Michael sat alone on the balcony in the late afternoon light, a cup of coffee growing cold in his hands. Mirabel and Mitchelle were inside preparing dinner, giving him a few moments of quietness. The collar around his throat felt both comforting and suffocating.His mind wouldn’t stop replaying the weekend.Vanessa’s tight, commanding pussy slamming down on his cock while Elena pounded his ass with that thick strap-on.He could still hear the wet, filthy sounds ,the loud squelching of lube and flesh, their dominant moans, the way they had made him scream as he came harder than he ever had before.His cock twitched hard in his pants, leaking precum just from the memory.“Fuck…” he whispered, gripping the railing. Guilt crashed over him like a wave. Mirabel’s soft, loving kisses. Mitchelle’s fierce, competitive fire. They had welcomed him back with open hearts and desperate bodies, and here he was , hard and aching at the memory of another woman’s ruthless dominance.He felt disgusting,
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