world…

It was a stark and vibrant microcosm of the power and control resting in the person of this loving clanmother. And Mosely adored dominating her in the midst of it. He leaned in closer, his robes, and his head-sized bulge, brushing against her body as he settled close to her, thoughts and plans already percolating.

She reached up to catch his muzzle in a firm but adoring hand, gaze meeting his with a challenge, matching him in memory and planning alike. Shaking her head wryly, Juicy gave him a wistful smile and stroked his chin, long fingers tracing with possessive love over his light hide. She smiled and asked, "You mean the first time we tried getting a little kinky, and I had that battering ram you call a dick between my thighs, and both of us jumped every time someone passed in the hall?" She laughed and firmly pulled his muzzle to hers for a gentle kiss, right on his soft nose before sitting back down, settling her deliciously padded derriere in as though taking up a throne. "Only every other time you leave my pussy alone long enough to masturbate, darling. It was exquisite. Such a pity it’s long in the past."

Light regret touched his features, but she might have recognized the sly look atop it. Might have, if she hadn’t been distracted. He walked casually behind her chair, resting the musky mass of his robed rod against the back. Letting out a slight chuff from the weight, he let his heavy balls swinging down along it, rocking her lightly in the seat. She certainly had no objections; she had quite a good deal of fondness for feeling the weight of all that dick, clothed or not and all belonging to her with the rest of him, settle close to her.

He reached out for her shoulders, broad strength not quite a hyper, but a magnificent display of her earth pony heritage and standing. Strong hands with talented fingers elicited a not-quite non-sexual moan of release as he played with her muscles. "Yes. A pity indeed, darling. When did getting to the top of our professions mean we have less fun?" he asked, and kissed the crest of her elegantly styled mane.

Juicy reached back up to sympathetically caress one of his lithe arms, tracing over the toned limb beneath his elegant robes. Whereas she had dressed for her usual power meetings ("Yelling at other old nags and the occasional aged smooth mouth stallion with the push to get over the glass mounting block, basically"), her dear one had gone with the modern version of ceremonial regalia. She smirked, pulling his arm forward and tracing the supposedly abstract whorls that were, in fact, actually rather accurate representations of what his phallus did to her when they truly got going. The smirk suddenly widened. In public, indeed.

The fingers of his other hand twitched, and pressed down along her silken jacket towards the impossible to miss promontory atop her bosom, right below where her choker’s trailing adornments seemed pulled down into the depths of her cleavage. "I know that smile, darling," Mosely commented wryly. All of a sudden, he smoothly pulled her back from the desk. As she gave a not-quite-grumpy squawk, he twirled the chair around, tilted her lips up and kissed her forcefully. "Your simply divinely devious mind has come up with something. Possibly involving my sweetie's exhibition fetish," he wagered before pressing their lips together once more.

Her right hand came up in an instinctive rush, fingers closing on his wrist. With mild reluctance, she pulled the hand holding her muzzle away. Caught, at that, she admitted, to herself, though she glared at him. Nose turned up, she snorted and broke the kiss. Her cheeks flushed to a darker orange, and as his teasing smile broadened, she turned her head furtively to the front of her office She had a sense for their games, and needed to make certain all of the curtains were quite closed on the windows. They were. Solid on her grounds, she rounded back on him and half-objected, half-laughed, "Dear! Please. Not every one of my ideas involves rutting like a teenager in near-public."

He appeared less than convinced, taking his hand back and setting both on his hips. Which of course entirely coincidentally jutted his gigantic package forward, brushing against the front of her jacket and the titanic teats within. Juicy’s pleasured purr deepened with fascinated delight. Skepticism and enthusiasm made for an elegantly provocative expression on her husband’s face, after all. Oh Celestia, she thought. That eyebrow. That look! Mosely snorted back at her. Straightening up, he ran his fingers along the self-same robes she’d been admiring moments ago. "You asked me to design my robes of office based on pictures of how your belly looks when I hilt in you," he pointed out.

"... You're the archdruid of fertility! It’s a signifier of your station and accomplishments!"

He simply waited. Eventually, laughing, she just lewdly grabbed at the immense bulge at his waist Her fingers pressed in deep; even loose robes couldn't conceal that monster. My monster, she thought contentedly. She lifted her chin up and answered him indirectly, if functionally affirmatively. She haughtily told him, "My dearest Mosely, I own the damn building and the corporation outright. If I want to have sex with my husband in a closet, I will damn well slap a sign on it with my letterhead, and…" An idea hit; her fingers stroked hard into the robe’s fine fabric, drawing the threads along her husband’s ever-responsive mega-member. Juicy leered a bit as Mosely groaned, rocking his hips forward, huge balls rolling into her lap to compete for space with her triple Zs.

She grinned from flicking ear to flicking ear, rising up to her feet with satisfied swish of her tail. The sudden motion set her rump and rack a-jiggle tremendously. That, in turn, rolled his giant pillar of barely contained flesh and its two fuck-boulder friends back to wobble. Striding around her desk, she idly ran her hands over her filing cabinets. An old pattern, sorting mentally for some marital amatory fun, rather than the corporate business of the clan.

Yes, this, I shall have this, she thought. What those old nags would never countenance, but definitely clan business nonetheless. She wheeled back along the broad length of her desk until she came back to her bemused husband. Turning close to him and leaning up against the side of his taller frame, she licked lightly at the edge of his ear. "Yes. I will slap the sign on… and beg," she gasped at him. Her panties already soaked, she clicked her tongue against her teeth, her deft hands rubbing her palms across the smooth covering over his lanky chest. "Please, Mosely. I need it so badly. We didn't have enough time…"

Calmness, she ordered herself. She took strength against the needy itch in her loins from his steady heartbeat. Her respite was but brief; the itch became a throb in her clit as she looked up and saw that capricious glimmer in his eyes. "Peace, dear," Mosely said, and reached down, grabby hands moving smoothly to her far-swept hips and abruptly tugging. No unicorn he, this had to be done by hand and care. Here, in her office, the door not even locked, he was pulling up her skirt!

She shifted on her feet as though to pull away, but a shudder ran down her. It raced to her feet, curling her toes and locking them to the floor. Juicy glanced apprehensively towards the solid, wooden door yet again as she felt him expose her lightly haired hide to the cool office air. Her left hand curled into a fist; her right seemed to move of its own accord to her lips, and she subconsciously chewed on a finger. I mean, she thought, It is shut. And soundproof.

Juicy swallowed around a sudden clutch of need. Her shivering body responded to both the sheer uncouthness of it all… and the incredible hotness. Blast this stud anyway, she thought as she glared forward. Anyone else a tenth as presumptive and I’d have them gutted by now! Mouth dry, she looked across her desk, and wondered if she shouldn’t ask him to move over one of the chairs to brace the door or something. Inhaling sharply, she said, "Mosely, wait-- we need to have some caution…"

The randy, roguish bastard didn’t pause a second. Moving swiftly, he pulled her pencil skirt up all the way. His strong hands rested the garment atop her succulent arse and hips like an obscene mini-bustle. "That didn't sound like 'Rutabaga,' to me," Mosely said with a devious laugh that set her body squirming. The squirms expanded, ripples and wiggles going through her gigantic tits, bobbing inside her straining suit jacket. Little jingles from where her choker and its hanging decorations bounced in the wake of the mountains beneath. He loomed so close, his huge phallic mass pushing against her belly as she squirmed for him. His fingers moved slowly but surely, sinking into the vast, curvaceous fat of her thighs. She shuddered, thinking, Too much! She couldn’t speak; just squeal, liquid arousal pouring down from her bare cunt, shorn and vulnerable.

Her breath caught and her spine stiffened. Juicy caught him with her favorite glare once more. “Best not stop, then, old stud,” she growled at him in challenge, wriggling her body to catch his robe-clothed balls against one of her massive hips. Demanding with her clan consort as always, she rolled her hip back to the side and then ground her crotch full forward. Unequivocally, she presented her shaven slit, dripping lewdly just for him. Her hands clasped together behind his neck and she kept staring at him, expectant. His hands claimed her in turn as his breathing deepened, hot against her cheek. One hand, smooth from treatment but strong from work, took a place of privilege on her quivering rump; the other cradled her beloved little adornment.

An obscene crown for her well-loved pussy, untouched since their "breakfast" that morning, it stood as one of the naughtier signs of her little games with Mosely. At least as far as the traditionalists, damn the neotraditionalists anyway would think; bronze, druid's metal, piercing her stiff nub and enchanted for a variety of purposes. Most pertinently at the moment, unless she was threatened, it dramatically increased the pleasurability of manipulation of her now ever-stiff clitty. Manipulation she could produce simply by walking.

Her grin broadened as she shook her hips, forcing a gasp out of her lecherously impudent stallion. Her waggle made his balls and prick bounce over her thigh and side. Her pretty toy shook too, and she licked her lips with the thrill. She looked hungrily over her shoulder, seeing not merely the signs of stimulation in his eyes… but his own rising ardor. Stunned you, did I, Mosely? she thought, grinning as his hands hesitated and his gaze flickered over her.

Not that a mere pleasure toy would be that odd in their set. No, the source of Juicy’s perpetual smug thrill here, that which gave her an illicit thrill every time she thought she heard a brief metal sound from below during her day, flowed from her husband's cutie mark, the orange very distinct from her slices, forming the weight on the piercing. Not just a snug little ring, either. No, the mark danged from the piercing itself by a little chain so that his tongue would never be obstructed from lavishing attention on her pleasure-button.

Of course, the delightful little toy aided his pursuit of her pleasure there as well! Mosely recovered quickly from her challenge, as she damn well required of him. He pressed forward, and she could feel as well as scent the musk of his egregiously overendowed member all along her side as it thickened within the robe. Sweat poured down her forehead and her hands clasped tighter together behind his neck as he focused amatory and expert attention on her and her lovely little decoration.

The clench of his fingers behind her, squeezing and fondling her bubble butt through a rolling massage “warned” her that his determination to have his wicked way with her had returned. Juicy unknit her hands from behind his neck as he pulled back from her slightly to give him better access to her needy nethers.

He'd pulled the pencil skirt up all the way over her belt, bunching it above her middle and exposing her fat, squishy hind end. The obscenely feminine flaring of her rear swelled out so curvaceously and so far from her waist that his hand barely angled as he possessively took her rear in hand. Her hands trailed over his supple chest, tugging the folds apart to reveal the light gold beneath. As she whickered softly, he moved with expert deftness, teasing his finger over his mark. Each expert stroke pressed it back against her damp, naked labia.

She let out a long, nickering moan and stumbled lightly back as a fresh jolt of pleasure ran up through her core, clenching tightly and sending her massive tits shaking. Mosely moved there with her, turning her around to face across her broad executive desk. An insolent swat set her jiggly tush bouncing to match her heavy rack, and Mosely drew a light brush of the back of his hand along the jacket seam down from her underarm. “Get yourself ready, darling; I do recommend your, ah, clear desk, clear mind policy to your recall,” he warned ominously.

Her pussy throbbed so hard she wondered if her clit was wriggling her piercing instead of the other way around! Still unsure of the wisdom of this course but wanting, desperately needing the exhibitionist thrill, she moved to get herself room on the broad desk. It was mostly clear anyway; she seized control of her body with iron will to finish things, no dithering.

Despite the chill of the air conditioning over the rolling, smoothly taut expanse of her naked, teardrop ass and bared, dripping nethers, she moved with the same snap as she might clearing a former rival’s suite to hand their business over to a new subordinate of hers. Some things, you did by hand, for the satisfaction of it.

Mind you, she wouldn’t have shaken her rump and flagged her tail too, husband or no husband, with a rival’s desk. The shake of her delectable derriere as she cleaned it out would have been enough to satisfy her need to assert spatial dominance. She deftly shuffled what few papers remained from her last purge, and the most precious of her personal trinkets to the sides of her vast workspace before retaking her braced stance.

He kept himself from her field of vision, and her blasted inner will receded. That treacherous lust left her at the mercy of her horniness and hesitation. She couldn’t bring herself to turn her head to follow him as he walked around her. She just stared forward at the door, lips quirking at her own foibles even as her mind raced, thinking, Thank Twilight for soundproofing! The noises he could call up out of her-- the squeals he could drive her to! He knew her most intimate and secret places. Knowledge he applied not merely when eating her out, but able to send every part of her into an orgasmic mess from the very incidence of touching her. He was a connoisseur of her body, an expert in her pleasure. She bit her lip as she felt him rest his enormous balls on the bared cushion of her luscious buttocks. Do I safeword? This is my office!

Mosely’s arms surrounded her, squeezing slowly about her waist, resting his arms on her broodbearing hips. He leaned over her, body to body and she took a moment of vicious victory in hearing the lecher grunt as her twitching ass began to massage his overstuffed nuts. Nonetheless, he pressed on. “I recall our little half-illicit office rendezvous as though it was yesterday,” he whispered into her ears, his weight pressing harder against her back.

She ground her fingers against the desk, clenching her hands around the edge to brace. Striving to find a new center in the euphoric imbalance, she managed a lusty moan, an imperious snap of her teeth, and not a blasted thing more. It phased him not at all. He slyly caressed Juicy's trembling quim, digits slowly teasing her shivering mound. "You started with begging," he told her, the palm of his opposite hand moving back and up to the top of her extensive ass. Another light caress, a chuckle, a squeeze that sent her bouncing beneath his giant package once more-- only no hesitation this time. “Begging for this, if I recall correctly,” he told her, grinding his oversized, still half soft damn him package against her. “Between outraged mutters about the scandal.”

Her eyes lit with a fire she hoped he felt behind her and she snapped her left hand back. She angled her hips, too, to bounce her butt and his rutting nuts above quite severely as she clapped her fingers around the robe-swathed length. Her quads tensed, powerful muscles beneath the lickably vast exaggeration of her thighs’ curves and she squeezed into the sensitive male flesh. “I only thought I knew what a scandal was!” she hissed.

But-- Juicy didn’t say no. Chest heaving, her fingers greedily searching for some way past that blasted robe, she swallowed heavily again, staring at the door. In time, the hand molesting her rump so delightfully came up, and took her wrist. He guided her grip back to the desk and left her with only that intoxicating scent; that portentous weight. At least I got him to lube a little, at least I provoked that m--

The thought cut off as Mosely replied, tingling shivers running through every shimmying part of her lush super-hourglass body. "My dear! Is that not scandalous enough? My tough-minded, iron-fisted-- mm, fisting--" he guffawed lightly-- and flicked his middle finger into her wetness-- "Beautifully charismatic mare, begging and squirming for a stallion of all things."

Her knees were the first to buckle, her concern fading into trust for her stallion, for her husband, for her love. As her stubbornness followed, she all but fell forward onto her desk, pulling free of his hands. She moaned, hearing him lick lightly at his fingertips, tasting her spent essence. Blessing their prior preparation, Juicy propped herself up on the desk with her gigantic breasts, leaving her hands free. For all their squish and give-- and they were squishing, splurting milk into the hidden cups and pouches she had secreted into her bra-- they were simply so massive that she could hold herself up nonetheless, her choker dangling forward.

Trembling, she reached behind her and grabbed her rump cheeks, nearly as broad as her heavy knockers. She stretched her feet out to sides and pulled at her naked ass cheeks, luscious flesh parting down to her thick thighs, exposing her needy cunt and tight anus. Strong muscles tensed tightly under her well-padded curves and she ground her teeth together. Whatever he wanted, however he wanted it, she would give it; she would do it, so long as he did her! "I don't give a griffon's fart!" she growled, her misgivings evaporated for the nonce. She threw her elegantly styled mane back, letting it bounce as she howled, "Fuck me, please!"

Apparently, what her Mosely wanted was to tease, and she nearly came from just the control in his voice. "No," he told her in a clipped, firm voice. Nearly came; and nearly turned around to punch him, the brute! Before she could make up her mind, she heard his shoes scraping the floor as he shifted behind her, and began to massage her lovely, plump hind end. Her briefly resurgent resolve melted as he slowly covered all of her delicious curves in exquisitely magnificent pampering. Each set of strokes was coupled with ecstasy-inducing squeezes into deep tissue, but he persisted in neglecting her sopping slit! "No, not here, you're quite right, mustn't…” he murmured

"Blast you!" She growled, stamping her foot, sending rumpquakes jogging and jiggling across her expansively gorgeous cheeks back against his fingers. The force of it traveled up to her triple-Zs as they cushioned her on the table, the shocks on her choker setting it off like windchimes, the shocks across the desk proper rattling the framed and propped pictures of their now-grown children. She tried to swat his hands with her tail, to provoke the hard pounding she wanted from that heavy prod of his.

Instead, she earned herself a stern spank that had her squealing like a teenager again, her offending tail returning to a perfect flag. With, ah, "sternness" so delicious she had to will herself not to drool, he left his handprint three times in each cheek with not a hint of overlap! She whined, not with pain, for he would never harm her, but with absurd levels of pleasure and delight. Groaning, she tried to convince him by appealing to his stallion ego, "Mosely, I need you, darling, dearest, my lord. I need your beautiful dick deep in me I need you like sandy soil and good drainage, please my lord please please please!"

She was babbling, Juicy knew. For two decades, she'd run the Orange Clan with a will of steel and an eye sterner than any save perhaps the Inquisitors of the Harshwhinny Family, and he had her babbling like she'd just been stuffed and overstuffed for the very first time. Oddly, the thought satisfied-- immensely, in fact. She reminded herself, Of course, that's because my stud is good at what he does. Good, and respectful to boot; he wouldn't push her, for all that they both yearned for so much more. Her body trembled, her lusts and her needs circling in an exquisite abandon that only their mutual trust provided.

He wouldn’t, she knew, push this if there had been any hint of a specific meeting or visit coming up. He respected her time; obeyed her will as the final authority in all things clan. The snap of a safeword or even his quick wit catching a moment, and play would be over. She didn't call him "master" outside of a very well-defined scene. He didn't try to get her ensnared into lovely subspace without such as well. Ah, though-- how they danced lovely attendance around the ideas and lusts until they could borrow or steal enough time to really let loose.

She panted, loving and hating the wild edge he rode her along. And then, that calm, loving baritone made her wriggle broad rump and flicking tail once more. "Juicy," he said softly. "I know, darling." His tracing, pushing, kneading, gripping hands continued to leave waves of stimulation passing over her swaying, bouncing ass. His fingers pressed in deep, pleasuring her padded upper layer and soothing the toned layer of muscle beneath the lush. "Can you take the teasing, love?" he asked. With that, his other hand moved deftly between her vivacious thighs and thumbed her clit ring, just lightly flicking its dangling mark-- his dangling mark, her way of shouting to the world to whom she gave her trust and her lust and her love… without actually being much more than a safe whisper.

Trust, that was the thing. She had thirty years of marriage and their two years of courtship before to know just how solidly she could trust Mosely. All the more so than anything but safety where matters of her pleasure were involved. She took a brief moment of self-reflection, caught a look of her flushed, panting face in the shaded window. Right. This is me, she reminded herself, and shifted her stance to spread her thunder thighs all the wider for his viewing and playing pleasure. Her obscenely flared flanks began to roll and wriggle, her hands still keeping her asshole and vulva exposed, and she did her level best to let that little bronze orange dangle as freely as it could.

Silence behind her, his hands frozen for just a moment. She saw her blissed-out smile grow smug, mirrored in the darkness of the blocked window. Got you again, you arrogant, lovely, fat-cocked fucker! she crowed mentally. Decorum gone-- honestly, even before her skirt had gone over her hips-- and panting heavily, Juicy told him, "I trust you always, my Mosely, my sweet stud, my loving lord.”

She let her self-exposure lapse and rubbed her palms briefly into the stinging marks he left behind. Just some quick rubs, then she dipped forward, squishing the slosh of her gigantic rack further to every side on her desk while she pulled her cheeks as far as she could. "Fuck," she cursed, out loud of all things, as though years younger, and stared straight ahead at the unlocked door, sneering at weak inanimate threats of opening. "Do me as you will," she said with a groan. "I trust you. I need you to--"

Here she broke off, swallowing a thousand lusty demands into a wordless mewl, dancing on the edge between ache and release. It wasn't from reluctance, but rather an old and instinctive step in the dance. She didn't need to watch her moves now, nor to call the steps, because he was always there to follow with the next twist to the turn. Moving again, hands warm on her offered ass, he knelt behind her. "I know your need, darling," he whispered, and then gently tucked his index and middle finger of the left hand between her gorgeously overlush thighs to capture the dangle of the clit piercing, and slowly tug on it. "You need release. Let me give it to you."

She bowed her head, her beehive’s leading bangs bobbing wildly. Mosely ran the fingers of his right hand in a massaging, claiming drift along the back of her suit. His steady fingers kneaded in delightful pressure all the way up to between her powerful shoulders. She felt the buzz of his druidic magic accompany the firm caresses, twin vibrations running through her; the collected will of the Clan, her ownership of the room. She let out short, choking gasps as he worked his way into the immense, almost hyper-strength of her back, up and down, back and forth. On the third iteration, he whispered a Word, bringing her desk shivering to life once more.

Shivers turned to shaking, from the desk, from her body, and she felt the weight of him lean against her. The smirk returned to her face and her toes clenched in time with her exposed cunt. Her mind blossomed and filled with the renewed wonder of it all. All this earth magic, she thought, just to get one old mare off. You spoil me, Mosely.

The shudders rocked against Juicy's heaving mega-mounds, and her milk gushed into the containment pouches of her bra almost as much as her honey rolled out onto the floor. The sudden burst of energy ripped a mini-orgasm through her that had her gasping. Her hands dropped to her side as her great cheeks slapped together as she scrambled to grab the desk and hold on She didn't care; she trusted him.

He was beside her all of a sudden. His left hand caressed her back gently, but his right stroked over her eyelids, brushing her long lashes down. Closing her eyes, she opened her mouth to moan in anticipation. As a result, she wasn't entirely surprised when her teeth sunk down over the orange Mosely literally used to gag her. The one he had poured a ridiculous amount of earth magic into growing out of her desk, because of course he had. Spoil me or drive me to murder you, there’s my love, she thought; all she managed vocally was an incoherent growl of objection.

But her trust remained strong. She knew he was crazy when she asked him to marry her, after all.

She opened her eyes and contemplated standing up, or grabbing the orange, or anything when a firm palm pressed down between her shoulders. Damn my lust for this insane druid, she thought, not only slumping back against the messy, milky slosh of her triple Zs, but she pushed her feet up onto the balls to wriggle her ass for him! That damnably cool, debonair voice took up once more, speaking over the chimes of her necklace, "Now, darling, unless I see your 'triple flag' on the play, instead of that adorably lewd permanent flag back here…" Mosely's fingers walked back to behind her, and stroked up under her tailbase. He tended to her with a gentle violation deep between the cheeks she once more spread submissively for him, and she whinnied, muffled around the orange.

He took up station behind Juicy, but only lightly toyed with her twitching, flagged tailbase. "Quite," he continued. "Without that call, what's going to happen is that I'm going to watch for lifesigns through the earth flow while I finger your lovely little tailhole," he explained, his obscene intent and the thrills it evoked forcing her to gurgle further pleasured distortions around her gag. "And use my mark on your sweet, stiff little clit to remind you… You gave yourself to me, and thereby, I am always yours, my sweet Juicy."

She didn’t flag the play. He acted promptly. His left forefinger trailed between her quivering buttocks, teasing the sensitive, darker flesh. His right hand scooped around her broadly curved hip and around in front to catch the dangling, dancing piercing. Nostrils flaring, long legs proud and high, she inhaled deeply, cheeks hollowing around the orange. And then he went to work on her, stroking her anus in long, gentle circles, preparing her for the violation. The fond and fondling invasion plundered her in time to the slow tugs and flicks on her lovely little decoration.

It was exquisite, torture from the softest pleasure and most certain of delights. Her eyes rolled back into her head even as her hourglass shifted, her wide hips rolling to the right, to him. The triple pleasure of invaded rump, teased clit, and knowing, knowing that anyone could come in yet certain Mosely would deal with it-- an euphoria so potent as to nearly complete and climax her all on its own. She chewed around the orange, drool flecking the side of her cheek as she discarded culture and etiquette utterly. She humped back hard, needing to be filled, even just her tight, well-padded tush. Between thrusts, she felt a second finger join the first slowly stretch out her asshole for his ministrations. His gentle but persistent "guidance" of her clit swiftly exploded into myriad jolts of delight so hard she almost wanted to bite through the orange, but didn't dare!

Then, her darling husband played his trump card, saying, "And then, I'm going to just freshen up, and you, smelling of sex like the last time we romped in a closet, are going to 'slap up' the warning, just like you said. You're going to put it on that janitorial closet just down the way, and then you, trembling, CEO and bossmare of Orange, Inc. will wait for me in the dark." She couldn't see it, but knew he was grinning like a party pony. Almost certainly the more so as he took renewed and redoubled interest in coaxing forth Juicy's climax, her clit delightfully manipulated by the piercing, his two fingers now plunging repeatedly into her ass. "Because I tell you to-- because you want me to tell you to cum, Juicy."

She let out a shuddered, muffling gasp. He was right, damn him. To the finest degree, he had her number as securely as he had her clit. As she thrashed, rolling her hips like her heat had hit, an oddly calm portion of her mind drawled, To be fair to dear hubby, I've certainly expressed that requirement of him on more than one of our less-spontaneous occasions! Not that any part of her was objecting to this turn of events, no.

After all, with her ass gripping at Mosely's fingers and her twat outlining her piercing and the dangling chain in her sweet honey once more, she certainly knew how much her body, at least, favored his "wicked, masculine wiles" upon it! And that divine taste, not just of the slight oddness of the orange peel, but of her darling’s delicious arousal scent upon the air-- a delicacy. But more importantly, the delicious sensation of being controlled. Just what the Juicy ordered.

“Cum, Juicy. Cum for me,” were the words she’d waited to hear from him, holding herself back for that moment. He had her, and he held her, and as one too many tugs sent its explosive pleasure up through the inferno of her spasming, drenched core, Juicy began to cum in muffled squeals around the orange gagging her. The pleasure was incalculable; she opened her eyes wide, only for them to be filled with white just before she felt them roll up back into her skull. Forget the fumbling futtering of youth, forget it entirely. In all her wild days before their betrothal, she’d never had anything like what he did to her-- again and again every day.

Nor any offer worth the time since. She'd been hit on by mares and submissive stallions who wished to herd with her and Mosely for a long time. None of them measured up, and none of them even thought to offer what Mosely did: an intimate space where someone else did the work, where someone else took real responsibility, finally. They all seemed to think that just because she'd crush your trachea before letting you touch Orange territory, she had to be a dominant in the bedroom.

Or, as in this case, her executive suite.

Mosely's tender care of her massively squishy tush and the thin lightning of her sensitzing clit ring in agile little tugs continued unabated throughout her orgasm. She could never quite tell when her head swam uncontrollably in an ocean of pleasure like this, but she honestly felt he might be taking the opportunity to plunge deeper into her arse-- he did love it so. She had to release her rumpcheeks, planting her hands down on the table.

Her curvaceous body shook and trembled from her desperate combination of the struggle to hold onto the desk and the burning need to rut back hard into his invading fingers. Her soft flanks folded around his hand, and she only half-consciously clenched. Her anus delicately squeezed at his thrusting digits while pumping her pleasured plump softness against the obstruction of his hand. Each new motion, each new wriggle exploded with more and still more sensation from the inexorable press of flesh to flesh.

He kept Juicy going for quite some time through the extended climax, her tail unable to switch from where it hammered hard to the side. The long strands draped over the beautiful curve of her tremendous left hip; an asymmetric decoration in homage to his continued pounding. Finally, laughing softly, he knelt down a bit to kiss one of Juicy's scrumptious upraised cheeks, and pulled his hands free. Even while her climax went on, he made a quiet sniff before moving away from her-- the cad! His languid voice floated over to her in the midst of her climax, saying, "I'm afraid, m'dear, I need to wash my hands before I go further. You can take care of your skirt, yourself, I'm sure."

"Mrmmfmsmgl!"

"And the orange. I'm leaving a bit of the ol’ fertility spin on, redirecting some of your lovely juice out into the desk to return some of its vitality; it'll clean you up just grand."

Juicy glared, and pulled the orange out, standing swiftly to her feet. She set the orange down on the desk with an angry thud. Glaring, she wriggled her wide hips wildly and set off a stormy sea of rump-jiggles as she haughtily tugged down her skirt again. All the while, her husband's fertility magic drained her femmecum as a 'sacrifice' to the desk, indeed leaving her skin clear of anything-- save that clinging scent-- once again. As he turned on the taps at the sink and began to wash his hands, she snatched up and began to peel the orange, snarling, "Hubris, Mosely! You sadistic old brute. Treating your clan head this way."

"Mm? Exactly the way she begs for?"

Laughing, she backhanded Mosely’s slender hip with a snort and shared a few orange wedges with him. She finished hers quickly, then she grabbed letterhead and a tack to hold things up. Quill to the ready, she made a few swift, stern words, her signature, followed by a quick rifling in the desk, and she was gone. Her playful husband just stood there, eating the slices as she left, a soft smile on his face.

After all, the anticipation was half the point, now wasn't it?

Next Chapter: Chapter 3 - Internal Auditing With a Twist Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 7 Minutes
Return to Story Description
Orange You Glad We Wed

Mature Rated Fiction

This story has been marked as having adult content. Please click below to confirm you are of legal age to view adult material in your area.

Confirm
Back to Safety

Login

Facebook
Login with
Facebook:
FiMFetch