You know those days when everything that can go wrong, does go wrong? Well, let me tell you about the day I accidentally convinced my girlfriend I was having an affair with my assistant—almost got a lawsuit for inspecting the flowers in my grumpy neighbor’s garden, all thanks to some unfortunately timed clothing removal.

It started as most of these stories do—in a boardroom full of executives while I pretended my head wasn't trying to split itself in half. There I was, CEO extraordinaire, watching PowerPoint slides blur into abstract art while desperately maintaining my "I've got this" facade. Spoiler alert: I did not, in fact, "got this."

Thank god for Emma, my ‘new’ assistant of two years, who's gotten pretty good at reading my "please save me" signals almost as good as Sam. One fake urgent call from New York later, and she was practically carrying my sorry ass to my car. (Note to self: maybe I should give her a raise for all the times she's prevented me from face-planting during board meetings.)

By the time we reached my apartment, the migraine had evolved from "uncomfortable" to "please just end me now." In my defense, when your head feels like it's hosting a death metal concert, you don't exactly think about where you're dropping your clothes on the way to bed. Trail of evidence? Future problem for future me, right?

Enter Astrid, my girlfriend. Now, you'd think being a newly graduated nurse would make her more sympathetic to my condition. But walking into our apartment to find a trail of my discarded clothes leading to our bedroom, where my assistant had just been... well, let’s just say her medical training took a backseat to some very logical conclusions.

The best part? When I chased after her (shirtless, because apparently I wasn't embarrassed enough), I ended up decorating poor Mr. Anderson's hydrangeas with my lunch. Nothing says "I'm not having an affair" quite like projectile vomiting in your neighbor's prize-winning garden while your girlfriend watches in horror.

But here's the silver lining—Astrid, being the amazing and very hot nurse (imagine the roleplay sessions. Sexy nurse and flight attendant.) she is, finally noticed I wasn't exactly the picture of health. Turns out, throwing up in your neighbor's bushes while looking like death warmed over is pretty convincing evidence that you're actually sick and not just making excuses.

Mr. Anderson still gives me the stink eye every time I pass, but hey—Astrid forgave me, Emma got a raise, and I learned a valuable lesson about the importance of proper clothes management and the necessity of daily edging sessions and psychosexual counseling.

And yes, Astrid, if you're reading this—I promise to call you next time instead of letting Emma play chauffeur. Though I make no promises about not watering Mr. Anderson's hydrangeas (with any bodily fluid). Those things have seen too much now to ever go back to their former glory.

Now, back to the moment when I realized she was The One: You know those moments wen you receive a blowjob so mind-blowing it makes you see Jesus and question reality? The kind of sex that makes you feel like a teenager again, complete with the shame of premature ejaculation (or as I like to call them, early exits) because of the sound of a zipper and the mere mention of the word "breasts"? Yeah, that was me. And she was the main reason. So you just knew you had to put a ring on it! (Romantic, right? Nah, more like branding her with your last name—or a golden shower to mark your territory. Not my thing, but hey, I don’t kink-shame!)

That decision didn’t spring from the ancient cauldron of love; it’s about ensuring no one else gets to taste heaven through those lips. Love comes later—like when she makes you pancakes so perfect they could make you weep. That’s when you seal the deal, right there on the kitchen table but also in your heart. That’s fucking true love.

BUT (there’s always a but...) I realized our perspectives of that day were... let’s say, dramatically different yesterday when I was retelling my version at the Thanksgiving dinner table, and she practically forced me to recount it (husbands, you know that scary look wives can make that you just don’t question, no matter the usual D/s dynamic.). Hence this novel. I aim to please that woman, so let’s just fucking do this.

Her short version: Coming home early from her shift at the hospital because she'd forgotten her lunch, she finds our front door slightly ajar. Inside, there's a trail of discarded expensive clothes (her words, not mine) leading to our bedroom. She hears sounds from the bedroom, finds my assistant leaving our room while I'm lying half-naked in bed... Well, you can imagine where her mind went.

My short version: Picture this: I'm in the middle of a crucial board meeting, fighting the mother of all migraines, when the fluorescent lights start feeling like ice picks to my brain. My amazing assistant Emma (who's been saving my ass for five years now) understands I'm about to either pass out or throw up on our quarterly reports. She gets me out of there like Lara Croft (not the early game version, though I’ve definitely jerked off even to that one. Desperate times call for desperate measures!), drives me home because I can barely see straight, and helps me get my migraine meds.

Now, about those clothes... When your head feels like it's hosting a death metal concert, you don't exactly think about proper garment storage. Every piece of clothing feels like it's strangling you, so naturally, they had to go. Immediately. Wherever they landed.

The fun part? While Emma was just being her efficient self—getting me water and medication before leaving—Astrid walks in to find exactly what you'd expect a nurse with an overactive imagination to find: her CEO boyfriend, half-naked in bed, assistant hurrying out of the bedroom...

To be continued in a longer version below for those of you still with us! The part about chasing her down the street and decorating Mr. Anderson's prized roses with my lunch deserves its own, very detailed description... -

LONG STORY (for those of you who just can’t get enough of us)

They say the path to true love is paved with good intentions. In my case, it was paved with discarded designer clothes, projectile vomiting, and one very traumatized garden. But hey, who am I to question the method when it led to the kind of blowjob that makes you forget your own name, question reality, and seriously consider proposing right then and there?

Even though you know our love story in and out by now, let’s revisit that day (TARDIS? We need you for this!) The day we refer to as "The Friday Incident." Or, as she likes to call it, “the day she almost killed me.” Let me just adjust my Clark Kent glasses and call myself Alex instead of Alexander, so I don’t reveal my true identity when we dig into the details. Integrity is key, you know. Especially when you’re a superhero like me.

OK. I’m stalling here.. You guys still with me? Great, 'cause we’ve FINALLY arrived at the good part (I promise you, the expression on her face deserved an Oscar.):

Alex adjusted his tie for the third time that morning, his reflection in the office window betraying the unease swirling in his gut. The bright city skyline was a canvas of opportunity, yet today it felt heavy with the weight of expectations. The pulsing behind his eyes had started as a subtle warning at dawn, but now threatened to become a full-blown assault on his senses.

He plastered on his usual confident smile as he strode into the conference room, the sound of clicking heels and rustling papers filling the air. The scent of coffee from various cups around the table made his stomach turn, but he maintained his composure. He commanded attention, discussing strategies and budgets with the ease of a seasoned CEO, even as the throbbing in his head intensified like a metronome ticking down to an inevitable collapse.

With each meeting that dragged on, he shifted in his seat, pushing back against the pain, his mind racing to maintain his composed facade. The fluorescent lights above seemed to drill into his skull with increasing intensity. He could feel the weight of their eyes—colleagues who relied on his leadership, his decisiveness. The quarterly reports spread before him began to blur, numbers dancing across the page like mocking reminders of his vulnerability.

His fingers trembled slightly as he fetched his phone from his pocket and discreetly texted his assistant from under the table: "Get me out of here, Em. Now."

Less than a minute later, a knock at the door interrupted their exchange; Emma entered with a poised smile that could rival a seasoned actress. "Mr. Alaric," she announced smoothly, "I apologize for the interruption, but you have an urgent call from New York. The Madison deal," she added, knowing it would give weight to the interruption. "Would you like me to reschedule this afternoon's meetings?"

Alex managed a curt nod to the board members before following Emma out, his steps measured and deliberate despite the room beginning to tilt around him. The moment the door closed behind them, his shoulders sagged.

"Keys," Emma demanded quietly, her professional facade melting into concern.

"Em, I can—"

"That wasn't a request," she interrupted, already reaching into his jacket pocket where she knew he kept his keys. "You can barely walk straight.”

The elevator ride down was mercifully quick and empty. Alex leaned against the cool metal wall, eyes closed, while Emma fired off emails rescheduling his afternoon. In the parking garage, she guided him to the passenger seat of his Tesla, the click of her heels echoing in the concrete space.

The drive home was mostly silent, Emma carefully avoiding potholes while Alex pressed his forehead against the cool window glass. By the time they reached his apartment, even the subtle movement of walking sent daggers through his skull.

Emma used his spare key to open the door, watching as he immediately began shedding layers - shoes kicked off haphazardly, belt dropped to the floor, shirt unbuttoned and discarded like a snake shedding its skin.

"I'll get your medication," she said softly, heading to the kitchen where she knew he kept his migraine pills.

Alex barely made it to the bedroom, the darkness a blessed relief. He collapsed onto the bed with a deep groan, the cool sheets offering minimal comfort against the pounding in his head.

Emma returned with water and his medication, setting them on the nightstand. "Get some rest," she said quietly. "I'll be at the office. Text me if you need anything, and Alex," she paused at the doorway, "take those meds. Preferably now." With that, she left, her footsteps fading down the hallway.

FROM ANOTHER PERSPECTIVE:

Outside, she hurried down the street, her mind racing with thoughts of the lunch box she had forgotten. As she approached their door, something felt off. The door was ajar, just enough for a rush of unease to settle in her chest. Had she forgotten to lock it?

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside, her heart pounding. The hallway was silent, save for the faint echo of her footsteps. Her eyes caught the trail of his clothes leading to the bedroom—a discarded belt, a crumpled shirt, shoes left behind like breadcrumbs.

Just then, Emma emerged from their bedroom, freezing mid-step at the sight of her. Their eyes met, and Emma's usually composed face flickered with surprise. "Oh! I... I should go," she stammered, hurrying past with flushed cheeks.

The front door clicked shut behind Emma as she stood there, her world tilting on its axis. She followed the trail of discarded clothes to their bedroom, where Alex lay shirtless on their bed, eyes closed.

"Really?" her voice cracked with emotion. "In our bed?"

Alex's eyes fluttered open, confusion evident on his face. "What?"

"If you're going to fuck your assistant, you could at least have the decency to do it at the office. Did you have to bring her to our home? Our bed?"

"What?! That's not—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" She turned sharply, tears threatening to spill.

"Astrid... wait!" He struggled to sit up, his head pounding mercilessly. He hadn't even taken the medication Emma had brought.

She was already halfway down the hallway when he forced himself to his feet. The sudden movement sent waves of nausea through him, but he stumbled after her, bare-chested and desperate.

The bright afternoon sun assaulted his eyes as he burst through their front door. "Astrid!" he called out, his voice rough with pain. He caught up to her near Mrs. Anderson's prized rose garden, reaching for her arm.

She spun around, tears streaming down her face. "Alex, can you please just—" She stopped mid-sentence, really looking at him for the first time. His face had gone ashen, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Alex? What's wrong?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard against the rising bile in his throat. But it was no use. He barely had time to turn toward Mrs. Anderson's hydrangea bush before retching violently.

Between heaves, he managed to gasp out, "Sorry about that, Sunshine... bad migraine... Emma drove me home..."

Astrid's anger melted into concern as she watched him, her medical training kicking in. The pieces started falling into place – his early return home, the discarded clothes, Emma's presence. She reached out to steady him as he swayed slightly… AND THEN HE SWEPT HER OF HER FEET, CARRIED HER OVER THE TRESHOLD WHERE SHE PUSHED HIM DOWN ON THE COUCH AND GAVE HIM THE BLOWJOB OF HIS LIFE.. AND IT WENT ON FOR HOURS. (Not less then 10 minutes with his slacks half way down his thighs and socks still on. That was just a typo in the first edit.)

THE END. Or is it..?

Fine. If you’ve made it this far through the bullshit, you’ve earned a taste of the real spice. I’ll give it to you, Naughties, but just this once. If you want more, you know the drill: beg for it, and don’t forget the “Please, sir.”

So, are you ready to dive into the heat of what happens when I take control?

Or are you just here for the story of my cock-sucking, slutty little wife because you lack imagination?

Here’s your reward: grab some water-based lube, charge up your fifth Satisfyer Pro 2, or rub one out for me. Wank responsibly, fuckers.

It’s Game on!

BONUS ROUND:

As I drifted in and out of sleep, the darkness wrapped around me, tempting me to stay lost in my dreams. But then, a delicious sensation jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to find Astrid kneeling before me, her sultry gaze igniting a fire deep within.

“Good evening, sleepyhead,” she purred, her voice dripping with seduction. “I thought it was time to wake you up... properly.”

Before I could even respond, she leaned in, and my breath hitched as she took me into her mouth. The shock of pleasure surged through me, a rush of heat and ecstasy that shot straight to my core. I gasped, my body responding instinctively, the world around us fading into blissful oblivion.

“Oh, Sunshine,” I groaned, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. “You know exactly what I need.”

She looked up at me, a wicked smile on her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Is this what you wanted?” she teased, her sultry tone igniting every nerve in my body.

“More than you know,” I replied, my voice low and commanding. “Take me deeper, Astrid. I want to feel you.”

A soft moan escaped my lips as she obliged, taking me deeper into her warm, wet mouth until the tip of my cock hit the back of her throat.

“Fuck, Astrid,” I groaned, my hips instinctively thrusting forward. “Just like that. Keep going..”

"I will," she whispered, her voice muffled by my cock as she kept taking me inch by inch. I pulled her head closer, wanting more, needing that hot, wet pressure surrounding every bit of me.

Her green eyes pierced mine, locking me in as she circled the base of my shaft with her delicate hand.

She pulled away briefly, licking her lips as if savoring the taste of me. Then, she glanced up, her pupils dilated with lust. "Lose the pants and show me how you want it."

My grip tightened in her hair, needing that small bite of pain to keep from exploding in an instant.

My grip tightened, holding her in place as my hips moved in sync with her actions. "Like this," I growled, guiding her into a rhythm that matched my desires.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She gagged repeatedly as I fucked her mouth hard and fast. She tapped the outside of my thigh and I suddenly stopped at the signal, but the smoldering hunger in her eyes remained. “Give me a second”, she said, trying to catch her breath and I smirked at the sight of her messy hair, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. She licked her lips and tilted her chin up, accepting my command without a word.

"You want to tap out, Sunshine?" I taunted, knowing she was loving every depraved second of this. She shook her head defiantly, sending a surge of arousal through me. “Then relax that throat of yours. Now.”

She looked up at me, her emerald irises ablaze with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Slowly, she relaxed her jaw and my cock slid deeper, touching the back of her throat.

"Show me you're my eager little whore," I growled, sliding my cock back and forth along her slick tongue. "I want to hear you gag." Astrid exhaled a shaky breath, her hands gripping my knees for balance.

With a glance of determination, she accommodated my entire length, choking on me, but never backing down. Her body shuddered as I hit the back of her throat, eliciting a deep-throated gurgle from her.

Her eyes watered as she fought her gag reflex, remaining motionless with my thick shaft lodged deep in her throat. “Be a good little slut and Suck. My. Cock,” I said trough gritted teeth, “Now. Or I’ll bend you over the coffee table and fuck that sweet little ass of yours. Is that clear enough for you, Sunshine?”

As she swallowed my cock whole, I gripped her hair tighter, guiding her movements. She took control, bobbing up and down on my dick with renewed vigor, as if driven by a primal need to please me.

Her mouth worked tirelessly, my moans growing louder with each perfect stroke of her tongue. I grunted, "Fuck,” pushed her down until her nose pressed tight against my pubic hair. I buried myself in her throat and she retched as I exploded with a loud groan. “I would never cheat on this mouth. That delicious, wet pussy or tight, little ass of yours. Ever. They are mine to use, whenever and however I like. Do you understand, Sunshine? You are mine. Only you. Don’t fucking doubt that ever again.”

And that’s the true story of how Astrid became my slutty little wife. And we fucked happily ever after.