Ideal wife (Patreon)

Ugh, damn it, looks like I have to get up. The fucking sun—shining right into my eyes!

Wait… What damn sun?

I sat up abruptly… and immediately felt something unpleasantly shift on my chest. In my chest. A heavy, unfamiliar sensation. My head felt foggy, thoughts scattered. I raised my hand to my face to rub my eyes… and froze.

Thin, well-manicured fingers. French nails, almond shape, perfect white tips, cuticles smoothed. Definitely the work of an expensive salon. Babyboomer style… What the fuck? Why do I even know that?!

— What the hell?! — the words escaped hoarsely… No, not hoarsely. The voice was high, with some kind of sultry undertone.

I jumped out of bed, feeling something… jiggle on me. Jiggle! My eyes darted downward—black lace lingerie, thin straps, a sheer bra barely containing…

— Oh, for fuck's sake! — I reflexively grabbed my chest. Soft, firm… Damn it, is it real? No.

A burst of information flared in my mind, sharp and clear, like I’d known it forever: silicone, 350 cc, teardrop implants, done by some famous surgeon in Los Angeles, price—fifty grand.

— What the fuck is going on in my head?!

I rushed to the mirror, legs a little shaky, and… oh, for fuck’s sake.

Staring back at me was… a blonde. No, not just a blonde. A fucking p*rnstar. Hair styled in perfect curls, lips plump, glossy pink… Ugh! I ran a finger along my lower lip and—there it was again, that strange flood of knowledge, like it was built into my brain: fillers, 1 ml, Juvederm, price—600 bucks.

I touched my cheek. Velvet-soft, damn it. Of course—premium foundation, no wonder I look like a snack. And these lips… Damn, Tom Ford lipstick, gorgeous shade. But this lingerie from Agent Provocateur… Yeah, top choice. Delicate lace, perfectly highlighting my… Motherfucker! What the hell are these thoughts?! How much does this crap cost?! Three grand for a set?! Am I in a damn fashion catalog? I pay my guys less for a month than this lace costs! What the fuck is going on?!

I kept staring dumbly into the mirror—this chick! A hot chick. And it’s fucking me?!

I shut my eyes, feeling anger bubbling up inside. What the hell?! And why do I know all these stupid brand names, prices, all this Insta-thot crap? Silicone, fillers, highlighters, fuck…

I shook my head—soft curls tumbled gently over my shoulders. Damn… gotta be careful, or I’ll ruin the hairstyle. Or maybe screw it? Straighten it, sleek, like those magazine cover models? Or a high ponytail with extensions… Ugh! Stop it!

And then the door clicked.

I spun around, my heart sinking somewhere deep.

A scrawny guy walked into the room. Slouched, skinny, glasses. A total… nerd. If not for the expensive, luxurious robe. Hell, guys like him wouldn’t dare step outside in my neighborhood.

But… God, why is he so good-looking? My heart started pounding wildly. I should’ve been pissed, should’ve put this wimp in his place… but damn it, the moment our eyes met, something twisted inside me. My chest… felt strangely warm, nipples tightening sharply under the lace, and it was messing with my head.

Damn it, I’m a guy! I ran the whole damn block! Why am I… why do I feel like stepping closer? Why am I looking at him and… thinking about making him happy?

My cheeks flushed hot. My lips… these soft, damn plump lips parted slightly on their own, and my fingers fidgeted nervously with the strap of the bra. God… he’s looking at me. Intently. Like he’s waiting for something…

No, this is wrong! I need answers!

I… damn, why are my knees weak? Why do I want him to come closer, to hold me, say something… gentle? Ugh, snap out of it!

— Um… good morning, baby… — the voice slipped out on its own, soft, sweet, breathy, and I… I heard myself say it. Sweetly. Damn. Like some p*rnstar from a damn video!

The scrawny man stopped, blinked, and then… smiled. Warmly, calmly. That smile… damn, it felt good.

I have to show him what a good wife I am—wait. What? No. Shit, no! I’m not a wife! I’m Felix! Leader of a fucking gang! A man! Ruthless, dangerous, with a gun tucked in my waistband! Not some… fucking pleasure doll.

But my legs moved on their own, smooth, on tiptoes, hips swaying. Why the hell am I moving like this?

— I… I was waiting for you, — that voice again, God, so damn disgusting… and sweet. Fuck, am I trying to please him?

He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, studying me, and I… I caught myself smiling. Soft. Stupid. Why the hell do I feel so… vulnerable around him? Why do I want his approval? Want him to keep looking… just like that, with warmth?

— You look beautiful this morning, darling, — he said softly, his fingers grazing my shoulder. Heat surged through me at his touch. My nipples tightened again, traitorously, and I—damn it, me!—leaned into his hand!

— Oh… thank you, baby… — the words spilled out on their own, sweet, soft, breathy, while inside—panic. Shit, what’s wrong with me?! Why… why do I feel so… submissive?

And he smiled again. He liked it. He approved. It felt so good… so right…

No! Get it together!

I clenched my teeth, fighting for control. I could crush this scrawny fucker with one hand if he even tried to—

Or… would he press closer instead?

God, what the hell am I thinking?

— B-baby… — Fuck! That voice again! Why is it so sweet, why am I leaning into him like some… bitch in heat? What the fuck is wrong with me?!

He took another step forward. Eyes narrowed, gaze measuring. Like… an owner. Like I was his.

And I… liked it?

His hand grabbed my ass, hard, possessive, and—motherfucker, I!—I squeaked. Some stupid, high-pitched, breathy sound like a cheap p*rn girl. A sound I’d never make if I were myself. My chest heaved, nipples burning, and I… I caught myself breathing raggedly, lips parted, hips tilting toward him.

— Oh… — it slipped out again, quiet, pathetic, almost a whisper. Sweet, needy, like I was some blonde bimbo desperate to please her "hubby."

Shit! What the hell’s happening to me?!

My hand trembled, but not from fear. No, it was some… disgusting, sticky weakness. I had to stop it. I… gently, so damn gently, rested my palm on his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his robe beneath my fingertips. Warmth. A steady heartbeat. So calm. So confident. My hand… it didn’t clench, didn’t shove him back. It settled there, fingertips tracing his chest, and I—damn it, I even exhaled with a soft sigh.

— B-baby… — That voice again. Sweet. Soft. Dripping with some sticky, pathetic submission. Fuck! What’s wrong with me?!

His eyes narrowed further, lips curling into a smirk. He knew. He saw. He fucking enjoyed this.

I—Felix, goddammit! A gang leader! And here I was, acting like my whole fucking world revolved around this wimp!

He leaned closer. His breath brushed my lips. My heart pounded like crazy, my chest tight.

No, no, no! I won’t—

He kissed me.

Fuck… Fuck! Warm. Soft. Slow. His lips—confident, firm. And I—damn it—I pressed closer, almost on my own. My lips parted, my tongue—shit!—responded to his. I… I moaned. Sweet. Helpless. Like some desperate little slut needing him.

My hands slid to his neck, weaker than they should be. My fingers—those stupid, pampered fingers with perfect nails—scratched lightly down his skin.

— Mmm… — That… that was me?! Shit! I sounded like some cheap camgirl, arching for tips!

He pulled back slowly, lips damp, smirking, lazy, satisfied. My lips were swollen. Wet. Red. And I… I liked it? Why? Why did it feel so good to taste him? Why do I want more? Why do I want… his attention? His approval?

— Good girl… — he whispered, fingers running through my hair.

And damn… it felt good. Warm. Like I’d earned his praise. God, I want more!

Ugh… Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?